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Rain pt:I

Summary: After Supernaturals end Jensen’s life turned upside down. A year later an unexpected movie offer gives his career a second chance but it comes with an unexpected surprises.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x OFC! Lili

Word Count: 1918

Warnings: cursing, nervous Jensen, drinking, mentions of Holocaust, mention of divorce 

A/N: This story has components from my favorite W. Somerset Maugham short Rain and Lace by Shirley Conran.

prologue

*no beta-all mistakes are mine

Jensen had been sitting in his manager's office for twenty minutes having arrived early. He wasn’t gonna chance missing this meeting and seriously wished he hadn’t drank that third cup of coffee ‘cause his leg was getting sore from the relentless bouncing between the caffeine and his nerves.

After making Jared swear not to say anything he gave him what he knew. Davis didn’t have a clue what the film was but Zimmer wanted to personally meet with him and the man didn't do face to face with anyone unless he had already decided about casting them.

Davis emphasized even if it's a small part, just being in a Zimmer film could, no, would reinvigorate his career, sending it in a whole new direction, he’d be seen as not just a sci-fi/horror genre actor but one whose name was bankable, maybe even capable of opening a movie.

Jensen jumped up when the office door opened as Davis walked in followed by an older, slightly built, elegantly dressed gentleman.

***

Eban Levi Zimmerman, who only went by Zimmer, was the decedent of two Holocaust refugee families, one from Austria, the other from Hungry. Both sets of his grandparents immigrated to Israel in the nineteen fifties, his mother and father were their middle children. They met and married in fifty-nine and he was born a year later.

He was their only child and dotted upon by all his family. From a young age he fell in love with the movies, his youth spent endlessly watching the greats of the silent era to the in fashion Cinema Italiano.

After graduating secondary school he was admitted into the NYC film school. Two years later he transferred to and graduated from USC film department.

He spent the next decade honing his craft as an assistant director for the likes of Spielberg, Scorsese, and Merchant before independently making his first film, a documentary on his family’s Holocaust experience.

It earned him an academy award nomination for best short documentary and soon studios were vying for him.

Zimmer’s directorial style had been compared to that of (One take Woody) W.S.van Dyke, bringing in his films on time and under budget.

His specialty was taking period pieces based on classic works and modernizing them with the gritty realism he learned under Scorsese. The studios learned years ago not to offer Zimmer big budget films with mindless, watered down scripts crafted for mass box office drawings only.

He was notorious for utilizing the difficult to pull off, long track shots, also learned under Scorsese. Many found this exasperating and exhausting to achieve.

A-list actors publicly pronounced they’d love the opportunity to be directed by him and some had been..but only once. He was always curtious but they learned the hard way he has absolutely no tolerance for a dialed in performance from his actors.

Behind the scenes they ended up cursing his name, becoming quickly disenchanted when they found that once in Zimmer’s domain, they would not be toadied or pampered, their whines catered to on his sets.

He also keeps an eye out for new talent, having cultivated his own small stable of actors utilizing them in most of his films as they had not only proved their mettle but earned his personal respect.

***

“Mr. Ackles, it is a pleasure to meet you,” Zimmer said sidestepping Davis and extending his hand, his grip stronger than he appeared surprising Jensen. “Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you too.”

Zimmer softly humphs, waving a hand, “my father is sir, call me Zimmer,” he responds in a soft spoken accent more European than Israeli. “You’re taller than I thought, excellent. Of course, working alongside Mr. Padalecki would make most of us look short, I’m sure to appear as a midget next to him.”

Jensen chuckled, “Yeah, Jared has a lot of acreage. Please call me Jensen.”

“Won’t you have a seat…” Davis started and Zimmer gives him a do not interrupt me look.

“Jensen, would you please remove your hat and jacket.” He pulled off his ball cap and jacket as Zimmer walked slowly around him, sizing him up in an appreciable manner, “veuillez m’excuser,” and with his index finger poked at Jensen’s chest and abdomen.

“What the…” Jensen jerked in surprise as Zimmer smiled at him. “I’d appreciate it if you join me for lunch. I want to discuss the prospects of you joining my new project.” He turned walking out the office door without another word leaving the two men in shock.

“What’a you doing, waiting for an engraved invitation, move your ass!” Davis hissed at him.

Jensen grabbed his jacket and cap hurrying after Zimmer, suddenly feeling like a newbie chasing his big break instead of someone in the biz for over twenty years.

Zimmer was getting into his car as Jensen emerged from the building. Taking a deep breath to slow his heart rate and steady his nerves he climbed in the back of the limousine, sitting on the long seat on the other side of the limos bar. They drove in silence for a few minutes before pulling up to the Chateau Marmont.

Lunch turned out to be what in the fifties was termed a liquid lunch at the Bar Marmont. Zimmer orders a dirty martini with three olives and Jensen has a Chimay, figuring he better stick to something that wouldn’t muddle his brain today.

Zimmer takes a sip studying Jensen over the rim of the glass demonstrating his nervous tick with his tongue, slightly popping out between his lips licking at the bottom one but acting as if he’s not.

“You’re wondering why someone like me would contact you, am I not correct?”

Jensen fully licks his lips, “Honestly, yeah, I’m confused as hell. It’s not like we run in the same circles.”

“No, we certainly do not. I keep my eyes open for talent that has been, shall we say..overlooked, or in your case, underutilized. Casting picks up on your obvious qualities and misses the more subtle aspects.”

“Subtle aspects?”

“Yes, you’ve honed your obvious talents quite well. A long time ago Fellini told me a good director will only see the surface, a great one will seek out the untapped potential.” He paused to take sip, “I will admit I’m not a fan of your previous show but a close friend of mine is. I have always wondered why my friend had watched for years, what made your show so special. They told me to watch the nonverbal relationship between the Winchester brothers, how a glance, posture, a twitch even, expresses more than written words. I then saw it.”

“It?”

“I watched an episode with the deadly sins, the one with gluttony I believe, who found Dean hollow, it was the end that caught my attention, something in your expression when you were begging for help, I knew I found my Mr. Davidson.”

“Mr. Davidson.”

“Do you only parrot the end of sentences Jensen?” Zimmer teased, “Over a decade ago a spec script was being shopped around. It was an updated version of the 1928 silent film based on W. Somerset Maugham's short story Miss Thompson, which was severely edited due to objectionable moral content...language and reference to Davidson’s title as Reverend borrowed from the stage version. It’s rather amusing the censors found those things immoral considering the lifestyles in pre-code Hollywood.

This script was brought to my attention by a studio optioning it at the time. I agreed to direct if we came to terms on the stars. They were very specific about who they wanted to star, both are excellent actors but I believed they didn’t fit the roles and suggested two other leads. Well, long story short, it fell through.” Zimmer paused again to savor his drink, “I later found out someone had purchased the script and all rights to it produce it at a later date.” He stops to nibble on an olive.

“Preproduction is currently underway, the rest of the cast has been signed and I’m planning to start rehearsals in a few weeks. The only component missing is Davidson.” Zimmer pulls a script from his inner coat pocket and sits it on the table.

“There are two things I need you to consider before agreeing: you’ll have to lose a minimum of fifteen pounds, twenty five preferably, I have a nutritionist you can consult with to safely do it in the time since actual filming doesn’t start until October.”

Jensen never had to do extensive exercising to stay in his current shape but knew losing that much weight wouldn’t be easy with his solid build, “And the second?”

Zimmer tapped his slender fingers on the script a few times before opening it, “I am trusting your discretion if you say no not to discuss the scene you read,” he slid it across the table. Jensen picked it up and scanned through the script, reading the dialogue.

He shook his head and reread through it again slowly, paying closer attention to the directors notes. “Are you seriously shooting this?”

“Yes, this is my completed shooting script for the film. You’ve done some directing, that’s the reason I showed it to you. I wanted you to know what this part fully entails.” He retrieved the script placing it back into his inner coat pocket before picking up his martini glass studying Jensen over the rim again. “And before you ask, yes, the actress playing Sadie knows about the scene and I’m well aware this part is like nothing you’ve never done before.”

“I’m sorry but I really don’t get it, why me? I’ve done mostly television, what makes you believe I can pull off this role?”

“Instinct.” Zimmer clasped his hands together on top of the table and leaned towards him, “I don’t waste my time on anyone or anything I don’t have faith in Jensen.”

Zimmer reaches for his glass again, “Like I’ve stated, I see more in your acting abilities than you’ve tapped yet. You’ll be working with some of the best in the business, co-stars who will push you to reach for that extra bit. Say yes and I can help shape you into an actor who gets the coveted rolls most only dream of.” He finishes the last of his martini.

“I’m going to say this now, I’m not missing Christmas with my kids, I’ve already promised them I would be there, it's the first since my divorce. I also have to be in Toronto in early February.”

“I’ve cut out a week of rehearsals to compensate for the producer who insisted shutting down production from December twenty-third to January third. We are scheduled to wrap filming by the twenty-ninth, so there’s no conflict with your other commitments.”

Jensen mentally calculates actual filming time will be less than thirteen weeks, a tight shoot compared to some filming schedules.

Zimmer stares him straight in the eye, “I’ll apologize now for the time constraint, a decision such as this that will affect your career needs time to consider but unfortunately, I need a definitive answer by tonight.

Zimmer stood up, “Now, the driver will take you back to your management's offices. I have a currier waiting with a contract for you to look over, I’m sure you’ll find the terms more than applicable.” He extended his hand and Jensen got up to shake it, “I’m looking forward to working with you Jensen Ackles.”

tbc

Tagging: SPN @donnaintx​​​

Dean/Jensen: @flamencodiva​​​

Rain @stoneyggirl​​​

The Archer -Part 7

Warnings: Language, prank war (I’m sorry, 2 am me had a moment), again give it another chapter or so until the cringe slows down.

Part Eight

Word Count: 5167.... (Holy shit I’m sorry)

Tag list: @kishony-the-geek​ @idkmanicantenglish @catxsnow @unknowntoanyone @starxfires

A/N: This goes to my girl Amanda, hope you feel better! Also, again i am sorry for the blegh you are about to read.

As Rory healed, she was forced to stay out of the action. Every night she would attempt to put on her suit and every night she would be derailed. It had been a week and Alfred finally gave in on letting her out of bed rest, not that she minded it all that much with Tim joining her every day.

He would lead her out on short walks, make sure her wound was dressed properly, and let her fall asleep in his arms. Tim couldn't ignore the feeling in his stomach he had every time he was around her, and it got worse every time she smiled at him, laughed, or even looked at him.

There was no way he had that kind of feelings for Rory, she was his best friend and didn't want to ruin their friendship. But he never felt as happy as he was whenever he was around her, sure she was a little cynical and hard to understand sometimes but it's what made Rory, Rory, and Tim wouldn't want to change her for the world.

Of course, all of their time spent together did not go unnoticed. Unknown to them, Dick Stephanie and now Roy and Jason were all conspiring against the two of them. Dick, Jason, and Stephanie knowing Tim as well as they did could tell that Tim was falling hard for Rory and according to Roy, this was as close as she got to someone. She never let anyone get close to her these days and it amazed Roy just how close they were getting.

So naturally, they organized a secret meeting with just the four of them. They met down in the Bat cave because Rory was officially banished from it because she wouldn't listen to Bruce when he said no patrol. His last resort was calling Oliver and that was when she quit trying.

"So obviously, our little Timmy has a thing for Rory. What do you guys think we should do about this situation?" Dick asked, leaning against the wall.

"Well, I say we should convince him to take her out on a date," Stephanie suggested. "I can try and give him suggestions without being suspicious."

"No offense Steph, but you are one of the most suspicious people we know. Maybe that's not the greatest idea." Jason interjected. "Besides, Rory is still on house arrest and she can't go anywhere. We need to get them to admit they have feelings, maybe not to each other but to one of us." Roy finished.

"They have a point, so maybe just ease them into the idea of possibly liking the other," Dick said and pushed himself off the wall. "Now, I need to ready for patrol. It's Jason's night off so he's going to be keeping an eye on Rory and maybe do some digging. Of course, you and Jess are welcome to join us like usual."

Roy grinned, "Count us in Grayson."

Hours later, everyone was out on patrol with Barbara and Alfred down in the Bat cave while Rory was with Jason sat in the home theater. They were watching one of the many versions of Romeo and Juliet, Rory had no idea that Jason was a major literature buff and loved to read.

"Why are we watching this sappy romantic tragedy again?" she asked, leaning back in her seat as she ate low sodium popcorn. Alfred being Alfred, made sure that Rory got the food and nutrients she needs and also that she didn't eat anything too hard on her stomach because she was still on the mend.

"Because I wanted to. After watching My Fair Lady three times with you, I had 'I Could Have Danced All Night' stuck in my head." he explained, eating some of his popcorn. Rory gave him a look, "That's not terrible. It's a great song, one of my favorites."

"I was humming it in public, you're lucky Dick or the gremlin didn't catch me. Also, of course, Replacement would watch whatever you asked him too so he has watched more than I have. It seems he would do anything for you." Jason said, popping another piece in. "Besides, what is your obsession with this movie?" he asked, looking over at her ignoring Romeo confessing his love to a balcony in the middle of the night.

"My mother watched it with me for the first time when I was about four, and it stuck with me. I remember wanting to be Eliza Doolittle and tried to dress in my mother's fancy clothes and attempt to try a British accent." Rory said with a forlorn look on her face. "I've been watching it every night because it's something I can fall asleep too."

"Have the nightmares gotten bad again?" he asked, sitting up more to look at her better. Rory gave him a slow nod and he swore under his breath. "I told you, you can come and find me any time if they get too bad," he said and pulled her into a hug.

"I know, it's just that Tim is so adamant that I sleep. He wants me to heal quickly because he is so worried. I can tell that he still blames himself, I see it in his eyes every time it's mentioned or he gets a glance at the bandages. I just hope he isn't going to do anything reckless without me around." she sighed and leaned into Jason's hold relaxing slowly.

"Well, know that Dick, Bruce, Damian, Steph, and I will take care of him. Have been for a few years now, princess," he said with a chuckle. "There is no trouble he can get himself into that we can't get him out of."

Rory let a smile spread on her face. "Thanks, Jason, and speaking of Tim I need a way to get him back for picking me up over his shoulder. I said that I would attack the thing he loves most, but what is that?" she asked.

Jason was half tempted to say her but decided against it. Instead, he went with a better option. "Timbo loves coffee and computers. Maybe you could do something with those," he suggested. "But if this gets turned into a prank war, you are on your own princess. I will not save your ass if he has better pranks than you."

"Gee, such a great friend you are." she laughed, wincing from the sudden movement. Jason gave her a look and she saw it from the corner of her eye. "Stop looking at me like that, getting it from Tim is bad enough."

Jason put his hands up and sat back in his chair again. "Alright, sorry. Do you have any ideas on what to do with his coffee or computer?" he asked.

Rory grinned and turned her head to look at him, "I might have a few up my sleeve."

That night before she went to bed, she and Jason enacted their plan to sabotage Tim's coffee. The two of them made sure that they were up before everyone and went down to the kitchen and saw Alfred cooking, with a fresh pot of coffee brewing. The house rule was that no one was allowed to touch the pot until Tim had his first cup.

The two of them talked with Alfred as everyone began to file in. First was Dick, then it was Damian, Roy, Stephanie, Jesse, and Bruce. Bruce made his way over to Rory and looked at her, "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm feeling good." she smiled. "I'm excited for the day."

Bruce gave her and Jason odd looks when Tim finally entered the kitchen. As they predicted, Tim went straight for the coffee pot and poured his coffee and grabbed the milk and sugar. He poured a bit of each in before stirring it and taking a sip.

No sooner did the coffee touch his lips, that he spat it out all over the floor. "What the fuck!?"

Rory and Jason tried to hide their smiles, as everyone else laughed at Tim's disturbed face but Tim saw them and narrowed his eyes. "What the hell did you two do to my coffee?" he glared.

"I may or may not have switch the sugar out for kosher salt," Rory said with a laugh, covering her mouth. "This is payback for picking me up over your shoulder, I did say that I would attack what you loved most, and here we are."

"Then why is he laughing too?" Tim looked at Jason who was trying to keep his mouth shut.

"Why, Timothy dear. It was his idea."

Jason looked at Rory with a bewildered expression, "It was not my idea! It was hers." but Tim didn't seem to believe him.

"I'm gonna kill you, Todd." Tim frowned and charged at Jason, who got up quickly and took off down the hall wanting to avoid coffee deprived Tim, for coffee deprived Tim was scarier than Damian on a bad day.

"Miss Aurora, would you please tell me where you and Master Jason put the sugar? I would like to have sweet tea, not salty this afternoon." The tone of Alfred's voice was disapproving, but his eyes betrayed him. It seemed that he had thought Rory and Jason's prank was funny.

"Sure thing Alfred." Carefully she got up and walked over to a cabinet where she had stashed the real container of sugar and gave it to the butler. "I can help clean up the mess?" she asked with a small smile.

As the week progressed, Rory grew more and more anxious about whether Tim would try and get her back or not. According to the others, especially Damian, it would be more likely than not that he would try and get her back so she chose to watch her back just in case.

Alfred had declared her wound healed for the most part, and Rory was once again allowed in the Bat cave but still not on patrol. She just had to work with Barbara and keep an eye on them and provide help if they needed it. It wasn't a bad job, Rory was a genius when it came to computers and enjoyed working with Babs who in turn taught her things while Roy and Jesse left for Star City to check on Oliver and let them know she was okay.

It was after one of those rough nights of patrol that Tim finally attacked.

Rory drug herself into the kitchen late one morning after Damian left for school and Dick went to work. Tim was in the cave, working on a case while Jason took some time to himself. Stephanie was down in the kitchen as well, munching on a bowl of dry cereal when Rory opened the fridge and pulled out the jug of orange juice.

Orange juice was one of Rory's favorite things, and Alfred had been wanting her to drink more of it because it gave her the vitamin c she was missing. Stephanie watched as Rory grabbed a glass and poured it mostly full. Placing the jug on the counter, Rory took a big gulp of the juice. What she got instead was not what she expected.

Almost immediately, she ran to the sink and spat it out gagging in the process. The taste was so horrible, Rory wanted to vomit. Quickly getting a new cup, she filled and drank water out of it multiple times to try and get the wretched taste out.

Only then did she realize that Stephanie had her phone out and was trying to hide her giggle. Narrowing her eyes, she glared at the blonde sitting on the counter. "Steph, what the hell was that."

"That, dear Aurora was cheesy orange juice. I opened a few packs on mac and cheese powder and poured it into the orange juice." Tim's voice sounded from the phone. Stephanie turned it around and saw Tim was video chatting her to see the reaction of the juice prank.

"You know what, dragon boy? This means war. I went easy on you with the salty coffee, so you better surrender now." she threatened, holding a wooden spoon in her hand. "Because this is going to get so much worse for you before it gets better."

And that's how the 6th Wayne Manor Prank War began.

The orange juice event had spread around the manor quickly. Stephanie not only video called Tim, but she managed to get a video of it and sent it to the entire Wayne Manor residence. Damian never let her forget her moment of shame mumbling something along the lines of "I always check my drinks for I ingest it, any civilized person would do the same." which earned him a whack on the back of the head from Dick, telling him to be nice.

Ever since she declared war, it was almost as if Bruce and Alfred were hiding, not wanting to get caught up in Rory and Tim's war. No one knew when Rory would strike next, and they didn't want to be caught in the middle of it or worse be the one to accidentally set of whatever she planned. Lucky for them, Rory wasn't pulling out the big stops yet, she went for another small prank.

It was simple, everyone knew that Tim had a specific cup he carried around. It was a basic white mug with the saying "World's best detective." Bruce's said "World's second best detective." Tim made the mistake of leaving it out on the counter one evening and Rory decided to leave a little message.

When the next morning came around, everyone was getting breakfast except Bruce and Barbara who were still in the cave working from the previous night. Tim was working still too, but he had come up for some coffee with the pot downstairs empty and no supplies to brew another pot.

When he entered the kitchen, only Dick, Jason, Damian, and Stephanie were in sight and were quietly eating their food. This set off red flags in Tim's mind, there was some reason all four of them were so quiet and he had a bad feeling about it. Grabbing the pot, he poured coffee into it and checked the sugar once more to make sure that it was not salt again even though it would be idiotic to repeat a prank.

Tim leaned against the counter and watched his siblings eat quietly as he sipped his coffee, but the second he took a sip the four of them started giggling. Quickly he removed his mug from his lips and inspected his coffee. "What's so funny?" he asked.

The four of them shrugged and went back to eating, something was not right. He knew there was nothing wrong with the drink itself, he had already tasted some and it was normal; so what made them laugh? He took another sip and they laughed some more. Again, Tim lowered his mug and this time felt his lip expecting something to be there. But nothing was.

Adjusting his grip, he felt something on the bottom of his cup and quickly he peeled it off to see that it was a stick note. He flipped it over to see the words "Aurora Queen is a mother fucking beast and will win this prank war."

Tim crumbled the note and saw that Jason was holding up his phone with Rory on a video call much similar to what he and Stephanie did. "See you got my note dragon boy, sticky notes don't lie. That was my last nice prank, Timothy, give up and I'll let you grovel for an hour instead of prolonging it." she grinned.

"Just you wait, songbird. I have a few tricks up my sleeves, you won't see them coming." Tim hit the red button and hung up the call. "Hey Damian, I'll drive you to school today yeah?" Damian gave Tim a skeptical look, he never wanted to drive him anywhere let alone drive period. What was he up to?

Rory sat in the kitchen later that day, reading a book when Stephanie walked in holding a bag from Burger King. "Hey Rory, I was out and got you something," she said and pulled out a box of ten-piece chicken nuggets, placing them in front of Rory. Everyone knew that these were her favorite and quickly grabbed the box.

"Thanks, Steph," and with her mouth salivating for the taste of Burger King nuggies she opened the box. What she was in the box was not chicken nuggets. Instead, they were replaced with the worst thing on the planet, roasted brussels sprouts. Immediately Rory knew what this was. This was Tim's prank at getting back at her for the note, well it was time to stop playing nice.

With this newfound revenge, she quickly enlisted the help of Damian promising to do his homework for two weeks if he just 'accidentally' destroyed the coffee pot in the kitchen, which he did. Alfred replaced it and before anyone could notice, Rory printed out a sticker that said "Voice-activated" on it and had a list of commands underneath it.

Knowing how tired Tim has been, it was perfectly timed. This time she was in the kitchen with everyone to see the chaos that was tired Tim ensue. He trudged into the kitchen and saw the new pot with the label saying it was voice-activated.

He shrugged it off assuming it was some fancy high tech pot that just came out. Looking through the list of commands he said "Brew black coffee." Nothing happened. He said it twice more and still, nothing happened.

Rory and Jason, who had seen her labeling the pot bit back a grin watching a now tired, and irritated Tim yell at a coffee pot to make him coffee only for it to not be voice-activated at all. Alfred walked in and saw Tim still yelling and now insulting the pot. "Master Tim, what are you doing?"

"I'm trying to get some coffee." he grumped. "But this stupid ass pot won't work!"

"That's because it's not voice activated sir."

Tim's jaw dropped and he turned on his heel to see both Rory and Jason gone. Of course, he just fell for another prank. He was determined to win this war so he looked at Alfred, "Could you help me with something?"

"Of course, sir."

A couple of hours later, Jason and Rory were sat in the bat cave getting her wound checked once more. After a little poking a prodding, Jason deemed it healed. Her skin had healed together nicely and she didn't feel much pain moving anymore but she still had to take it easy and no patrol for at least another week.

Alfred had come down and told them that he had made his famous brownies if they would like any. Of course, if anyone knew anything it was that Alfred made amazing brownies and they were so good you would kill for them. Quickly, the two of them bolted up the stairs and into the kitchen where they saw Tim, Stephanie, Dick, and Damian all eating some of Alfred's famous brownies.

When they got to the pan and pulled back the foil, they frowned. There were no brownies in the pan, instead, there were several brown e's in the pan with the word 'gotcha' written on the underside of the foil. The two of them turned to look at Tim who was smugly enjoying his brownies.

"That's cold replacement, getting Alfred to help you and with the brownies no less," Jason said, sending his younger brother a glare. Rory was just as pissed if not more so, she had never tasted Alfred's brownies she has only heard of their greatness.

"This is for that voice-activated coffee bullshit," he said with a grin. Rory walked over, grabbed his plate, and shoved it into his face.

"And that's for involving poor Alfred." and she walked off.

Days had gone by and there was no retaliation prank by Rory and Jason, which worried everyone. Or so it seemed. This prank was very low key and it would take a very sharp eye, or nose more likely to notice it. Eight days had passed before Dick finally spoke up, he wasn't sure but to him, Tim had been smelling like dinner for the last few days and he was confused.

"Hey, Timmy, did you change your body wash or something? You smell like dinner." Everyone in the cave nodded in agreement, the only ones silent were Jason and Rory.

"Yeah Timbo, you smell like chicken soup." Stephanie laughed, "We all just assumed that you had changed something when you showered but with the look on your face and the sudden silence of the dynamic duo tells us otherwise."

Now that they had mentioned it, Tim's showers had been smelling like chicken soup. He just brushed it off as Alfred cooking, but he hadn't made anything chicken-related in two weeks. Rory sat in her seat with a wide smirk on her face, with Jason keeping a straight face but smiling with his eyes.

"What did you two do to my soaps?!" he cried, walking over to them.

"We didn't do anything to your soaps replacement, relax," Jason said, turning in his chair to polish his helmet once more. Rory however, kept looking at him.

"He's right, we did nothing to your soaps. The showerhead however is a different story dragon boy, or should I say chicken boy now?" she grinned. Tim's eyes widened and he ran upstairs to his shower and pulled off the showerhead. Once he pulled it off, three chicken bouillon cubes fell out and into the tub.

No wonder he had been smelling chicken soup, he had been showering in it for over a week!

Once everyone learned of the prank, they began to call him chicken boy which only fueled Tim's determination to get his final prank done. It was three days before Rory was allowed to join patrol again so the two of them decided to have a sit-down and talk about their prank war.

Rory had brought Jason and Tim surprisingly brought Damian with him. "What do you want to discuss chicken boy?" she asked with a grin.

"You are going back on patrol in a few days, right? Bruce wants this war of ours to end before then so I have a proposition. We get to play one final prank on the other, and we get help from one other person. Everyone else will decide who had the better prank at the end. I assume you are picking the walking dead over there and I picked Damian." Tim replied, Jason, making a rude hand gesture at the name.

"How did you get Damian to agree to help you? I bargained two weeks of his homework." Rory said crossing her arms.

"He promised not to say or do anything stupid for two weeks," Damian said, adjusting his stance behind Tim. Rory nodded, mentally applauding Tim for his choice of bribery and assistant.

"Alright Drake, I'm assuming we get tomorrow and the next day to enact our prank and the team with the best prank wins?" she asked, raising a brow. "And what does the winner get?"

"The winners get bragging right and an entire batch fo both Alfred's cookies and brownies," Tim said, leaning back into his chair. "Deal?" he stuck out his hand and Rory gave it a shake.

"Deal."

The next two days were total chaos, everyone in the manor knew of their final prank and they were scared just how far they were going to go with this. No one was more than Bruce and Alfred.

The first day and come and gone and nothing had happened, so if they were going to pull a prank it was going to be on day two, and Tim, Rory, Jason, and Damian were ready. The night before while Tim and Damian were out on patrol, Jason and Rory snuck into Tim's room and reorganized everything.

His dresser drawers were switched around, the files in his filing cabinet were rearranged, his containers were switched and so were the flies on his computer. Rory managed to hack into it and renamed every file and reorganize them so it looked like nothing had happened, making sure to leave no pattern for him to follow to put everything back the way it was. Then they crept into Damian's room and did the same, even though there was not much to reorganize.

Tim and Damian had gotten back from patrol later that night once Rory and Jason were asleep and put their plan to action. Under everyone's door, they left a note warning them to be careful opening the doors in the manor and to not sit on any of the chairs either.

Behind every door, they had duct-taped an air horn so once they opened it the horn would go off and under every chair, they could so when they sat, the horns would go off too. Once everything was done they retired for the night.

The four of them woke up at around the same time and the first casualty of the final prank was Tim. When he went to get dressed, he opened his drawer to find that his pants were where his underwear and socks should be. Taking this as a hint, Tim looked around to see that everything was different. How the hell did he not notice that, to begin with? Tim was always very particular about his stuff and those two knew and yet they messed with his stuff.

The next casualty was Damian who suffered from the same fate only it didn't bother him as much as it did Tim. It was easier to fix it and put it all back where it belonged, what irritated him was that he was roped into something that Drake had started. Being part of the prank was not what he agreed to. Damian shrugged and began to reorganize his room.

Jason and Rory were next. When they went down to breakfast, the door to the kitchen was left open slightly. Being as tired as they were after reorganizing Tim and Damian's rooms, they swung the door open only to be greeted with a very loud horn. Rory let out a scream and fell to the floor as Jason jumped three feet in the air.

Tim stood behind them with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. "What happened Rory? You alright?"

Still, on the floor, Rory flipped him off. "Fuck you, dragon boy. You still seem to be in a good mood, so you haven't even seen the worst of what we did." Jason bent down to help her up, the two of them careful of the kitchen door this time. Rory moved it away from the wall and saw the air horn taped to the wall.

"Well played, I'm guessing you gave everyone else a heads up?" she asked, looking around everyone didn't seem as disturbed as she and Jason were but they were definitely laughing.

"I don't think I have ever seen Jason jump that high, or even move that fast." Dick laughed, eating a spoon of cereal. It was Jason's turn to flip him off and the two of them got breakfast, checking behind the fridge and cabinet doors. It was safe to say that they were slightly scared now.

What they weren't expecting was when they sat down on the only two open stools, more horns went off scaring the both of them again, this time flinging their food into the air. At this point Rory was pissed, that was twice he got her in five minutes. Was nowhere safe in the manor? Pulling the horn of her seat, she threw it at Tim's head who only caught it.

"Scared of a little horn songbird? I thought you were tougher than that." he grinned.

"Watch your back dragon boy, I might just try to throw you off a building." she threatened and got herself a new bagel because hers landed in one of the potted plants. Jason had gotten himself a breakfast sandwich and all the pieces were across the room.

With breakfast done and over an hour later, every room Rory and Jason walked into they opened the doors carefully and checked before the sat down on any suspicious chair. "I think we're safe on the couch, at least until he finds what we did to his-"

Jason was cut off by loud yelling, followed by what sounded like someone running downstairs. "You wanna try that again princess?" Rory asked and got up, ready to run if Tim was feeling a little murderous.

Tim slammed the door open, making a horn go open and scaring himself with Rory laughing at him. "What happened Timothy? Something wrong?" she asked with a grin. Tim stomped over and held out his laptop.

"What did you do to all of my cases!?" he yelled.

After a lengthy explanation, Rory fixed everything on his laptop to the way it was before. "Now, to decide the winner," she said and went down to the Bat cave, as the passage opened Rory, Jason and Tim made their way down. What Rory didn't know was that there were more horns hidden for them.

Not thinking that Tim would rig the chairs in the cave, both Jason and Rory plopped their butts down onto a chair only for them to jump off and onto the floor when the horn went off.

"Well, now that everyone is down here there is a matter for us to discuss," Dick said. "Who had the better prank?"

Almost everyone said Tim and Damian, apparently watching the two of them scream and jump every time there was a horn was funnier than watching Tim try and refigure out his room. Rory slumped in her spot and pouted. She was never going to hear the end of it from Tim nor Damian.

What made it worse was that they both get a batch of Alfred's cookies and brownies all to themselves. Twice now that Jason and Rory were denied that chocolatey goodness, but Tim and Damian did win fair and square even though Rory's earlier pranks were better. It seemed that Tim saved the best one for last and it's what got him the victory.

"Now that this prank war of your is settled, you two are going to be partnered on patrol again. Rory, you will be helping Tim with his case on Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, and Cobblepott. You two will leave continue tomorrow as Alfred has requested she rest for at least another day to make sure she is healed enough to get back out." Bruce said.

"Also, please try not to start another prank war or anything for at least 6 months."

Six (3/6)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eating Disorder (Reader), Fluff, Slow Burn, 18+

Summary: Bucky knew that there were more important things for him to worry about. Of course he did. He still had to work through the horrors of his past, never mind his present, which was the exact reason why he honed right in on your petty bullshit. You distracted him from the things he didn’t want to think about. You also drove him up a fucking wall.

Part Two / Master List

The work week continued to drag on, and predictably, Steve didn’t give you any extra time off no matter how much you wished for it. On top of that, you had to make up your time from Tuesday, but that was fine. You finally had something to keep your thoughts occupied. In between the emails and filing, you started to wonder what Bucky’s ulterior motive was. He wouldn’t have just bought you something for no reason, would he? He couldn’t stand you, just like you couldn’t stand him.

Right?

Deep down, you knew that was a lie. He was starting to grow on you. He’d remembered – and even though you made him take the truffles back, he didn’t seem offended by it at all. He just wanted to know why. It may have been his version of an olive branch, just like breakfast had been yours.

And, well, you knew him. As much as the two of you didn’t get along, you knew that he was an honest person. He’d always been honest, maybe to a fault sometimes. You used to hate that about him, but now… now you kind of didn’t.

It was sweet.

He was sweet.

At least, that was what you thought until dinner on Thursday night. Around the table sat Sam, Bucky, and Natasha; everyone else was on a mission and for that, you were grateful. Fewer eyes meant less of a chance that someone would notice you weren’t eating.

Conversation was light and breezy, what with the boys discussing the mission they’d just returned from a couple of days prior. Normally you would have been interested, but you didn’t want to know anything about it because you were still stuck on desk duty. You already felt pretty useless as it was, and hearing about the mess they’d found themselves in made you feel even worse. If Dr. Cho wasn’t so stubborn, you could have been there. You could have helped.

Resting your chin on your hand, you pushed around the food on your plate but made no attempt to eat it. Sam had made his mother’s famous meatloaf, which was delicious enough for, well, meatloaf. You had a bite here and there to appease your cramping stomach, but you couldn’t make yourself eat more than that even though you desperately needed to.

Then a foot gently nudged yours under the table, and you glanced up to find Bucky looking at you with his head tilted just slightly to the side, concern evident on his face as he whispered, “You’re still not eating?”

You immediately bristled at the sensitive topic, unable to keep the bite out of your tone when you quietly responded, “I’m not hungry.”

The last thing you needed was for anyone else to pick up on your fucked-up eating habits. The fact that Bucky already had was bad enough, and, quite frankly, it was irritating that he was still getting on your case about it. You couldn’t even have a glass of juice without him asking questions, let alone a meal.

“Not a dinner person either, then?”

His question was innocent enough, but you bristled anyway. He just wouldn’t leave it alone. You loudly dropped your fork onto your plate, metal clattering against china right before you shoved your chair back from the table. “I said I’m not hungry.”

Another day, another argument. Nothing had changed at all.

“I think I’m gonna take that as an insult,” Sam teased in a clear attempt to diffuse the situation, nodding to your full plate.

You knew that he was just joking, but the smile you offered him was tight-lipped and tense. “It’s good, Sam. I’m just not hungry anymore, thanks to someone.”

Then you shot Bucky another look, clearly blaming your lack of appetite on him. It wasn’t his fault, and you knew that, but you needed an excuse – needed someone to blame because you felt guilty for wasting Sam’s efforts. It wasn’t often that any of you had a nice home-cooked meal. With everyone’s weird hours and all the last-minute missions, takeout was far more common around the compound.

Unsurprisingly, your accusation set Bucky off. “What the hell did I do? I just asked—”

“I know what you asked,” you interrupted, crossing your arms. “Take a hint, Barnes. Stop asking.”

“How can I?” He pulled himself to his feet, too, blue eyes heated on yours. “You look even worse now than when you passed out, and you think I’m just gonna ignore that?”

“You passed out?” Natasha asked, brows raised, looking over from Bucky to you. “When?”

You grit your teeth. “A week ago. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit, you’re fine.” Bucky came around to your side of the table, then, but you somehow stood your ground despite his barrage of questions. “Why aren’t you back in the field? Come on, sweetheart, tell me. Why are you still on desk duty? Medical haven’t cleared you yet, have they?”

Why hadn’t you ever noticed how tall he was until now?

“That’s none of your fucking business,” you spat, feeling your face flush – but whether it was from anger or embarrassment, you weren’t sure.

Even you could hear the frustration in his voice when he spoke again, “Sure it is. You make me breakfast one day, scream at me the next, and now you wanna blame me for whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours. The hell’s your problem?”

You always knew when you managed to rile him up because his accent came out – and sure enough, there it was. You used to get some sick sort of pleasure out of it, because once upon a time you enjoyed pissing him off. Not now, you didn’t. Now, it bothered you to know that you had, and what’s worse was that you hated feeling this way.

This was Bucky Barnes. Your enemy. The one person you absolutely could not stand.

Right?

Those annoying thoughts were what prompted you to shove him hard in the shoulder, hissing, “You’re my problem!”

“Okay, okay, let’s all calm down,” Sam smoothly intervened, stepping between the two of you just like he’d done so many times in the past. Natasha was behind you, too, ready to step in if required. They’d broken up your arguments so many times, you’d long lost count.

You and Bucky glared at each other for another moment or two before you turned heel and stormed out of the room, bitter and angry and on the verge of tears. He just wouldn’t let it go.

He never let it go.

When you started up the stairs, a sob escaped you – one that only Bucky could hear.

He found you a little while later on the rooftop.

That was where you usually went to cool down after a fight, a fact that Bucky only knew because he liked to go there, too. The fresh air calmed him, made him feel a little more grounded. In contrast, the starry sky was a gentle reminder that he was just a drop in the ocean in the grand scheme of things.

This, too, would pass, just like everything else.

Even in the moonlight, he could see that your eyes were still red-rimmed from crying. That was the exact reason he came up here tonight. The last time he made you cry, he never really had a chance to apologize. No, that was a lie. He had plenty of chances, but he chose not to, and as a result he’d nearly gotten you killed.

Not this time.

What surprised him was that he found you journaling. He’d never thought of you as an introspective person, because he’d always been too focused on what was on the surface: shallow, self-serving behaviour that drove him up a wall. It still did, but in recent days he’d started to believe otherwise. Sometimes you were tolerable, maybe even kind.

Judging by the hasty scribbling of your pen right now, though, you were still angry. That wasn’t a surprise.

After a quiet few moments, you stopped writing. “What do you want?”

The way Bucky approached you was hesitant, almost reluctant. He didn’t know what to say. Food was clearly a sensitive topic for you, a theory he’d tested tonight at dinner. Whenever the two of you argued in recent days, it was always about food – or the lack thereof, and when he really thought about it, he hadn’t seen you eat a full meal in weeks.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” was what he finally settled on. It was the truth.

At that, you glanced up from your journal and studied him for a second or two. He might have found it unnerving, had he not been so blindsided by the look on your face – complete exhaustion, like you were tired of fighting.

He was too. Six months of it was more than enough.

Then you turned back to your journal. The act was dismissive, almost, but your tone was entirely too quiet, too honest for a dismissal. “Well, you did.”  

Bucky knew he did. The difference was that you weren’t usually this honest with him about it. He certainly wasn’t proud of the way he reacted to your stupid accusation. Personal attacks weren’t his style, but he’d gone right for the jugular about your desk duty. He knew that it would be a sore spot because of how much you enjoyed field work, and he went there anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he acquiesced, and he meant it.

Even still, he was concerned for your welfare. Your reaction tonight told him everything he needed to know: that Dr. Cho really hadn’t signed off on your return to the field. Bucky had a sneaking suspicion that it had something to do with the fact that you weren’t eating, not that it was any of his business because you were right; it wasn’t.

“Do you want to know why I didn’t want those truffles?” you asked suddenly, focusing not on him but on your pen as you rolled it back and forth in between your fingertips. He’d noticed a long time ago that you had a tendency to fidget with things when you were nervous.

Why were you nervous?

“If you want to tell me,” he responded carefully.

Chewing on your lower lip, you pat the spot next to you on the blanket: an invitation to sit.

Bucky swallowed thickly as he took a seat beside you, doing his best to ignore the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. Not only had he never seen you quite like this, but it felt strangely intimate to enter your space like this. The two of you weren’t friends, but you wanted him to join you anyway.

The strangest thing was that he didn’t mind at all.

You sat in silence for a little while, drumming your fingers on the hard cover of your journal – and then you leaned back on your hands to peer up at the starry sky. “Hey, have you ever heard the term ‘eating disorder’?”

A simple, “No,” was his reply. That was the truth, too.

The small, wistful smile you offered him made his heart ache.

“Makes sense. If I was around in the 40’s, I’d probably be in an asylum,” you told him, before you snorted derisively, like that was meant to be a joke. Even he could tell that it wasn’t really. “Basically, uh… I have some trouble with eating, yeah? So whenever you bring it up, I freak out a little. Sometimes more than a little.”

Well, that explained a lot.

“I’m so sorry, doll,” he said again, softer this time. “I didn’t know.”

The gentle tone he used with you made you want to cry – and as a matter of fact, it did. Your vision quickly blurred with tears, and you hugged your knees to your chest, feeling entirely too vulnerable. You weren’t even sure why you were telling him this. It wasn’t like he cared.

Right?

“I should be the one apologizing to you,” you sniffled, hugging your legs just a little tighter. “This is my fault, not yours.”

“It doesn’t matter whose fault it is.” His hand gently came to rest on your shoulder, and although you could sense the hesitation in his touch, it quickly disappeared when you didn’t pull away. “We all have problems. What matters is how we deal with them.”

Through the thin fabric of your t-shirt, his hand was large and warm as it trailed down your back, and up again – gentle strokes meant to comfort. It wasn’t often that you were treated so kindly, and by Bucky, no less.

Somehow, you didn’t mind it.

When you chanced another look over at him, his eyes were soft on yours and so stunning in the moonlight that you found yourself wanting to make amends – maybe even wanting to be friends.

“Nice pep talk,” you teased with a watery smile. “I think Steve’s rubbing off on you.”

At that, he laughed. You’d never heard him laugh before, not really, but you loved the sound of it. Even with everything he’d been through, you were kind of awestruck that he still managed to see the humour in things. 

“How do you know I’m not the one rubbing off on him?”

You gave him a deadpan look. “Please. This is Steve we’re talking about.”

When you saw those lovely blue eyes of his twinkling with amusement, there was another unrecognizable flutter in your chest. He didn’t say anything in response; just continued to stroke your back as you rubbed away the tears and snot from your face, probably smearing your makeup but you didn’t care. This was Bucky, after all.

Well, maybe you did care. 

A little.

“God, I’m a mess,” you muttered, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “Sorry. Here I am spilling my life’s story to you, and you’re too nice to tell me you don’t care.”

His hand stopped, then, and you looked over at him, about to apologize for the umpteenth time over how abrasive that sounded – but he just offered you the slightest hint of a smile and gently tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. The pleasant feeling of his fingers against your flushed cheek made your heart race.

“I do care,” he told you, before he slowly brought his hand back to his side.

For some reason, you found yourself missing his touch.

“Why?” you asked stupidly.

He shrugged, before he countered your question with one of his own. “Why do you have trouble eating?”

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, laying down on the blanket for a better view of the sky – a distraction. “My therapist used to say it’s all about control, but I don’t know. Haven’t been in awhile.”

Control. He could definitely empathize. “Why not?”

“I didn’t want to get, uh… What’s the term? 4-F’d?”

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh at that, too – a genuine laugh, and for the first time, you laughed along with him. The sound of it warmed his heart, but that warmth quickly faded away as the somber reality of your situation sank in. You didn’t want to stop working in the field. What he’d dredged up at dinner ran deeper than he could have imagined.

“I shouldn’t have asked about medical,” he admitted. “You’re right. It’s none of my business.”

“Sure it is. I got hurt on a mission with you.”

Bucky frowned and looked away. His guilt was still there. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt if he’d been paying more attention. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt – but because of him, you had, just like all the others over the last seventy-odd years.

He tensed up when your small hand came to rest on his arm, but the kindness behind it made him feel at ease, especially when you echoed his own words from earlier, “We all have our problems, Bucky. Stop blaming yourself, okay? It wasn’t your fault.”

That was something he’d learned in therapy, but never had it sounded so… right.

Part Four

Oliver Stone’s ‘Natural Born Killers’ Is, More than Ever, the Spectacle of Our Time                

Yet it has never gained true respectability.

Variety

                                                                           |                            

                               Owen Gleiberman

                                      “ Works of art that were once radical tend to find their cozy place in the cultural ecosystem. It’s almost funny to think that an audience ever booed “The Rite of Spring,” or that the Sex Pistols shocked people to their souls, or that museum patrons once stood in front of Jackson Pollock’s splatter paintings or Warhol’s soup cans and said, “But is it art?” In 1971, “A Clockwork Orange” was a scandal, but it quickly came to be thought of as a Kubrick classic.    

           Yet “Natural Born Killers,” a brazenly radical movie when it was first released, on August 26, 1994, has never lost its sting of audacity. It’s still dangerous, crazy-sick, luridly hypnotic, ripped from the id, and visionary. I loved the movie from the moment I saw it. It haunted me for weeks afterward, and over the next few years I saw it over and over again (probably 40 times), obsessed with the experience of it, the terrible lurching beauty of it, the spellbinding truth of it. It’s a film that has never left my system.    

           I’ve met a number of people who feel the way I do about “Natural Born Killers,” but I’ve also run across a great many people who don’t. The reaction has always been split between those I would call “Natural Born Killers” believers (they included, at the time, such influential critics as Roger Ebert and Stanley Kauffmann) and those who thumb their noses at what they consider to be an over-the-top spectacle of Oliver Stone “indulgence.” At the time of its release, it was said that the film was bombastic, gonzo for its own sake, pretentious as hell, and — of course ­— too violent. Too flippantly violent. In a way, “Natural Born Killers” was the “Moulin Rouge!” of shotgun-lovers-on-the-lam thrillers. Either you got onto its stylized high wire, its deliberate pornography of operatic overkill, or you thought it was trash.    

           The divide has never been resolved, and the movie has never gained true respectability. Which I think is a good thing. Some works of art need to remain outside the official system of canonical reverence. But if you go back and watch “Natural Born Killers” today, long after all the ’90s-version-of-film-Twitter chatter about it has faded, what you’ll see (or, at least, what I hope you’ll see) is that the movie summons a unique power that descends from the grandeur of its theme. Far more than, say, “The Matrix,” “Natural Born Killers” was the movie that glimpsed the looking glass we were passing through, the new psycho-metaphysical space we were living inside — the roller-coaster of images and advertisements, of entertainment and illusion, of demons that come up through fantasy and morph into daydreams, of vicarious violence that bleeds into real violence.    

           I’ve always found “Natural Born Killers” a nearly impossible movie to nail down in writing (it’s like trying to capture what music sounds like). Sure, it’s easy to summarize the tale of Mickey Knox (Woody Harrelson), a sloe-eyed drawling psycho in a blond ponytail, and his ragingly damaged bad-apple lover, Mallory (Juliette Lewis), the two of whom go on a killing spree that turns them into celebrities, like Bonnie and Clyde for the age of TMZ.    

           Yet it’s the moment-to-moment, shot-to-shot texture of the movie that transforms a two-dimensional story into a four-dimensional sensory X-ray. I took my best shot at writing about it in my 2016 memoir, “Movie Freak,” in which I said:    

“The tingly audacity of ‘Natural Born Killers,’ and the addictive pleasure of watching it, begins with the perception that Mickey and Mallory experience not just their infamy but every moment of their lives as pop culture. Their lives are poured through the images they carry around in their heads. The two of them enact a heightened version of a world in which identity is increasingly becoming a murky, bundled fusion of true life and media fantasy. It works something like this: You are what you watch, which is what you want to be, which is what you think you are, which is what you really can be (yes, you can!), as long as you…believe.”

           What form does this kind of belief take? It’s a word that applies, in equal measure, to the fan-geek hordes at Comic-Con; to the gun geeks who imagine themselves part of a larger “militia”; to the gamers and the dark-web conspiracy junkies; to the people who think that Donald Trump was qualified to be president because he pretended to be an imperious executive on TV. It applies to anyone who experiences the news as the world’s greatest reality show, or to the way that social media is called social media because it’s about people treating every facet of their lives as “media” — as a verité performance. Made just before the rise of the Internet, “Natural Born Killers” captured, and predicted, a society that turns reality itself into a nonstop channel surf, a simulacrum of the life we’re living. One of the film’s most brilliant sequences is a dystopian sitcom, with a vile fulminating Rodney Dangerfield, that depicts Mallory’s hellish home. It’s a dysfunctional nightmare reduced to TV, which is what allows Mallory to murder her way out of it.    

           “Natural Born Killers” took off from a script by Quentin Tarantino that got drastically rewritten (Tarantino received a story credit), though it provided the basic spine of the film’s evil-hipsters-on-the-run structure and kicky satirical ultraviolence. But there’s a reason that Tarantino didn’t like the finished film; it’s not, in the end, his sensibility. His vision is suffused with irony, whereas Oliver Stone directs “Natural Born Killers” as if he were making a documentary about a homicidal acid trip.    

           The patchwork of film stocks that Stone employs (black-and-white, glaring color, 8mm, grainy video) turns the movie into a volcanic multimedia dream-poem. And it’s no coincidence that those clashing visual textures are an elaboration of the style that Stone invented for “JFK,” a drama about political reality (the assassination of a president) that gets sucked into the vortex of media reality (the now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t mesmerization of the Zapruder film). “Natural Born Killers” pushes that dynamic several steps further, as Mickey and Mallory’s murder spree becomes a hall of mirrors that’s being televised inside their own heads. In 1967, the tagline for “Bonnie and Clyde” was “They’re young. They’re in love. And they kill people.” The tagline for “Natural Born Killers” should have been: “They kill people. So they’ll have something to watch.”    

           “Natural Born Killers” captures how our parasitical relationship to pop culture can magnify the cycle of violence. Yet that theme may be more dangerous now than it was in 1994. As a liberal who’s a staunch advocate of every gun-control measure conceivable, and would never think to “blame” a mass shooting on a piece of entertainment, I am nevertheless haunted by the possibility that half a century’s worth of insanely violent pop culture has had a collective numbing effect. In “Natural Born Killers,” a psychiatrist, played with diligent dryness by the comedian Steven Wright, gets interviewed on television about Mickey and Mallory, and his analysis is as follows: “Mickey and Mallory know the difference between right and wrong. They just don’t give a damn.”    

           That, to me, is one of the most resonant lines in all of movies, because what it’s describing now sounds chillingly close to too many of us. Sure, we all say that we care. But if you look at the actions, the judgments, the policies supported by millions of Americans, it seems increasingly clear that we’re turning into a society of people who know the difference between right and wrong, but just don’t give a damn.    

           Or maybe that’s too dark a thing to say. But the beauty, and brilliance, of “Natural Born Killers,” which draws on and radicalizes a tradition of movies (“Bonnie and Clyde,” “Badlands,” “Taxi Driver”) that deposit the audience directly into the souls of sociopaths, is that the film dares to ask us to ask ourselves what we’re made of. To ask whether we’ve removed life from reality by turning it into a spectacle of nonstop self-projection. To ask whether we’re now watching ourselves to death. “   

-- I loved it when I saw it. I saw it once. It scared me. It was too real and too predictive, too foretelling. But brilliant. Scary brilliant. To see the parody of the sitcom is to live your present life, your past life, and realize a subtle and not so subtle horror coursing through our filtered vision every day.

true canon: an explanation

True Canon is set in a typical High Fantasy D&D ye olden age world, with monsters and magic and dragons galore. It started out focused entirely on Eve and Viktor and a few others’ travels through a country called Witherhurst, and as we made more characters and stories and kingdoms, we expanded the scope of WotOG (the original D&D game) to cover all of them, until we had a nice world built up around the characters. Since not all of the stories related to the events of WotOG (and WotOG part 2: Electric Boogaloo), we decided to change the name to True Canon, so we knew which universe for sure was the foundation upon which our Many AU’s Stand. Here’s a quick n dirty timeline, for reference:

(much more under the cut)

-Eve, Viktor, and a few others that aren’t relevant to the story travel around Witherhurst on a job or something from a lady who’s Definitely Not Important At All (Her name is Prenella). At some point Prenella ditches the party and they’re stuck without a cleric for a while

-They make it to a big city, and through shenanigans that include travelling the city for fun and also almost dying to a pack of rabid dogs, Eve convinces Intem to join the party.

-Eve, Vik, and now Intem (plus one more pc) unravel a cult plot, something about the end of the world, blah blah nothing really important there. They end up taking out the cult and fighting Prenella, the cult’s leader, who also happens to be a dragon. Neat.

-After that horrifying ordeal, the party reconvenes and decides, ‘fuck it, let’s go find a new place to travel together’ and thus board a ship that they then steal from the captain (after Intem’s “pet” eats said captain).

-So begins the few years the party spends as pirates.

-Things happen, they end up fighting an eldritch god for world-ending rights, and go on their merry way.

- Intem falls into the role of reluctant (but no less ruthless) pirate captain, with vik as his first mate and eve as navigator (despite the fact that she can’t read. they figure it out)

-This is around the time Intem goes from lilac-haired sunshine boy to disgruntled cynic who’s Done With Your Shit, Viktor.

-Eventually the crew docks, and picks up Therai and Pippin for a while. Eve also brings up the idea of reviving Vik’s old travelling companion, Dante (two bros, chillin in a tavern, no feet apart ‘cause they’re so gay), and Intem’s like “Sure why the fuck not” and they set off to find his grave or whatever.

-Hatch and Xander are in the area and end up getting picked up by the crew.

-Dante gets revived, and for the next year or so, everything is fine.

-Eventually the crew docks near Therai’s old home kingdom, and he dips, taking Pippin, Xander, and Hatch with him (he really only meant to take Pip). They spend a while travelling to his kingdom, Aer-Vinn, and encounter Hatch’s long time (boy)friend Aerglo. He joins the party, at Hatch’s request.

-A little while later (vague time frame I know but exact years don’t matter here), there’s some Good Therai Angst when- Shock! Horror! - they end up stumbling upon Tal, who shares ~history~ with Therai. Not the good kind, mind you. They leave soon after meeting Tal.

-There’s a few more encounters with Therai’s old companion before Tal eventually softens up and joins the party, hell yeah. Warren joins too, because he was nearby and Also shares ~history~ with Therai and Tal. (They were all in a party together before this)

-AT THE SAME TIME THIS IS GOING ON: Rain sets out on a holy mission from their church to prove themselves worthy of being a Paladin of the Church.

-They meet Rosemary along the way, and after a small adventure together, they decide to help Rose out and find Catherine with her, because a while back Rose accidentally turned Catherine into, well, a cat.

-They do find Cat, after she’d gone through some Shit in an alternate dimension featuring a Sun Goddess and her complete mental breakdown. Cat Killed A Goddess (or two, we’ll see how the campaign goes), and made friends with the cousins Mikhail and Valentine. Mikhail doesn’t matter to the timeline right now. 

-Anyway, Rain and Rose find Cat, and settle down in a little seaside village where they work together to turn Cat back into a human.

-They Succeed!!!

-Uh-oh there’s a stranger at the door- Oh! It’s just Rain’s Cleric friend from their church, Rahon! Turns out Rain kinda went MIA and everyone back home is having a Panic, so Rahon’s here to make sure Rain is alive and well, or collect their belongings if they’re not-

-But they’re alive, so Rahon calms down and decides to stay (after sending a message back home, of course), to keep an eye or two on Rain.

-Rain is Delighted :)

-The party (minus kal) were traveling somewhere, kal ended up going the same way, and they ended up in the same city for a while. rahon saw her Up To No Good, so he kept an eye on them and saw them getting stabbed, and decided to nurse her back to health, and thus Kal Joins The Party. Rahon is an absolute sweetheart to them

-Eventually Rose, Cat, and Rain head out to a nearby cave system bc of Reasons, and end up kinda sorta stumbling into a system that leads to this world’s version of the Underdark. They need help navigating, because Fuck These Tunnels Are Confusing, and come across a little hermit drow who’s living his “best” life in his underground hut with tattered clothes and ratty books and cracked glasses.

-He just wants to see the surface but is terrified of how the world will treat him if he goes up alone, so he offers to guide everyone through the Underdark in exchange for them taking him up to the surface. Everyone agrees

-Astralus, little hermit drow lad, does so, and soon finds himself stumbling out into broad daylight. He’s got light sensitivity and everything Burns, but he’s so fucking happy oh my gods. Also he’s crying but it’s okay, he’s kinda really emotional.

-Aster joins the party! And they find out he’s cousins with Rose, who practically adopted him as a brother anyway let’s be real.

-Somehow Val learns of Cat’s whereabouts, and pops by to say hi to his trauma buddy. Cue shock as he sees her as human for the first time. Aster develops an immediate crush, and takes to following Val around like a lost puppy.

-Val is having a Time because, Aster looks just like a person he knew in an alternate universe and things didn’t turn out well for them. Yikes.

-Val joins the party, if only to tease Cat and finally have a place to be for a while

-MEANWHILE: Bree finds an abomination living in the abandoned mineshafts near her village. She decides he could probably use a friend, since the entire village is pretty scared of/hostile towards him, and becomes that friend. She finds out his name is Ve, and he’s a sweetheart. She makes immediate friends and he teaches her sign language, because he Literally Doesn’t Have A Face, he can’t speak.

-A few weeks later, either Ve or Bree decide to leave bc Fuck This Town, except they don’t say Fuck because they’re both softe beans (they both legally cannot say fuck. and i actually had an idea for how they leave ovo). Either way, they leave, and through shenanigans, they pick up Three More Tieflings, what the hell, which is kinda funny because previously, Bree didn’t think tieflings existed at all. 

-Tarvaii and Trancey are travelling together as a Chaotic Mischief Duo, and end up joining the party because Bree made friends

-Same situation with Chaym, though he was alone and depressed because his entire village got massacred. Bree made friends, and Chaym joined the party

-Chaym also ended up teaching Trancey magic, specifically Necromancy, which is kinda really stupid dangerous but it’s fine, Chaym survived, why shouldn’t Trancey? (flawed logic but okay Chaym)

-Cut to a few years later, back with Eve and Co.

-They’re in a tavern, Eve sees a depressed tiefling at the bar. What does she do? Immediately go try to cheer him up.

-She finds out he’d left his pregnant girlfriend on a mission to go help out somewhere, and ended up stuck in a weird place where time passes differently for him. It’s been 26 years, though to him it felt more like a handful of weeks. He’s scared and confused and would very much like to find his family, but he has no idea where he is.

-Eve’s heart breaks bc! he’s so sad and his girlfriend is pregnant and he’s got a family and just wants to get back to them, how could she not want to help? and thus she decides to help the tiefling, Viren, find his family.

-Through a series of events, the find out Viren’s family was living in a beautiful city built into the mountains, that fell quite a few years back. Luckily, his girlfriend left beforehand, and moved to a small mining town, where she gave birth to, and briefly raised, their son. She named him Ve, after his father, who she assumed was dead.

-There was a fire at one point, and Angelica, Viren’s girlfriend, died saving Ve. Viren is absolutely devastated when he finds out, and Eve offers to resurrect Angelica, y’know, bring the family together again, even if for just a short time.

-Vi agrees, and they do so! Woo! Also Eve and co. meet up with Ve for a while so the family really is back together.

-Intem, doing a sneaky trick, makes it so Angelica’s soul keeps the body and just, lives until the body dies, be it natural or unnatural causes. He only tells Eve and Angelica about it, and waits to see how long it takes Viren to realize ‘oh shit I’m not losing my fiance so soon’

-Also Viren and Angelica get engaged! Woo!

-A little while passes, Viren and Anne join the party, and Eve gets pregnant with Intem’s kids. At this point the party’s stopped adventuring, and they all settled down somewhere nice. Anyway Eve’s pregnant and gives birth to twins, Olive and Evergreen (Evan for short), but Olive looks more like Therai than Intem and it’s kinda weird, but nobody really minds because the twins are just, so cute. Also Therai (and co) came back and built the party a nice house, so, yeah.

-Olive and Evan grow up, and Evan takes an interest in Druid Magic. Vik lets Evan access his Giant Library and teaches him general magic stuff. Olive scares her whole ass family by taking an interest in Necromancy, and eventually someone gets in contact with Chaym (and by extension Trancey), and has him come over to teach Olive.

-Olive becomes a necromancer! And then heads off with Evan in tow to start their own life of adventuring. 

-Eve has another kid, Avery, with Therai

-Olive befriends a Whole Ass Dragon, gives him the nickname Jade, and introduces him to Evan. By the time the trio make it back to Jade’s hoard, Avery’s taken on the role of Fighter and heads out into the world to do her own thing. She also meets Clover, another fighter, and they travel together for a while before joining Olive, Evan, and Jade. 

-That’s it, that’s where we stopped on the timeline of True Canon. It’ll go on, of course, but, here’s the general timeline in 4 pages

Thunder and Lightning

Thunder and Lightning

Kalex Week Day 1: General AU

Sunday, 11/17

I own nothing.

Words: 2,462

----------

Alex twitched and groaned, trying to turn over so she was no longer lying on whatever was poking her in the back.

“Alex! Don’t move, okay?” That was Kara. Why was Kara sad? Or scared? Worried? “Caitlin! J’onn! Lena! She’s waking up!” Why was she calling for the others? Why were the others even here?

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” Alex felt Kara’s hand brushing back hair from her face.

That didn’t make any sense. She had just shorn her hair on that side. Her hair tended to grow quickly, but not that quick. Tiredly (why was she so tired?), she blinked open her eyes. The lighting was dim, most of the glow coming from Kara’s sunbed in the corner.

They were at the DEO.

Why were they at the DEO? How were they at the DEO? She had been in Central City for a conference. She and Lena were both going to be speaking at it, Lena more than her. Alex had gone ahead of them because someone had tried to set up an assassination attempt (really, at this point, people should know better). Kara and Lena were waiting for Alex’s ‘all clear’ before arriving. The pair had been in Star City visiting Oliver and Felicity, oohing over little Mia.

Alex knew this, because both of them had been sending her texts containing pictures of the little girl in various outfits. This including miniature versions of several onesies modeled after hero costumes, made mostly by Winn in order for them to be accurate.

“Kara?” She managed to croak out, reaching for her. What was going on?

“It’s okay Alex, you’re going to be alright zhao.” Kara turned to see who hand entered.

Caitlin and Lena were tied, Lena allowing the other woman to enter first to check Alex’s vitals. She made her way to Kara’s side, wrapping one arm around the blonde’s waist and laying a hand over the pair tangled together on the edge of the bed.

“You gave us both a scare Alex,” Lena told her. “Don’t ever do this again.”

Alex coughed. “What even happened?” Kara broke away to get her some water. She helped her sip it while Caitlin finished what she was doing.

Caitlin frowned. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I was in Central City for the conference,” Alex began, feeling better now that her mouth wasn’t so dry and the tiredness was fading. “I’d just sent Vas back with the wannabe assassin and my report.” She frowned, trying to remember. “I was…phone. I was on my phone looking at the new pictures you two,” she sent a stern look at her lover and their shared best friend, “had just sent me. You really dressed Mia in a miniature DEO uniform? How on any Earth did Oliver let you do that? Where did you even get it?”

Lena snickered. “Winn and Cisco both missed their calling in Fashion. And Felicity was the one to convince, but after the mini-Green Arrow outfit she was sold.” Considering the size of the smile on Oliver’s face in the picture of the two of them in the matching outfits, Felicity had been hard pressed to deny the other outfits.

“…Do I even want to know?” Alex looked at Caitlin. The woman was shaking her head.

“Those pictures are never going to see the light of day outside of this group,” she assured her patient. “Their antics aside, what else do you remember?”

That was a loaded question that Alex wasn’t certain she knew the answer to.

“I’m not sure,” Alex admitted slowly. “I don’t…what happened?”

“There was a second particle accelerator explosion at the hotel,” Caitlin explained. “A much smaller one, but it caused a lot of damage to the hotel and surrounding area. Barry’s been chasing down new metas since then, as well as the pair of scientists who are responsible.”

“They did it on purpose, although we’re not entirely sure as to why.” Lena took up the explanation. “I did discover that my brother was funding them from prison,” her smile was vicious, “that stream of revenue has now been stopped.”

“Which of us was the target?” Alex asked, shifting so the ties on her gown were no longer digging into her.

“Any of us, all of us,” Lena shrugged. Her brother wanted her dead. He wanted her two protectors dead almost as badly as he did her. He had proven several times over that he didn’t care about collateral damage. “Does it really matter at this point?”

“It doesn’t,” Kara asserted. “All that matters is that it didn’t work. Alex is fine, right?”

“Well…” Caitlin hesitated. It was highly unnerving to have all three of them staring at her. “We’ll need to run a few tests, but-”

“I’m a meta,” Alex cut her off. “Just how long have I been unconscious?” The longer she was awake, the better she was feeling. She was also starving.

“Four months,” Lena answered when it appeared the other two weren’t going to say anything. Kara looked distressed just thinking about it. There had been a few moments where they had honestly believed Alex would never awaken.

“Four…four months?” Alex stared at her. “No wonder I’m hungry.”

Kara giggled, taking that statement as the okay to do as she had wanted since carrying Alex out of the wreckage. She hugged her lover to her tightly, heedless of the tubes and wires. Alex winched, but returned the embrace.

“Great, now there’s going to be two bottomless pits.” Lena teased good-naturedly.

“You should be alright, but start with simple things.” Caitlin warned her. She disconnected the machines that were no longer needed. She had been around enough meta-humans and super-powered people to know the signs.

“Right, any ideas what my power might be?” Alex had read over enough of the reports from Starr Labs to know that different powers had different markers, although some were similar. A few were a little hard to determine, such as the mental based powers. Alex didn’t feel all that different.

“Not yet,” Caitlin replied. “We’ve been more concerned over the other injuries you sustained.”

“Which are all healed,” Kara said. “The head injury was the worst,” her lip wobbled as she held back tears, “and your heart stopped twice during surgery when they had to go in and repair some internal damage and remove the shrapnel from your back.” She had needed to keep reminding herself that Alex was in one piece. Her human was still alive and breathing.

Lena motioned for Caitlin to follow her out the door so they could leave the two alone. Kara didn’t care if they were there or not, but Alex would. The stubborn woman refused to remove herself from the impression that she had to be strong in front of everyone all the time. Lena had the same tendency, so she couldn’t exactly fault her friend for it. They would have it out later. Right now, Kara needed her more.

Kara had the decency to wait until the others were out of the room before climbing into bed with her lover. Alex shifted to the side so there was more room, but she needn’t have bothered. Kara picked her up so she was in her lap, curled into her chest.

“I was so scared Alex.” She whispered. She couldn’t even ask Alex not to do this again because it wasn’t anything they could control. Neither of them could give up this life, not when what they did was something that felt like what they were meant to do.

“I know,” Alex understood that kind of fear all too well every single time Kara ended up beneath the sun lamps for more than minor injuries. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

“No, Alex, you don’t have anything to apologize for.” Kara nuzzled her face against Alex’s hair. “Lena’s already ordering food, and then I’ll go get your favorite.”

“The food truck in Chicago?” Alex sighed, already imagining dripping cheese and perfectly grilled ham between toasted bread and topped with sautéed onions and peppers.

“Of course,” Kara reluctantly let her go. “Wanna shower?”

“Are you saying I stink?” Alex laughed as Kara backtracked and babbled before frowning at her. Kara stopped after a moment, pouting. “Come on, let me shower before the food gets here. I��d like to be in some real clothes.”

“Right!” Alex squealed as Kara levitated off the bed to bring them to a standing position. Alex remained ensconced in her arms, despite the protest that she could walk.

Kara walked them to the small bathroom attached to the room. The shower stall was tiny, big enough for only a single occupant on purpose. Even so, Kara remained in the room as Alex showed.

Alex blinked as time seemed to slow for a brief moment, seeing each individual drop of water as it fell before returning to normal. Blinking again, she reached to steady herself against the wall. Perhaps she wasn’t as well as she felt.

“Alex?” Kara sounded strange, word drawn out as if she were speaking incredibly slowly.

“Kara?” Alex reached out, trying to find the blonde. “Kara, I think-”

“Alex!”

Alex stumbled to a stop before striking the wall. She was completely dry, despite the fact that the shower was still running and she had just stepped out of it. She was shaking.

What the hell?

“Hey, I got you,” Kara wrapped a towel around her, not really knowing what else to do. “I guess we know what your power is now.”

“Kara, what just happened?” She hated when her body did things she didn’t want it to. She had trained hard to be as in control of it as humanly possible.

“You’re a speedster.”

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

Much, much later that night they were in their apartment. It hadn’t changed much in the four months she had been in the Medbay.

It was comforting, that bit of familiarity.

She had lost four months of her life. Now she had super-speed.

It was far from a fair tradeoff. She would much rather have those four months back.

She had missed Kara’s birthday. Lena’s Birthday. Her and Kara’s second anniversary.

Alex had been planning to propose then.

What the hell was she meant to so with super-speed?

Barry had already offered to help her learn to use her powers. Alex had already agreed to it, although she would be on the watch for any tricks. She had heard about how Oliver had ‘helped’ when Barry had first gained his speed, just as she had heard how Barry had gotten revenge after another meta had temporarily switched Barry’s speed with Oliver’s talent with a bow.

Not that Kara would allow any such thing to happen. In fact, Kara was as adamant about being a part of Alex’s training as Alex had been about Kara’s in the first place.

“You’re over thinking this,” Kara muttered softly. “You’re alive. You’re faster than me now.” She giggled. “And you can’t tease me anymore about my food intake!”

Alex groaned. “Remind me to talk to J’onn about a food stipend, else we’ll need to live at the DEO.” She had matched Kara in sheer amount of food eaten for the first time since the alien had come to live with the Danvers.

“Lena already thought of it,” Kara said. “We have the best best friend, especially when she gets to thwart her mother.”

“…dare I ask what the two of you have gotten up to?”

“Well…” Kara buried her face into Alex’s neck for a moment.

“Oh god…what did you two do?” Alex fought her grin. There was a reason they worked as a trio, elsewise the one left out tended to have to get the pair out of a mess.

“I mean…crank calls, a few bashed up bases, some re-stolen funds donated to charities that needed it, a few trick programs that’ll send their servers crashing at different points…not much.”

Alex was shaking in laughter. “You two crank called…and J’onn let you get away with it?”

“Well…I mean…” Kara giggled. “Some of the others helped. J’onn may have made a few suggestions.”

“No way!” Alex denied.

“Okay, he may also have given all of those involved a very stern lecture about not messing around like unscrupulous teenagers.” Kara admitted.  “Lena quoted something from Doctor Who back at him.”

That sounded more like the man who had become the adopted father of their rag-tag group. It was very much something Lena would do in response to being lectured. Alex would bet she might even know which quote it was.

She turned over so she could wrap her arms around Kara. “Winn isn’t allowed to design my suit. I’ve seen some of what he wanted to dress you in, remember?”

Kara giggled. “Yes, I do. Breakfast says Lena already has something by tomorrow.”

Alex thought about it. “Pancakes if you’re right, French toast if you aren’t.”

“Deal,” Kara agreed, “now sleep.”

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

Kara had not been wrong. Lena did have something ready for Alex.

“Oh, Alex it’s perfect!” Kara danced around her, taking it in.

It was very much like Barry’s suit, built to withstand the extreme speeds Alex would be running at. It was mainly blue, a shade darker than Kara’s own suit. Where Barry’s suit had gold, the same red as Kara’s cape traced seams and edges in contrast to the blue. On the left shoulder, like a badge of honor, rested the El crest. The emblem on Alex’s chest was a thin, ragged lighting bot split into tree prongs in red.

“How does it feel?” Lena eyed her work critically, trying to find any flaws.

“Good, comfortable,” Alex fidgeted. “Tighter than what I’m used to.” She spun around. “No cape?”

“If you could fly, I would have added a cape.” Lena typed something into her tablet. “It’s tight because loose fabric would create drag.”

“She’s right,” Kara nodded. “Why do you think I drop the cape if I have to use my speed on the ground? It’s great in the air, not so much for running.”

Alex nodded. It made sense. Most of the heroes they knew who had capes did very little (if any) ground maneuvering. “Ok, now what?”

“Now you need a new codename,” Lena looked up, smirk firmly in place. “I figured you would rather come up with one yourself before Cat Grant gives you one.”

Alex eyed her warily. “Why can’t I just keep Agent? We can just add speed or something to it.”

“Agent Speed,” Kara shook her head. “Nope. That’s almost as bad as The Blur.”

“I was thinking Lightning,” Lena announced. She nodded to the scorch mark on the wall. “Fitting, since you mastered that particular trick so quickly.”

Alex looked down at her gloved hands. “Lightning…I like it.”

Hallow : ch V - CSSNS 2019

“The Goblin King was prepared to host the Darkness, stealing Fae women away to their corrupted lands underneath the ground as concubines. The Darkness chose another in his stead, but not before this selected vessel enacted a devastating attack in its vengeance, revealing its hatred & rage. The battle was a lesson the old kings had forgotten; never underestimate an opponent.

Many more lives were lost as they razed over any who dared defy The Goblin King’s will. Only the pure love of our rulers united in matrimony, breaking the Vorpal Dagger, sealed the darkness and the Goblin menace away. The light flourished under their fair rule, and the queen bore a child as pure as moon beams, swan feathers, and starlight. They lived happily ever after, and shall be written in history as Heroes for All Time.”

This is the history Princess Emma memorizes from the day she is born, paraded about and presented only with the highest protection. The palace is a cage she wishes to escape, desperately. Not careful what wishes she made, Emma discovers history is written by the victors - The Dark One has an entirely different version of the events that took place.

Read on AO3 here.

Rated E for explicit themes, Mature situations, and Fae fuckery.

Written for @cssns

Ch 5 / ?? - In which shit goes to hell

Emma did not see Killian again for over a week, which was almost a blessing in its own right. It allowed her to fully gain Elsa’s friendship and respect, a fact which delighted both Ingrid and Anna in turn. At first. 

They soon discovered that Emma and El sa were a pair to be reckoned with, though, which ended with Anna shrieking and throwing pillows at them when Elsa discovered a poem from Anna’s long term boyfriend.

“An Ode to Anna, Princess of Reindeer,” she read, as Emma laughed and Anna tried to snatch the piece of colored, smooth parchment back. “‘While one has antlers and in the forest hides, I only wish I could lay a crown as lovely, before you were my bride.’ Oh Anna, how romantic, Kristoff has outdone himself. I especially love the part about how he wants to ride you as well -" 

Anna went scarlet from forehead to fingers, the blush making her eyes blaze as they wrestled. Emma knew she was missing the butt of some joke, but it still took a few passes for them to explain - and by them, of course, she meant Elsa only, as Anna was too scandalized to contribute. 

"We’ve been together for decades, it’s cold here, and we aren’t getting any younger!” Anna protested. “Plus, he’s dreamy in his coat, his nose is always warm, and his pockets fit both of our hands with a sandwich to boot. Perfect man." 

Emma was rapidly discovering that courting was very different than even the most modern standards at home. Here, relationships were loud, heady, and were what Anna called 'the most progressive in modern history’. Elsa only rolled her eyes, and muttered about it being about time that women could wear pants. At Emma’s pressing, they showed her another glossy photo book similar to the one that Ingrid had given her, this one a 'Fashion Magazine’. 

Pale women graced the pages, sporting large teeth - some gapped, much to Emma’s fascination - stick-like long eyelashes, and long pin-straight hair falling to improper lengths. They wore the same long dresses in floral patterns that were similar to those in Emma’s wardrobe back home, only with no bodice, petticoat, or undergarment. Elsa flipped the pages to show Emma a woman with a bright pink bubble in her mouth, her eyelashes long and rimmed with kohl and a shockingly bright cobalt liner, her hair piled high on her head behind a thick white band like a cone. 

"A beehive. They’re all the rage. I guess that even Twiggy, Jackie O, and Mia Farrow have been spotted with them.” Elsa flipped a page to a skinny woman in a scarf, shiny white boots, and a scandalous dress. Emma sucked in a breath, feeling like a child being caught with illicit materials. The other women didn’t bat an eye, Anna flipping until the page displayed a darker, olive skinned woman with freckles and cloud-like curly brown hair wearing a shirt and breeches made of denim material. Emma’s mouth fell open in surprise; pants apparently were breeches, and not made of supple leather or soft calico, but of cotton denim. 

“It’s soft, I have a pair. They wash them so they aren’t scratchy like cattle sacks,” Elsa supplied. 

“I prefer skirts myself, still. I like to model myself after Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly. The classics, you know,” Anna said, and Emma tried to nod in agreement though she was terribly confused. 

The week dragged on like this, no one too worried about Killian missing. 

“He’ll show up when he decides he can forgive himself, so we can forgive him in turn. Or when he wants to be fed,” Ingrid said on the fourth night, as they settled in to watch a horror film playing on what they called a 'television’. Her voice fell to a teasing bitter tone, and she gave Emma a wry smile. “It’s why we don’t go and get a cat; it would have competition. He wasn’t always this intense, but even before that parasitic leech he needed space to realize what an idiot he is.”

They ate popcorn and drank hot chocolate, Emma convincing them to try it with cinnamon. It was a hit with everyone, especially when the movie became terrifying and they huddled behind pillows. Emma had never seen any Fae that terrified her, but this was a monster and not a Fae at all, and a swamp monster at that. Its dead, cold eyes as it tried to catch its young victim made Emma feel ill. They reminded her of Nil. 

Emma’s sleep that night was difficult and filled with shadows, shapes she couldn’t discern or make out, and hallways with no end. Waking with a start, she was relieved when she found all of them asleep under a blanket, together on the couch. 

Life dragged on and the comfort of a routine helped some as Emma tried to make sense of everything new all at once. Killian was still nowhere to be found, an absence Emma sorely needed to collect her thoughts. She needed time to plan her next moves. Ingrid, Elsa, and Anna were ready to help with anything they could, armed with advice and suggestions. 

Chewing on a piece of chocolate cake, Anna addressed Emma over the books she was reading. Nemo had a large study full of books on the old lands and their culture, along with detailed notes. Taking advantage of this Emma spread them over the table and studied them for anything that might be of use. “So, when he comes back, don’t let him treat you any less than what you are. You need to treat him like the asshat he is. Build up some walls and armaments, you know?" 

Emma sighed, resting fingers on the bridge of her nose. "I have walls, Anna. I have armaments. I don’t like that I have to trust or rely on him any more than I like being away from my home.”

“Do you think he knows that? Challenge him. Challenge us!” Ingrid said, smirking. “Take no shit, Emma. You’re a princess, and your own general now. Your own commander. That demands confidence and respect.”

Elsa pulled the piece of cake from Anna, earning her a playful slap, as she joined the conversation. “Be like your mother. Assertive and dangerously graceful, ice and fire.”

Emma thought of her mom, how quickly and quietly she could dominate a conversation to turn it in her favor. How hard her gaze could be, how her brows furrowed as she asked a question that ensnared her prey. Her face of triumph when she was using a bow during target practice or on a hunt, or using her tongue to land centering marks in a debate. Feared and adored, respected and admired. 

When she tried to imagine that on herself, it felt wrong. How could she ever compare? 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Killian let himself stay away longer than normal, an eerie feeling of being followed something he couldn’t shake off. It had started in a dark cave somewhere in Africa, as he lurked in an antechamber waiting until he could move somewhere less damp. 

It persisted through his next changes in locale, before he finally sat down in a dusty bar in the rolling plains of what was now called America. Nothing about the name America made any sense; however, after some light reading and chats with the Arren women, he had come to conclude nothing about America made much sense at all - least of all, why it was not called what the Indigenous or Northmen had named it. The bar was named even more nonsensically; a squat shack that was more rust than anything else in this neverending dustbin of nothingness was not exactly a 'Tree House’.

Killian ordered two glasses of rum, sliding one over slightly, the person who had followed him sitting down without hesitation. Her skin was tan, but her eyes were tired under her cropped blonde haircut. 

“Tink,” Killian grunted slightly, her dagger’s point pressing hard into his groin. “To what do I owe thi-" 

"Listen. I’d like to make this quick and easy enough for both of us. I know you have the princess within your grasp. I have a friend who wants to ally with her. It’s complicated, but I trust you. I will be here, on these nights. Come see me. Dress nice.” She drank her rum in a flash, leaving a hearty tip and a business card, then disappeared as if she’d never even been there at all. 

He drank his own glass before picking up the business card. In ivy green ink, the front stated boldly 'Tink Rebel - Siren - DJ’; on the back were a few sporadic dates and an address. There was no way to trust her, but it was better than any other lead he’d gotten. 

It’s the only lead you’ve gotten. Magic is all but forgotten or mere banished remnants here; it should be easy to get the shard.  

“And it should be just as easy finding someone else to watch over the princess as well? Do you think we can find some ponce to pawn her off on, so we can be free of this?” Killian asked wryly, slipping the card into his pocket before stepping into the night’s shadows. 

That too. The further away she is from us the better. See if Tink can recommend a short cliff with a long fall. 

“Aye.” He disappeared again, leaving a long trail behind before returning to the nearest point he could that would get him to Ingrid’s. The walk was long, but not unwelcome. 

When he arrived it was dusk, a note on the door explaining the stillness of the house: Ingrid and Elsa were delivering a wedding cake, Anna was with her paramour, and Emma was 'practicing’. Elsa had even scribbled a little note for the princess, telling her that there was salve in the cupboard. Practicing? What could she possibly have to practice? Elsa and Emma were now on a first name basis? What all had he missed? 

Killian found Emma on the patio, the night air cooling as her she focused intently on repetitive strikes with a sword. She did not seem to notice his arrival at all, continuing to practice blocking an enemy, then parrying. 

Clearing his throat she turned with surprise, her body immediately in a well practiced defensive stance. Interesting. The princess was not a novice in swordplay. 

“Care to duel?” he teased, raising an eyebrow. 

She lowered the weapon, shaking her head. “You’re not worth it." 

His blood lit, temper flaring. "Oh? Well, don’t you sound confident. Haughtiness doesn’t suit your temperament; aren’t you supposed to be good at needle point? Swordplay is quite a bit out of the wheelhouse of the 'demure’ princess act." 

"My father is the best swordsman in the realms. He wanted me to be better, and I…” She got a far off look in her eyes for a moment, then shook it off. “I just wanted to spend time with him. I like to think that I am very good at it." 

"Thinking that you are,” he smirked, letting the Darkness ripple through his skin and muscles, picking up a discarded cutlass from the pile Ingrid must have provided, “does little to prove that you are. Shall we test your mettle, Your Highness?” Killian raised the cutlass in an attacking stance. 

To his great surprise she did not flinch or seem prostrated by this bravado, only shrugging and changing her stance to defend against his chosen style. 

“I don’t go easy on anyone, especially if they underestimate me. Are you sure you want to spar?” The calmness in her words set his teeth on edge, and he answered by throwing himself forward. She didn’t even act surprised, moving in a subtle side step that left her in his previous position, her footing incomparable. 

Killian laughed, more surprised than anything. 

“This might actually be fun, especially since there’s no welcoming party for me tonight.” He circled her, and she mirrored his steps in their defensive opposite. “I thought all of you might have missed me a bit more. My ego is wounded.”

“You left without much more than a word,” she huffed and dodged a low arc, parrying away as he dodged to strike her side. She moved quickly, adjusting to try to attack his flank. “They were worried about you. You should apologize. Your ego deserves a good, sound beating anyway." 

"They should worry less. I see that you and Elsa are thick as thieves now, though. There’s that.” Emma fluidly rolled to move in close to him, throwing him off balance and forcing him to fall back in retreat as he regained his footing. Her furious volley made him feel young again, green in the ears. Liam had given no quarter when they practiced either. 

“Elsa is great. She might forgive you if you genuinely apologize,” Emma said quietly, sword against sword, pushing with her weight as he slid the metal blade down towards her neck. He wasn’t a lad practicing with Liam anymore, and the Darkness sang in his veins reminding him of that fact. His blood boiled hot as her advice was drowned out by the buzz in his head. 

You are so weak, so beyond help, that even this castle coddled, custard fed, soft boiled, princess has you on the ropes. She’s the reason Elsa was mad, she’s the reason why all of this is happening, and what would Liam say - 

“Shut up!” Killian swung up in an arc and went after her like a madman, his attacks relentless as she played defense against them, the metal clanging sharply, enough to make his jaw smart. He spun into an attack, kicking out her leg, barely hearing her shout of disapproval. “Shut up, shut up, shut up -" 

With his back turned towards her while he was fighting with the voice in his head, Emma pushed up slightly, kicked hard, and took his legs out from under him, resulting in Killian landing on his back. Emma used her sword to smack his fingers, making him release his sword as he cursed. Killian growled at her as she took both swords and held them crossed in front of his neck. Her face was cool, expression entirely detached from the task in front of her. She had trounced him as if he was half asleep. 

That would not do. 

An outward kick of his boot aligned to connect with her knee, sending Emma falling back a step, while she was knocked out of her concentration by his crooked move. With a well practiced turn he let her sword slide against his shoulder, ripping the cloth of his shirt and digging deep into the flesh, listening with a delighted sense of malice to the horrified sound that came from her mouth. 

She doesn’t know what you are capable of. What the world is capable of.  

Emma was frozen, her breathing unsteady, her hand shaking as he yanked the other blade free of her grip. It fell with a clatter to the tile, and with another kick it slid into a flower bush while Emma looked on helplessly. 

"Do you know,” Killian circled her, her hand jerked free from the pommel as he shrugged the sword from his shoulder and kicked it away, “what people will do to you? Any of the Mortals or Fae that think that you could be a stepping stone, what they’re thinking of? They’re not going to play fair, or think about bad form . Do you think they will stop hunting you, just because of a wound? You’re going to have to fight to the death, Princess." 

Emma made a noise of rebuttal, but it was lost as he pushed her forward against one of the patio’s stone walls. Pinning her there to look in her fearful eyes made the strength the Darkness gave him pulse in his veins, its steady beat a call for more. How could he merely whet his appetite and not feast? 

Make her pay, you cowardly poltroon. Make her hurt. Make her suffer! 

Her hands fumbled, pushing him away as if she could, her movements no stronger than the touch of a butterfly. He caught one of her wrists in his hand with an iron grip, marveling at how dainty it was; it would be so easy to break, the voice in his head loud, so many voices that they were a whine covering any plea she might give.

Emma shifted slightly, eyes changed and no longer panicked as they stared up in fury. Her other hand twisted to reach the chain around her neck, taking the dagger shard that hung there and made a long slash down the hand that trapped her own. 

Killian’s brain registered two things at almost a second apart. The first was that he did not feel the slash of the dagger piece immediately. In his experience, that could mean it was such a precise and quick blade that he had not felt it, or that the pain from the newly made wound was so great, his body could not process it all at once. The second was a brutal confirmation of his thoughts, the answer arriving in an abrupt, agonizing pain that wrapped around the end of his left arm like a venomous snake. 

He threw himself away from Emma, all but shrieking as she approached with concern. 

Emma looked furious, but also terrified, her voice shaking. "I - you can’t do that, how dare you do that! Why would you do that, what is wrong with you! And I - I didn’t cut you that deep -” Her hands reached toward his forearm even as he tried to flinch away. The cut was slight to the point of barely bleeding. She was right; she had barely nicked him in the trail she made down his hand to his wrist, and then a bit longer. 

It felt as though she dipped his hand in fire, while someone rubbed jagged glass up and down his nerves. Killian saw white, the world taken from him in bright flashes that made the Darkness screech. His hand was burning, the world was burning. 

As soon as it had come, it was gone. The same delicate wrist twisted to let slender fingers on her cool hand slide across the scrape, all pain gone, disappearing to next to nothingness. Light poured into him, light that was so vast, so intangible, so heavy in ways that were not bound by any laws Killian knew. The Darkness fled, hid away from what it knew was something ancient that followed no arcane limitations. His shoulder wound closed up as she laid a hand over it, the knitted flesh without an ache or scar that the Darkness would have left. 

The moment she was done, Emma scrambled backward and so did he, the distance as they both caught their breath warranted. 

Killian examined her, watching her shoulders shake and her hair fall in a curtain around her face. There was a dull ache in his hand briefly, but the Darkness was only a far off murmur. It was far too weak to protest when he moved closer, muttering an apology in her direction. 

“I don’t - M'sorry.”

For her part, Emma nodded as she shrank away, before she stood to stare down at him. “You always have so many apologies, Killian. So many times when you could have just been…” Emma trailed off, biting her lip and fighting back emotions. She collected herself with another breath. “You could just try to forego apologies, to try and get it right without having to break someone first. What did you - what did it want you to do to me? What would you have had to apologize for if I hadn’t…”

He could not think of a reply, and if he had, he would not have given it. Emma was right. Watching her walk away, his hand throbbed. Looking down at the long mark, Killian noticed it was reopening, the dull ache starting at the top of his palm making his fingers stiffen and bend. With the princess’s departure, the Darkness crept back in slow increments, and he waited for their own dark magic to do its healing work on his crooked fingers. 

The Darkness pushed at the scrape, its powerful magic attempting to imitate the light that had healed Killian’s shoulder. When nothing happened, the Darkness howled, strange emotions running through it and its vessel. Among the heaviest of them was the Darkness’ terror, and Killian’s feeling of a deep, burning regret, laced with shame. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma managed to avoid him in ways that grew more cunning with each day that passed. The date was set for their meeting with Tink and entry into the club, preparations being made by everyone in the house as they focused on Emma. He hadn’t even told her about this potential meeting, she had to learn of the development through Elsa, the coward. It was easier for him to disappear that way, his own form of avoidance from the way Ingrid’s ever-knowing eyes immediately narrowed in on the way Emma and he pretended that the other didn’t exist 

Elsa dug out a dagger to match the sword they found for Emma, which Anna helped her practice with. Anna was a surprisingly talented blade fighter, and he could see Emma’s tension ease when Anna volunteered to help her train. He had also seen the quick look of panic at the thought of having to partner with him again. 

She’s scared of you, this goes in our favor. The look of fear there is -  

“Enough.”

You weren’t going to hurt her, just instill a bit of real world fear. We only listed some suggestions of things to tell her, not things to do. Those were ideas, just that. You didn’t act on them, even if you could have. You could have, but you weren’t strong enough. You frightened her and look at how well it worked! 

Killian snorted, scrubbing up his face before giving up and resting his head in his hands. Weak enough? He was plenty weak enough, and the Darkness knew it too, had whispered into his ear things no one should experience, justifications wrapped around each act. ’ She deserves it ’, 'Make her suffer’ , ’ She’s your greatest foe ’, ’ She can’t stop you ’, all hissed over and over, every word made to sound so enticing. The urge to retch came over him, the old pew creaking against his weight as he stood to pace, his bad hand throbbing from its use in his hurry. 

His bad hand. That was the only thing the Darkness seemed concerned about besides the ever-present need for the shard, its few words on the subject curt and bitterly sharp. It had never seen a wound like this. The dagger was meant to control the Darkness, to bind it to a vessel full of vengeance. It could kill the vessel, transferring ownership to another as had been done in ancient times, but that required ceremony. His hand had gone from a dull uncomfortable twinge to throbbing sharp shooting spasms that caused his fingers to stiffen into a  claw like form. He kept his palm wrapped in gauze, alarmed to find the scrape, now a cut, leaving bloody stains. 

Arguing with the Darkness over this was no use. It was its own pain, its own form of torture on top of his penance for attacking Emma. That and the constant echo of Emma’s voice rang in his head like a church bell, sometimes louder than the cacophony that was the Darkness, other times only a gentle tone. If this was his punishment, it was his to suffer alone. The small abbey somewhere in the mountains was far enough to cover their tracks, changing locations to make it harder to use a location spell. It seemed fitting, too, to search for penance in this quiet, snow filled hall, the stained glass and belfry crumbled onto the rough floor. 

You can’t have your freedom without her absolute compliance. She’s not ready for a battle, not ready for the world. If you’re not willing to train her properly, the Goblin will - 

“Please, enough.” Thoughts of the Goblin Prince and what he might do, how close Killian had come to acting like the creatures who had taken Milah, swirled in another deep pull of his gut even as he paced in the cold cathedral. 

She was safe, and you should make sure she learns this lesson. We need her not completely broken, but close, so close, to gain our freedom. And shouldn’t the sheep know that the wolf is -  

“I said enough! Enough.”

Silence finally came, except for the gentle cadence of Emma’s words.

“You could just try to forego apologies, to try and get it right without having to break someone first." 

"What would you have had to apologize for if I hadn't…" 

Killian promised himself that he would never find out. Disappearing with a puff of smoke, he appeared miles outside of town, and began the long walk down the mountain to the shop. Even as the Darkness squirmed under his skin like electric eels, he focused on crafting an apology to Emma to vow that regardless of their dislike for each other, he would never violate her, couldn’t even lay a finger on her without permission due to the dagger’s magic. 

Every word seemed wrong, and by the time he arrived at the shop front to quietly slip back onto the patio, he realized that he was in a deep bloody mess of it. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma was well accustomed to avoidance. It was an important part of palace survival when everyone wanted you nearby for their vanity, prestige, or to mite out a point in a quarrel, or your least favorite tutor was trying to teach you your least favorite lessons. To think she’d give a king’s ransom just to see Regina’s cross face with her eyebrows almost pinched into one straight line again, to go back to when translation of ancient runes was her greatest worry…  

Someone avoiding her while she avoided them, though, that was new. This was new. Emma found it refreshing as she tried to spin the positives of working with a sociopath. He knew what he’d done, what he’d broken, almost as much punishment as the nightmares he introduced with his actions, or the thought of Nil’s threats made good creeping up on her without warning. Sleep no longer came between worries for those who she left behind to Nil and the Goblins’ wrath and those who she cared for here, further haunted by thoughts about who might be lurking nearby. Elsa or Anna found her asleep in strange places at strange times, Ingrid picking up on the tension immediately like some hunting hound, and all three of them tried to chase down the creature Emma feared. 

How could Emma ever tell them it was Killian? That her fear was how he might lose control because of the demon voice in his head; how he had looked at her and their struggle before he retreated, how he made her feel in the few seconds that he took away her own limited control? 

Elsa and Ingrid continued to push, and Anna watched quietly, observing until she asked Emma up to her room. It was almost dark, dusky colors painting the glimpse of the sea into a rainbow when Emma took Anna’s hand and helped both of them out of her window and onto the roof. Anna had brought a basket full of blankets, a thermos of hot chocolate, and chocolate covered orange peel for both of them, making Emma squint in suspicion. 

"Emma, my family… Well. It’s hard to be the less exceptional one in some ways. Ingrid, Elsa, my mother, and Olaf were all gifted with incredible talent, ice magic passed down through generations. My father had normal or average talent, and I followed after him,” Anna began, handing Emma the thermos cup, laden full of the steaming beverage. She held up a finger to indicate just a moment, sprinkling a small container of cinnamon over the drink. Emma smiled. 

“The thing about being ordinary, or I suppose I should say not extraordinary, is the difference in the sets of problems my sister and I faced, and as such, the way we see the world. Elsa is brave, she’s daring, and she’s far beyond outspoken. Ingrid is the same; they don’t see the purpose in not beating down doors to find what’s behind,” Anna said, nibbling on the orange peel. “For me, it was never that easy. I learned instead to watch, to wait, to listen and learn before rushing ahead to leap. I know that sometimes force is not the way to help." 

Emma tried to interject, but Anna shook her head, laying an arm around Emma’s shoulders. 

"Emma, anyone can see you’re trying to be strong, but I can see you’re hurting.” Emma flinched in her hold, and Anna gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me anything. You don’t have to say anything, or talk about specifics - you can vent, you can talk, I can talk, or you can ask for advice. I just don’t want you to feel alone, and I want you to feel free to tell me if something happened with no worry of anyone else knowing. I’ll listen, even if it’s just to silence.”

“Anna, I -” Emma began but couldn’t finish, instead crying onto her shoulder in a sudden onslaught of tears. Her hiccuping gasps left Emma feeling like her lungs didn’t work, but Anna was patient, only stroking her hair and soothing her, giving her soft paper handkerchiefs from a box in her basket. 

Emma heard a noise, both of them turning to see Killian pacing the patio, talking to himself as was usual in the evening hours. 

“Emma, I’m not going to pry, but I know that he did something awful to you. I know that he can be truly a terrible person, and that we sometimes protect him too much.” Anna looked from Killian to Emma, her lips a straight line in concern. “I will be damned, though, if he touched you, if he acted in any way less than a gentleman; I will gut him myself -" 

"He didn’t. Not really. We were sparring and he was suddenly so angry. It was like a switch went off, he just lost control. He scared me. He terrified me, because I thought he might do something, I thought he’d be like Nil. He stopped -”

“I’ll kill him myself if you like; he’s bound to never hurt any of us, that disgusting -" 

"No,” Emma started, reaching for Anna. “That’s just it. He stopped, and he looked just as terrified as me. I don’t think… I think he’s losing a battle too; I think that thing is grinding him down. I could almost hear it, and it’s a constant scream. It’s torture, Anna. I - I don’t think - I think whatever safeguard he has for you, Elsa, and Ingrid, is holding what’s in his head on a tether. I don’t think he was going to hurt me, but I think that thing inside of him wanted me to be afraid. It wants him to doubt himself, to keep him scared too.”

“It’s still not OK, Emma, he still -" 

"It’s not right, and I know that. However, nothing happened and I… This situation we’re in, he’s been alone with that thing in his head for a long time. It’s not the first time I’ve seen him struggle for control and win. I don’t think he would ever do anything to betray the last vestiges of humanity in himself.”

Anna mulled over Emma’s words, weighing them. “Elsa says there’s still good in him if you look for it, but I admit this only to you - that thing is definitely getting louder. I’ll think of something to keep you two away from each other for now.”

“Thanks, Anna,” Emma whispered, resting her head on her knees. 

They went to bed soon after, after Emma accepted Anna’s offer to train with her in the morning instead of Killian with great relief. With her mind focused elsewhere, Emma almost forgot about his existence as they spent the morning and afternoon practicing stances and blows, until Ingrid asked them to go drop off a package at the harbor. 

“No,” Killian said flatly, without looking at Emma. 

As Anna raised her palm and started to speak, Ingrid gave her a withering look that Anna returned with her own glare. “I’ll go, it’s not a big deal -" 

"You have chores to attend to, and are minding the shop. The princess has not seen our harbor, and needs a chaperone. Specifically, her chaperone, and the one that is charged with protecting her while she is in our care. Unless he has decided to forego protecting her, in which case I will personally make sure that he cannot step foot in this home again.”

“It’s fine,” Emma shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. To the harbor and back, maybe an hour or so. Let’s not make a fuss.”

Emma walked away to fetch her shoes before anyone could start up again. Waiting outside, she found herself entirely unconcerned with who would be joining her; regarding the sea up close and personal was an experience she needed to count as a win. The sea was a primordial part of what created magic, an element of nature that had long been fought over by many different species. Peace had been hard won for those in the ocean’s depths, and here it was again in danger. If this might be her last chance to see it before either the beginning of a war or her abominable marriage, she would not let anything stand in her way. 

Killian stalked out a few minutes later with nothing more than an affirmative nod at her. She followed in silence, his exasperated body language becoming more and more noticeable. He cleared his throat a few times as if he had something to say, only to end up more tense than before while furiously picking at his ear. Emma had finally had enough with the entire debacle after he practically ran into another woman while mulling his thoughts. The drop off itself was quick, but when she did not turn in the direction of home immediately, he began to press her. 

“We’re done here, aren’t we?”

“I have other things I’d like to do,” she replied firmly, with a slight shrug of dismissal. “Go back, or do something else if you like. It doesn’t matter." 

"No. If I show up without you, Ingrid will throw me out on the bloody streets! Do whatever it is on your own fucking time, princess, I’m not -” Killian’s voice grew louder, but Emma interrupted with a sigh. 

“Killian, I’d appreciate it if you could just…” Emma trailed off, her voice tired. “Just try and be a good person, a gentleman, just until I get to see the ocean, finally. I’ve already forgiven you, and I can’t have you ruin this for me too.”

Killian sputtered, his face turning from calm to angry in a flash, then almost just as quickly becoming impassive once more. It would have been amusing, if she had been willing to tolerate his behavior. He stayed quiet, unsettling so, as she took in the sea. The silence itself was surprisingly companionable, both of them sitting on the pier’s edge, the port bustling with brightly colored fishing boats. The sun dipped lower, finally settling into the sea and spreading out blankets of pinks on the horizon. 

“Thank you,” Emma whispered, and Killian grunted. Emma refused to turn to look at him, but let her words spill over into the darkening water. “We don’t have to like each other, but that - when we were sparring - that can’t happen again Killian. I need to trust you enough to know that you would never -" 

Killian made to start speaking and Emma waved her hand in an attempt to make him stop. 

"No. Listen. I am not saying that - I know that wasn’t your intention when this happened. You caught yourself, you didn’t - You didn’t let it push you into becoming someone you aren’t, even under all of… you didn’t let yourself. I just need the promise that you won’t let that thing take over you, that you won’t let it master you when you have control. That thing wants me destroyed.”

Killian swallowed hard, and took a moment before answering. “I don’t know if I can promise you that.”

“You need to. If we are going to be allies, you need to.” Emma sighed. 

“I found a potential ally for you. I can promise for now that I want to be free, and I will not find freedom within the Darkness.”

Beautiful lies. Let’s see how perceptive the princess is, hmm?  

“For now, that will have to do.” Emma sighed, and stood up, finally ready to return. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Being around humans was grating enough when Killian was not in a hurry, but being around humans while under a time crunch, especially ones that tried to flirt or were too nervous - it was hell. 

The styles of human fashion had changed markedly in the time that Ingrid had resettled with her nieces, allowing Emma several wardrobes to choose from in both past and present clothing. Ingrid was taller, but with a quick hem all of her clothing fit the princess well enough, and Elsa or Anna’s outfits fit her perfectly. 

Killian could find nothing that fit in what was left of Liam’s or Nemo’s clothing, and even if he could, breeches and a tufted tunic did not seem to be 'en vogue’. With a little research and a brilliantly orchestrated bribe of the women getting to dress Emma, he’d found a shop in the city that carried the newest trends in what this ruddy century considered clothes. They called it post-modernist, or mod - the contrast of black, white, and primary colors or prints more of a headache to Killian than cohesive. 

The saleswoman had been tinted red from the second she came to help him with his measurements, pulling out an animal print suit that he immediately refused, then another in an itchy fabric she called corduroy. After many attempts, he settled on a few garments, and hoped that Emma didn’t have nearly as much trouble with whatever Anna or Elsa cooked up. 

Killian heard her protests behind the door as he adjusted the neck of the damned clothing that this world had made popular. Anything called a 'turtleneck’ shouldn’t be a mainstream garment, but here he was wearing one in black, tucked into charcoal and blue checkered linen trousers with a matching 'sport’ coat. Plaid, was the word for it, the saleswoman had informed him of its pattern name, completely flustered by him when he walked out from the dressing room with it on in the shop; his hope that this would be inconspicuous was already in question.

Emma protested loudly again, and he heard Elsa and Anna laugh brightly while Ingrid made clucking sounds with her tongue. 

Stepping closer, Killian tried to separate their voices. 

“There’s nothing -” Emma stammered, her voice high and wavering. 

Elsa soothed back, voice dangerously sugary, her preferred way of convincing a customer to try a new dessert. “That’s the style. It’s Modernist, all the rage in the cities.”

“My legs! - and arms! No, no way Elsa, and these tall slippers are -" 

"Heels, Emma, they’re heels ,” Anna supplied. “You look amazing, and I mean it. In this realm, this is a deal maker and what the women wear out -" 

"There is nothing to this! I can’t possibly convince someone to ally with me wearing -" 

"Oh, you’d be surprised. I almost put you in my go-go boots before deciding on the heels. And it will get you inside, which is what matters. If you have to, you can find more clothing. Plus, Ingrid did some light enchantment work on your bag. Your sword is in there should you need it, and I put in some hair pins and lipstick,” Elsa said matter of factly. “Now then. Come on, let’s get one last look at you -" 

There was movement behind the door again, along with more protests, before the door swung wide open in front of Killian - much to his surprise and Emma’s shock to see him waiting. 

Emma stood at his height, or maybe just below, dark kohl lining her eyes and making them look like cut emeralds in their sharpness, contrasted with a soft pink color on her cheeks and lips. Her hair was pinned up loosely and messily gathered in the back, strands pulled loose over her shoulders and by her temples, the ends falling on the simply cut blue of the dress she wore. Strange slipper sandals with impractical straps climbed just above her ankles, the heel far too high for any sort of work, and she wobbled dangerously in unsteady excitement. A sharp 'V’ in the fabric neck of the blue dress let her collarbones brazenly peek out with the top of her breasts, no corset or undergarment evident, with a dropped waist that slightly flared out to end abruptly at her thighs, showing off long legs that seemed to never end. Her shoulders were bare as well, sun-kissed skin everywhere on display as she tried to pull the fabric down with one nervous hand. 

Focus! What is wrong with you?

The Darkness was ignored and unheard. Killian found himself unable to speak for a long moment as Emma’s cheeks reddened deeply, the flush spreading down her chest so quickly he could follow its path, making his mouth dry. 

"I can’t leave in this if he is going to make faces and mock me the whole time -” Emma began, growing even more flustered when the other three women burst into peals of laughter. “Please, there has to be a longer gown than this -" 

Killian cleared his throat, unsure if he would be able to speak without his voice cracking, leveling a glare at Elsa. "I agree. This - this won’t work. She needs to be able to move, to not stand out -" 

Mumbling something, a flash of magic caught Emma’s shoes with a silvery hue. "There. Stability charm.” Ingrid nodded. “High boots were all the rage in the Court for some time. This charm saved my neck before. You should be just fine now.”

“As for moving and standing out,” Elsa purred, holding Emma’s shoulders and giving Killian a salacious look of amusement, “the charm and her bag should be just fine for any trouble you may run into. She’d stand out if she didn’t wear something trendy, especially with it being such a warm spring. Or are you implying that Emma stands out for another reason?" 

The air crackled between them, the bait in Elsa’s questioning apparent to everyone but Emma, who looked perplexed.

"Killian, I don’t like it either. I can find something in their closet that is -” Emma began, reaching her hand towards him. He flinched away, Elsa giggling once more before Anna gave her a sharp pinch. Even the Darkness stayed quietly observant, as unsteady and unaware as Emma in this regard. 

Killian scrubbed a hand over his face furiously, giving them all a thin smile. “No, no, Elsa knows best about these things. Come on then, shall we? I don’t want her getting any more bright ideas .” Emma stepped around him, looking back confused as she stepped down the stairs to head outside, all of them giving her encouraging looks. When she was out of reach, Ingrid simply shrugged and excused herself, while Elsa grinned widely. Shaking her head, Anna watched bemusedly as Killian mouthed he was going to kill them, and Elsa mouthed back Good luck . 

Emma waited for him on the terrace, glowing softly in the star light, bag clutched tightly in hand. She bit her lip, anxiety written across her face. 

“We don’t have to do this, love. If you aren’t ready, that is. We can train longer, work our way up to this, or have them meet under other circumstances.” His whispered attempt at reassurance fell flat to his own ears, so it was no surprise when she shook her head. 

“I’m done waiting. I can’t wait any longer; every day that passes means it’s more likely that…” Emma looked down, taking a deep breath. “Let us be done with this.”

“Aye.” Offering his hand, she slipped her own palm against his and curled her fingers to rest interwoven with his. They took a step together and were gone. 

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Emma was unprepared for the combined smell of too many people, urine, and acrid smoke when they landed on the strange hard ground that made her teeth rattle at the impact. She gripped Killian tightly, resting her head against his chest as his jacket fluttered against her cheek in the wind and he let his arms hover inches away from her before lowering them to his side. 

“Princess?” he asked gruffly and she sighed, pulling away to steady herself on her own. 

Emma pressed a finger to her temple; there was another beat that came through the ground, far more unsteady as it rose up. The thumping noise made her feel off kilter. “Sorry,” she murmured, looking around. 

Across the street, lights swung back and forth, lighting in different colors and patterns to what Emma was now realizing was a beat. She stepped towards it and saw a line of people waiting near a single entrance, strange words swimming across a black panel of lights. People jostled her as she tried to get closer to read what the lights said, but it looked like they were in a different language. She looked for Killian to ask, but he was nowhere in sight. 

A blaring noise came from her left, two large lights approaching quickly, too fast for her to stop. What was this beast - 

Hands pulled her roughly back onto the crowded walkway, a pair of blue eyes under wildly curled blonde hair incredulously staring at her. 

“Are you trying to get killed, lady?” the other woman hissed. Emma blinked, staring at her. “Watch where you walk, okay? You’re going to get flattened by these asshole drivers if you don’t. Your boyfriend there should have warned you." 

Killian came into view, staring at both of them with annoyance. 

"Bloody hell, Emma, I looked up for two seconds and you were gone -" 

"And in the middle of the street, looking up,” the stranger pointed out. 

“And in the middle of the street looking up, at gods know what -" 

"Where I saved her from a car hitting her,” the stranger added again. 

“Where she saved you from - Bloody brilliant, you almost got hit by a motorized contraption. Taking you to the city was an awful idea, I should have - ugh. Because that’s just a bloody brilliant way of making mates -" 

"So this isn’t your boyfriend then. This is your father?” the strange woman questioned, and Emma felt her cheeks flush deeply, Killian looking at both of them in disgust. 

Emma tried to stammer out a few nos, but not before Killian supplied something suspiciously sounding like 'bugger all’. 

“If he’s some sort of sugar daddy, that’s fine too, no judgements. It’s the 60s babe, free love and love free, ya know? Just making sure he’s with you, should be watching a pretty lady like you -" 

"She’s nothing to me,” Killian stated harshly. Emma sucked in a breath, but the stranger only shrugged unperturbed. 

“Right then. I’m Alice. Since I saved your, er, nothing person here, if you happen to be heading into the Never, do you think I can get in with you? You both look very posh I must say.” Alice said, giving Emma a little spin. “M'own not 'nothing person’, we call them a girlfriend, is in there somewhere. I haven’t seen her in weeks, and she hasn’t been home or to the usual or unusual places. You catch my drift?" 

"Yes, we’ll get you in!” Emma replied, laughing lightly. 

At the same time, Killian issued a firm, “No." 

Alice sighed deeply. "I hate to beg, but I will. Please. Her stage name is Cheshire, but her real name is Robyn. I’m desperate." 

Emma looked at Killian, her eyes pleading. He shook his head, crossing his arms. "Absolutely not. You’ve already almost died out here; we’re getting in and out of here as quickly as possible without any more of your nonsense. Now come on.”

Pulling Emma’s arm roughly and walking across the street as the cars stopped one by one, Alice scrambled to follow. The line parted around them, leading to two large guards at the door with name tags on their bulky, overly large black suits: T. Dee one stated, the other T. Dum . Emma wondered how two different people could look so entirely like each other, and be so vastly but unnameably different. 

“We’re on the list,” Killian gritted through his teeth, the noise and heavy beats of the music making it difficult to hear. “KJ and E.”

Alice tugged on Emma’s bag gently, pointing out the marquee above, the black banner with its blinking lights. “It says in Greek, 'Θαύμα Ποτέ Νησί’. Never Worry Land. Never Wonder Land.”

Despite the heat of the evening, a chill ran up Emma’s spine. 

“Yep. Yer right here,” one of the men said, pulling aside a red velvet rope while the other opened a door for them. 

Squaring her shoulders, Emma spoke as firmly and loudly as she could. “She’s with us too,” nodding at Alice. The woman’s eyes went wide, and the guards at the door narrowed their squinting glares. Killian’s nails bit into her flesh until the two guards looked at each other and shrugged, letting them all enter. 

Past the entrance, Alice launched herself at Emma, laughing and crying at the same time. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, you beautiful woman. I - we, me and Bynni, we owe you.” She turned to Killian and stared at him, almost like she could see right through him. “We owe you too, so consider this: be nicer to her. Μπορεί ακόμα να σας σώσει." 

Killian bristled, letting go of Emma in contempt. The inside of the club was dark, but the bars and dance floor shone with bright and strange combinations of lights, sound, and color. Women writhed in cages that moved around the large dance floor, the size of which was comparable to a small ballroom. 

Elsa had been right about her attire. If anything, Emma was modestly dressed compared to the strips of fabric some of the women were wearing, hips and buttocks on complete display as they undulated. Killian motioned for her to listen, and she peeled her eyes away to regard his face. 

"No more bullshit, Emma. You have to listen now.” She nodded, and Killian seemed to relax more, staring at their surroundings. “I have to find our contact, Tink. She said she would be at the far end of the dance floor, so stay here. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Yes sir. No more disobedience.” Emma gave a mock salute and he bristled even more. 

“Just stay here, look pretty, and act nice. You know,” Killian smirked and let his anger volley in a faux sympathetic tone. “What you’re good at.” Emma looked as if she’d been struck, and he smiled a pitying grin, her glare following him. 

He made it a few steps away before returning, remembering his dire warning. “This is the most important thing, I almost forgot.” His voice was deadly serious in contrast to the smug sarcasm he had just displayed. “Do not drink or eat anything they give you. Not a morsel. Do you understand?" 

Emma nodded, and Killian raced off towards the dance floor. 

  The music of the club was overwhelming, thrumming through her body. She watched Killian disappear into the mass of people, heading towards a raised platform with large speakers on either side. A woman stood, raising her hand with a strange ear warming device on her head, a short green dress that was covered in glitter fitted to her like a second skin. 

Killian had instructed her to stay where she was, so she leaned against a tall chrome stool watching everything with interest. A man with a saccharine smile grinned at her from behind the counter, the walls behind him filled with various colored bottles of spirits. He seemed too young to be there, a child-like mischief behind his smile, but one marked with a strangely malicious intent. Emma shivered. She didn’t like the way the man’s eyes gleamed as he looked at her with that same look that pricked at a familiar uneasiness.

“Can I get you a drink, Miss?” he said, and his voice was like sweet cream. “On the house.” She didn’t see him make any movement, but a drink suddenly appeared in front of her. It smelled of vanilla, strawberries, honey, and sugared plums. Killian’s warning played over in her head.

Do not drink or eat anything they give you. 

A tag was on the bottom of the drink. Had that been there before? She pulled it between her fingers, almost upsetting the martini glass. A picture of two rabbits sitting on a flower bed while toasting drinks was etched on the yellowing paper, inky ornate cursive flowing along the bottom. Drink Me . Strangely, if she put the tag down, the image from afar looked like something else entirely but her brain could not place what. 

Emma put it down and went to move away when a gaggle of women pulled her to the dance floor. Emma was spun, twirled, and swallowed by the dancing crowd. The music had changed, moving through her body like a delicious current. Her dress suddenly made sense - everything was hot and slick, the scrap of a dress almost too much fabric on her skin now. In front of her, a pair of brown eyes met hers, and a woman ground against her, gyrating her hips into Emma’s to the beat of the music. Hands behind Emma grasped her hips, and another woman, a redhead with dull gray eyes stroked up and down her sides. Emma felt overcome, the movements overwhelming. Swaying slightly, she tried to press through the crowd and back to the bar, but could not move through the group that seemed to only knit tighter around her. 

The world twisted again, and a muscular, lean, dark skinned man grabbed her in a dip, hands low on her thigh as he brought her leg up in the air. Pulling her close again, they spun in an elaborate tango before he twirled her into a tanned blonde man that made a cat-like purring noise, the dancers around Emma moving closer and making movements that left her breathless. Martinis were being passed again, tags being thrown in the air and raining down on sweaty skin. A waiter with the same gleaming eyes as the man behind the counter smiled that same saccharine smile that belied something dark just below the surface.

“Try a drink, Miss.” He had the exact same voice as the other man, and she backed away. “Just a sip, they’re delicious.” 

Emma refused again, now pushing against the flow of the throng of writhing bodies. Another group of women pulled her into a grind, the pressure intense, their hands roaming free on her body. Everything felt deliciously good, and she forgot why she was so frightened before as soft, gloss covered lips kissed a trail down her neck. Behind her, two women touched trails down her sides with rough finger pads, one gently tugging her hair, the other alternating small nibbles on her ear lobe while running nails down her exposed shoulder. They were all whispering at once, and Emma’s mouth was so dry.

“Have a drink, try a sip. Drink it, it tastes amazing!” 

Emma’s knees went weak as it felt like thousands of hands were on her, stroking her in exquisite torture. Scratchy moans turned to whispers and breathless gasps of the same words.

“Have a drink.”

Pleasure coursed through her body as Emma rolled her body and spun to the music. Her head was blessedly empty, she had no worries, and what would one drink do? It couldn’t hurt; Killian wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy, so it very well could be she should drink it. 

Something in her mind wriggled, and she realized that her eyes were closed. She opened them to see Killian struggling to get to her, Alice with him looking horrified as he tried reaching out his hand and shouting words that she couldn’t hear over the music. 

The dagger around her neck glinted, reflecting the bright lights that littered the ceiling. Light hit a dancer, the redhead with the dull eyes, and to her growing terror, Emma saw that the woman was falling apart. A skeleton with dripping remnants of flesh jumped with the crowd and ground her hips with a decaying man. Bodies pushed hard against her as she tried to reach for Killian. She saw more of the waiters giving out drinks, the liquid sloshing in their glasses. The redhead threw back a martini after clinking it against the decaying man’s glass, and suddenly they were young again. Emma screamed but could not be heard over the din. 

Killian tried to grasp her outstretched hand, fingers barely touching her own, but several of the suited waiters were surrounding her. The man behind the counter held out a drink, and with the illusion broken, she could see the viscous, bile yellow drink in the glass, noting the sour smell it permeated the air with. Emma couldn’t hear anything but the music and the chanting of the men with their gleaming eyes, the same four words somehow superimposed over the music.

“Have a drink, Miss.” One of the waiters tilted her head back, another held her arms, a set anchored each leg, and one secured her jaw open. Killian tried to fight to reach her, but the crowd clawed at him from every angle. 

“Lost Boys! Leave her!”

The man behind the counter smiled as recognition dawned on Emma, her panicked noises swallowed by the song.

The yellow liquid poured down her throat, and as soon as the glass was empty she could hear the moans and screams of agony in the music’s shrill tones. Her body felt tired, leaden, and the room spun as she felt what could only be described as a thread being cut in her solar plexus. A force pushed her deep into her mind, swimming through darkness towards a small window of sight, watching her entire body move under someone else’s control. 

A low, oily, familiar, voice spoke from the depths of the darkness. “Emma? How amusing, it feels like ages since you and I last spoke!” It laughed, and through the window of what should have been her eyes, she watched erratic movement that must be dancing. She could now see the truth of what this place was, the glamour lost as some strange magic controlled her. “Well Emma, you’re mine now. A Lost Girl, one of Pann’s very own menagerie.”

A memory swam through her mind.

Granny had told her grandchild legends to scare her into bed at night. Granny would never deign to tell such tales in front of Emma, but Ruby on the other hand was happy to oblige. When they snuck out at night and drank honeyed wine on a secluded balcony, Ruby would try to scare her with the stories of the olden times. 

“So then Granny said,” Ruby hiccuped softly, “that the Fae that got banished, they used to make these circles.” She swayed, making a circle in the air with her finger. Emma was warm and felt herself swaying in the warm winds, looking out over the orchard below. “They made ‘em out of mushrooms, and if a human walked through one, BAM!” She clapped her hands together, and Emma jumped with a giggle. “Part of their collection. The magic would catch the human, and they’d dance forever - you’d see these Fae with humans following falling apart, cursed to dance until they were dust.” She wiggled her fingers for added emphasis, and Emma laughed along with her, imagining a skeleton trying to dance. 

Here in this otherworldly place, humans, creatures, and Fae came to dance under the lights, surrounded by walls painted in strange runes; they came like flies to a glittering spider’s web, eager to be trapped. Dancing without end in pure pleasure, extending their lives as their bodies rotted then renewed again. Forever lost, Lost Boys and Girls for eternity. 

Emma could still feel sensation, but as if through layers of thick wool. Something sticky and wet touched her as she spun, and she felt bony fingers grab her wrist. As if commanded, she looked out to see a skeletal figure gripping her, both of them swaying to the beat. It downed a passed martini glass, becoming a heart faced brunette with glazed eyes, her fingers once again soft on Emma’s wrist. She mumbled quietly, and Emma strained to hear what her own voice repeated back. 

"Have a drink. Have a drink. Just one. Have a drink.”

Pann’s laughter was all around, almost overpowering the sensation of Killian’s arms dragging her away and fighting to free her from the throng. Nails were sharp, blows against them both coming from all sides as Killian pulled her to a door, her purse tight against her, spilling hair pins that he picked up and bent with his mouth. Jamming the pin inside the door’s lock, it took a few wiggles before the door knob turned, the crowd pressing the door closed as Killian held her in the darkened stairwell that lay behind it. 

Emma willed her body to move, only to feel sharp zaps of electric fire race through her, making her shake from the exertion. The only thing she wanted was to go back to the crowd, to drink and dance, her mind fuzzy and warm like a favorite blanket. She couldn’t hear Killian’s frustrated yelling, or feel how he had to grip her shoulders; she only saw his eyes staring at hers in sharp focus as if she had woken from the deepest sleep. 

His hair was askew and his suit was ripped on the shoulder, the sleeve dangling slightly, but Emma could only fixate on the blood that dribbled from his lip. Another long rivulet trailed from his forehead and fell between his eyes. It was closer to the right side as he faced her, one of her trembling hands twitching up to smooth the lines of worry away - 

Emma fell back, her body convulsing violently with the same electrical shocks of pain she had felt before, closing her eyes in an attempt to keep the voice out of her head. 

“Now now, don’t make a fuss, Princess. You are such a prize, I’m so happy you could join my collection instead of someone else’s. The whole United Realms is looking for you! It seems that the Goblin prince is quite taken by your beauty.”

It was like nails on a chalkboard, someone screaming and clawing at her face while Pann laughed. Behind it, Emma felt her weight being pulled, a voice she begrudgingly trusted whispering not to panic.

“Let go. Let go, I’ve got you. Don’t fight it, just rest,” Killian repeated, dragging her body upwards.

Pann’s laugh quieted while Emma faded away, her eyes open and glassy, the world going golden for a brief moment, then dark. 

Time for a story - The right support

Tapping the end of her pen onto the top of her desk, Felicity stared at the monitors of her computer. She had called up the newest data of their bio-stimulants, reducing the displayed numbers to the most important ones. Still, she couldn’t find what had caused the glitches in the latest versions of the bio-stimulants.

For weeks, she and Bruce had worked nonstop on improving their bio-stimulants now. Whenever they had thought that they had finally made progress and were on a good way to make the product meet their customer’s needs and whenever they had thought they had finally reached the big break, the bio-stimulants showed some new glitches though. Every step forward meant two steps back at least.

It was maddening.

After three days of turning everything at the Applied Science Division upside down to experiment with the bio-stimulant herself, Felicity had figured out that it might be best to focus on the data they had collected over the last weeks. She knew that there was no way she could focus on that in her office at the company though since there was always someone coming in or someone calling her. The past weeks, she had barely been able to drink a mug of coffee without being interrupted.

Not for the first time Felicity wondered if Bruce had been right and they should have delayed their self-imposed deadline like he had suggested. Felicity had been so eager to improve their products that she hadn’t been able to wait though. She had been so confident that she could make it work in a short time that the setback was just even more disappointing.

Even after hours of staring at the data now, there was nothing she could find that would help her. She couldn’t find what had caused these terrible glitches that made it hard to call their bio-stimulant a real breakthrough.

In the back of her mind, Felicity knew that wasn’t entirely true. The bio-stimulants had allowed people with nerve damage to walk again. No matter how many glitches there were, giving people the chance to walk again was still a big thing.

Outside of her home office, she heard the kids whispering to each other. They were discussing whether they should come in here or not. Felicity only listened with one ear though. She had locked the door for the first time since she had started working here because she really needed her rest right now.

“Maybe we should check on her,” Emmy whispered.

“Mama doesn’t want,” Tommy answered. “Mama has work.”

“Mama work,” Addie agreed though, only three seconds later, she already added, “Addie see Mama.”

“See?” Emmy’s voice was urgent. “Addie wants to check on mom too.”

“But Mama work.”

Felicity shook her head slightly and focused back on the shown data. As much as she loved to listen to her kids, especially when they wanted to take care of her, she didn’t have the energy or the patience to listen to them right now. The little energy she had was needed for analyzing the data.

It wasn’t long before the kids decided that it was best to leave their mommy alone. They left the room right in front of her door, leaving Felicity in quiet alone.

With a sigh, Felicity leaned back in her chair and took another look at the data. The numbers alone looked good. They looked better than all the data they had gathered before. They didn’t seem to explain what was wrong.

A frown spread on Felicity’s forehead. Narrowing her eyes at the gathered data, Felicity reached out for her hand for the mug of coffee on the desk. When she noticed that the mug was already empty, she released a low groan. This really didn’t seem to be her day.

With a deep sigh, Felicity shook her head and turned her gaze away from the monitors. This wasn’t leading her anywhere, so she could as well write Bruce an email and tell him that their bio-stimulants might have hit a dead end.

Felicity had already pulled her keyboard closer, her fingers ready to dance over the keys and type the email of frustration when a soft knock was to be heard from the door. Shooting a look back over her shoulder briefly, Felicity decided to ignore the knock. She was not in the right mood to talk to anyone right now, especially not the kids. She didn’t want to take out her frustration on them.

“Felicity?”

At hearing Oliver’s soft voice, Felicity felt her determination waver. She knew all the good effects having Oliver at her side had for her. His love and his support always made her feel better, now matter what dark hole she had fallen in before.

Pushing the right combination of key, the door unlocked with a quiet clicking. Only a moment later, Oliver stepped into the office. Felicity saw him from the corner of her eye, but she didn’t turn her head to look at him.

“Hey.”

Felicity answered with a grumble, already typing away on that email to Bruce. The sooner her partner in IT knew that she was struggling with making progress, the sooner he could try and find a solution.

Realizing that she needed the name of the newest version of their bio-stimulant, Felicity lifted her head to get it from the papers at the left side of her desk. The movement caused her head to bump right against something hard. With a groan, she held her hand to the aching spot on her head, but she wasn’t the only one who was groaning.

“What are you doing?” Felicity asked, turning around to Oliver in her chair.

“What am I doing?” Oliver frowned and brushed the side of his hand against the split bottom lip. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to grab the papers.”

“I wanted to kiss the back of your head.” Oliver lowered his hand, looking at the few drops of blood on it. “I couldn’t know that you would just attack me like that.”

Felicity grumbled once more and rubbed her fingers over her head one last time. She wouldn’t be surprised if she got bump there. Oliver’s jaw, like every other part of her body, just consisted of muscles like steel.

“Second try?” Oliver asked, cocking his head slightly.

Felicity hummed in agreement quietly. The ghost of a smile flashed over Oliver’s face about her reaction, amused about her slight disproval. Knowing how much she needed a kiss, he leaned down and kissed her head right at the hairline. When he leaned back, he smiled and held out a steaming mug for her.

“Is that coffee?”

“Would I dare to show up at your office without bringing you coffee?”

Of course he wouldn’t Felicity thought to herself with a small smile. She took the mug from him and pulled it closer to her. She was already about to lead it to her nose and took in the delicious scent of her desired coffee. Before she could do so, her eyes caught sight of the words written on the porcelain.

I smile every time I think about you.

Oliver didn’t have to say anything about it for Felicity to know that those words were meant to be a message to her. Although they had barely talked all day, he knew that she needed some comfort and he was giving it to her happily. He just loved her so much and knew her so well.

While Felicity was taking some small sips of the coffee, Oliver looked at her intently. She could feel his gaze on her skin, but she avoided it. She was too down to talk about what she was feeling, especially with someone who knew her as well as Oliver.

When she put the mug away on the desk and lifted her gaze, Oliver was still looking at her though. As much as Felicity wanted to avoid talking about all the setbacks, she knew Oliver wouldn’t let her get away without saying anything. He wanted to know what was going on with her because he was worried about her.

“I can’t find the cause of these glitches,” Felicity said with a sigh. “Now I have to tell Bruce that he was right. We need more time to improve the bio-stimulant and I will need a lot more of his help than I thought I would need.”

“Bruce is your friend,” Oliver said reassuringly, putting his hand to her shoulder and squeezing it, “and he is your partner. He won’t mind offering help.”

“It’s just annoying the hell out of me. I wanted the improvements a lot sooner and I-“ Felicity stopped shaking her head and turning away on her chair. “Just forget it. It’s not that important.”

She knew it was stupid to feel the way that she did. What she and Bruce managed to do was still a lot. It was still a world-changing development. It was-

When Oliver turned Felicity’s chair and pulled it closer to him, Felicity frowned at him. Oliver was only smiling back at her softly though.

“Want to know a secret?”

Felicity perked up her eyebrows. “Shoot.”

“I found an answer for Emmy’s question,” Oliver told her. When Felicity only frowned at that, unsure what he meant, his smile widened. “When we were answering her questions about our love for each other, one question she asked what was one thing that we noticed about each other that we don’t think the other noticed about themselves yet.”

A quiet smile spread on Felicity’s lips as she remembered. Emmy was doing a project about great love stories for school. Unlike her classmates, she had chosen a real love story, the love story of her parents to write about. Last week, she had asked her parents a handful of questions to get a first impression. Now she was peppering some more questions into every conversation and it really was the sweetest thing ever.

She and Oliver had answered every question as well as they could. That last question Emmy had asked that one evening last week had challenged Oliver a little bit too much though. He hadn’t had an answer.

“So what did you find out?”

Oliver took Felicity’s hands and laced his fingers through hers before he said, “Last week I said that you were always incredibly patient with me and you still are. Right now, I realized why that is the case. You are so patient with me because sometimes, when you are feeling really low, your first instinct is to push me away too. You understand why I need some room sometimes because you need yours at times too.”

Felicity smiled softly. She wasn’t sure if it was something that she truly hadn’t noticed about herself in all her life. She felt like that thought had crossed her mind a couple of times. It was different hearing Oliver saying it out loud though. It was more final.

“Do you think it’s a bad thing?”

“No.” Oliver shook his head. “Needing and taking some time for ourselves is important. We always share our thoughts at the end anyway. It’s who we are.”

It’s who we are.

Oliver’s words echoed through her mind, making her smile. He was right. Telling each other everything they thought and felt was who they were. They always did that even if they had to take a detour or two to get there.

Shooting a look at her monitors, Felicity puckered her lips. She was desperate to find out more about these glitches and find the cause of them, so she could start working on fixing them. After she had neglected her family all day without any success here, Felicity felt like it was time to take a break.

“Let’s call it a day for today.”

Smiling, Oliver cupped her face in his hands and leaned forward to capture her lips with his. Felicity sighed against his lips, enjoying the gentle brush.

“I think that is a good idea.”

After pushing only a couple of keys on her keyboard, the entire system turned down. Felicity puckered her lips, turning around to Oliver on her chair.

“What?” he asked, perking up his eyebrows.

Felicity reached out her hands for Oliver and let him pull her up onto her feet. She leaned forward, letting herself lean against Oliver’s chest fully.

“I think today would be a good day for my husband to spoil me.”

Smiling, Oliver wrapped his arms around her waist and brushed his lips against hers. He didn’t need to say the words for her to know his answer.

“Gladly.”

Hand in hand, they walked out of her office. Felicity leaned into his side and rested her head against his shoulder. Oliver’s lips brushed against the top of her head. His stubble got caught in her hair, making her chuckle slightly.

“So, what’s your plan?” Felicity asked when they were strolling down the hallway. “How do you plan on spoiling me?”

Oliver chuckled softly, his fingers tightening around her hand.

“I am going to cook that Chicken Enchilada Casserole that you liked so much today,” Oliver told her. “I even figured out how to give it that last bit of perfection that was missing for me. You know, I was always thinking about changing the amount of spices that were already added in the recipe because I thought it was what was needed. The more I thought about it though, the more sure I became that the right way was adding something new and-“

When Felicity stood still at the head of the stairs, Oliver stopped right next to her. He turned around, watching her closely while she was processing her thoughts.

“All this time I was looking at what we have,” Felicity said, thinking out loud, “but I should have looked for what is missing with these bio-transplants.”

Pulling her bottom lip between her front teeth and biting down on it, Felicity turned around to Oliver. She knew she didn’t need to say anything for him to understand exactly what she wanted and needed right now.

“Back to work?”

Felicity nodded shortly, squeezing his fingers. “But I promise that I will hurry up and call it a day by the time dinner is ready. Is that okay?”

Oliver brushed his lips against hers once more. “Of course it is.”

Squeezing his fingers, Felicity smiled at him for a moment. She knew no other words were needed, so she let go of Oliver’s hands and walked back into her office quickly. She locked the door behind herself, making the quiet promise to herself to take the day off tomorrow to spend with her family. After all the time she had spent with work, she had been kept her from her family for too long. She needed to make up to them for it.

For now, she had to save the world though. She knew her family understood that.

If you haven’t voted on my survey for the next multi-chapter or want to vote again, you can do that here.

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @muslimsmoak @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @arrowsalways @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @scarletqueen23 @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @paarti12 @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @cutearrowgirl @mrt2501 @mecha1330 @arsipaci14 @mzminx @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafrancis-blog @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @navyaarsha @fandoms-breathe-life @simone4mcswarek @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @itsmagnoliagirl @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @javinancupil @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @thats0klaroline @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @peterpanslostgirl666 @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @soaring-cities @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @felicity087 @i-claim-only-emily @pattid1 @westallenandolicityshipper @babyolicityandwestallen @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @olicity5ever @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04 @24karatgem

(If you want to be tagged or untagged, just let me know. :))

Reviewing time for MAG140! … abridged version because I want to be Caught Up with these before this week’s release and Time Is An Enemy and so is my ability to do things without a deadline.

- I have not much to say about the statement itself except that:

(MAG140, John Flamsteed) “You are familiar of course with my persecutor and tormentor Edmond Halley. The one so oft descending upon me as Nemesis with her sword to avenge upon my hubris. […] I will admit that in my heart, I nurtured such dreams of revenge that when they came to me the name of God felt hollow upon my lips. Another dignity stripped from me by mine enemy. […] No. If there was to be a confrontation or action taken against Raymer, it would be I, and I alone, that would have to take it. […] Again he traced his path under that dark and hidden wood, and again I followed, quiet in my manner, keen in my observance. […] It was that in his visit, he was accompanied by Edmond Halley. My dear Raymer, whose body had gone cold and still in my own cruel hands. […] they were the eyes of my Raymer, the one I couldn’t destroy.”

… insert here Kate Beaton’s “MY NEMESIS” comic, holy Mew John Flamsteed. In the same vain (warning for description of murder by drowning):

(MAG140, John Flamsteed) “I wasted no time, and drew my smallsword, and praised to God, who gifted me foresight to carry it. I struck Raymer a fierce blow to the leg. He fell, still clutching at me, and in a moment, cast my sword away into the trees and grabbed at my coat. With a fierce strength never before awakened within me, I gripped the head of my foul adversary, and forced it down, into the dark pool before us. There I held it, the water so cold upon my skin the marks have yet to fade. And Raymer trashed, and kicked, and made such sounds as I have never before heard of the dying. And he was still. I drew him up with the black water still thickly flowing from him. He was dead at my hand, and though I well knew it to be an act of defence and retribution, I felt within me a sudden terror of discovery.”

I wonder what Flamsteed would have said, if he had been discovered spontaneously stalking and stabbing and drowning Halley – wait, no, I know, he would have muttered “Self-defence”, probably. It just escalated so quickly, as a natural progression in the way that he told the story… but seriously. You were so very chill with murder, dude. (That was a strong grudge, wasn’t it.)

- Alright, so; the events were precisely dated:

(MAG140, John Flamsteed) “I know it was the second of May [1715] when this took place, for it was no doubt the crowning glory that he had stolen from me that occupied his mind that eve, and caused his steps to quicken and grow careless.”

He is referring to the date of ~Halley’s Eclipse~, which Halley correctly predicted would take place on May 3rd 1715 – except “Note: Great Britain did not adopt the Gregorian calendar until 1752, so the date was at the time considered 22 April 1715.” (I know Nothing about dates of eclipses and Britain’s own calendars so I have to trust Wiki on this x”)), so oops, Jonny…? Flamsteed should not have referred to it as being in May...

So The Dark is once against tied to solar eclipses; Oliver had first seen Gertrude’s death as happening around the day of an eclipse in Ny-Ålesund in March 2015 (MAG011, MAG025), and Basira had pointed out the relation between Halley’s Comet and The Dark’s activities in MAG108. If so, that would give Jon&Basira some time to operate in the North pole, given that the next (partial) solar eclipse planned in Ny-Ålesund on August 11st. Given, however, that season 4 has constantly reminded us of the subjectivity of symbols appropriated by Fear cultists and all… I don’t think the dates will actually matter all that much, at the end of the day, and they’ll be screwed anyway.

- The way I understood it: Edmond Halley had discovered Dark cultists and was joining them, was meant to do… something, but got killed by Flamsteed before that could happen and something different happened? Did the cultists have no idea about how to free the being-that-became-Maxwell-Rayner in the water, and whatever they wanted to do around the time of the eclipse wouldn’t have worked because the thing trapped in there needed a corpse to get out?

(MAG140, John Flamsteed) “a strange and shrouded wood not a league from what might draw the interests of the pompous fool with whose whims I was now so well-acquainted. And in that quiet seclusion, while I looked on in silence and astonishment, he would meet with figures both man and woman alike, with dull clothing, and eyes that in the darkness of that wooded place seemed wholly black, and empty. Their words were soft and impenetrable to me from the spot wherein I was concealed, but they had much impact upon Raymer – who oft would stagger backwards as though struck. […] And as I waited there, the enormity of my actions settled upon me like lead, and Raymer’s dark-eyed compatriots arrived to attend him. Seeing him prostrate and lifeless upon the ground was clearly a shock, and their distress was marked upon them. And yet there seemed no sadness or horror within their passion, but surprise and confusion, and the question they cast between them was that of what was to be done, for it seemed Raymer was vital to a task as yet unfinished. […] he began to thank me. His gratitude was so plain and sincere that I could scarce understand it as he spoke, but he repeated it again and again, thanking me for his life. For his freedom. I stared into his eyes, and though they met mine, I saw spreading inside them the darkness, and mist.”

And what had trapped the creature in the water? Trapping is usually Web’s favourite activity but… here, in water…?

I was super-cautious about the idea that Rayner was body-hopping, but it seems I was wrong to be, that is what he was doing! Though I think it might not be a human-who-became-an-avatar but a full monster emanating from the power, if he was the water all along? (Aaaand it fits the fact that so many Dark-related activities involved that brackish water. We already had the connection to Svalbard, though, but it’s fitting that Rayner had been sealed in a lake or something.) Or was Rayner even older than the XVIIIth century and had been sealed in the forest for a long time, and only began to body-hop when it first came in contact with a corpse? Even Jon was unsure about a few bits:

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: So Edmond Halley was… Rayner. Or, at least… whatever was inside him. You said he was dead, though. BASIRA: I thought he was. We shot him to hell before he could, uh… “pour himself” into that kid. ARCHIVIST: Mm. BASIRA: But I mean, didn’t you say he got blown off in World War One as well? ARCHIVIST: Ah– uh, p–possibly, the, the details are, hum… It’s not exactly clear.

And indeed, back in MAG007 Jon had noticed the name “Rayner” rang some bells (that he later identified as Maxwell Rayner’s cult when it came up in MAG009), though according to Smirke’s categorisation… “Joseph Rayner” didn’t seem be related to The Dark after all, but rather to The Slaughter (potentially with a bit of The End)?

(MAG007, Clarence Berry) “The only thing they’d found nearby were the tags of the dead man among his remains. A man named Joseph Rayner. […] You know the phrase “to pay the piper”. I thought on it a lot through those many months – the debt of Hamelin, who for their greed had their children taken from them, never to be returned. […] It was a month later that I woke up to find [Wilfred Owen] sitting next to my bed. He stared at me, not unkindly, though there was something in his eye that put my ill at ease. “Almost over now, Clarence,” he said to me. I said yes, it did seem to be all coming to an end. He smiled and shook his head.”

I had understood it as… Wilfred Owen exchanging places with “Joseph Rayner” in order to not die, until he had paid his due, and/or the fact that he was allowed to live leading to the continuation of WW1 (as Clarence was hypothesising)? I’m surprised that Jon and Basira brought this up again as potentially being the same being as “Raymer” and “Maxwell Rayner”. What would have caused it to change names, from being called “Maxwell” during Smirke’s time, then “Joseph”, then going back to “Maxwell”?

And how come it took the name “Raymer” in the first place, given how it was John Flamsteed’s nickname to designate him? Unless Abraham Sharp betrayed Flasmsteed and told “Edmond Halley” everything he knew?

What about the thing about dark water pouring out of the mouths of avatars of The Dark, since we know it wasn’t just a Rayner thing – there had been the victim taken by Darvish, too, and we know that Darvish used to be… pretty high in the hierarchy apparently (MAG135, Manuela Dominguez: “I suppose there is also an element of provocation here as well; even with the loss of Darvish, we will still be victorious.”) before Trevor and Julia stabbed him and other followers to death, as they recalled in MAG109. The homeless man (Morris? Maurice?), who was already dead, had water pouring out from his mouth – was he meant to be a host for one of the cultists too…? Is that a regular thing some Dark avatars do, not only Rayner…?

- I’m still not sold on the Elias=Jonah Magnus theory (mostly because I don’t really feel like the way people have been describing Jonah so far… matches how people talk about Elias overall?), though I admit that it could make sense given that Smirke mentioned Jonah’s fear of dying, the fact that Rayner and Elias have ~history~ (and Rayner was around during Jonah’s time), and we now we have a Precedent of body-hopping confirmed – and not just Spooks serving a god to sustain themselves into old age like Simon Fairchild or the Lightless Flame.

(Not believing in what follows, but it did cross my mind that… in a way, Isaac Newton, as described in this statement, could kind of fit, given how he was getting closer to now-possessed-Halley at the end of the story…? (MAG140: “He is a blockish creature of vanity, concerned with his appearance only, and likely to fly into an indecent heat and knavish talk at any dispute. He has no reverence for God, and I pity him the fire that awaits. […] I was… astonished at how cordial his conduct seemed, his temper even and his head steady. But it was not the attitude of the president, that robbed my tongue of speech. It was that in his visit, he was accompanied by Edmond Halley.”))

But whatever Elias is or is not, we might get a few more things about that history between them at the North Pole… ;;

- I wonder how Martin will take the news of Basira&Jon leaving for the North Pole. Will he know before they leave? Or will he notice they’re… not around anymore and Peter will shrug it off because THEY decided to leave on a trip, it’s not his responsibility if they decide to go get butchered in a dangerous place! (Martin’s Life Is Hard and no one understands, especially not Peter.)

Will Basira&Jon keep their receipts to claim their expenses at the Institute. Will Martin process the reimbursement.

- Basira mentioned a boat:

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: […] So what’s the plan? BASIRA: I’m getting us passage on a boat heading up there. ARCHIVIST: … Right.

And I think she would have mentioned the Tundra if it was it, at least to prepare Jon psychologically? So it’s probably not it? But maybe Peter will be the one to take them back, given how his ship had a Precedent of travelling into very cold waters (Sannikov Land, described by “Michael” in MAG101). Well. “Them” if both Basira and Jon make it.

- It makes sense, and feels satisfying, that Basira is indeed heading towards Ny-Ålesund and was the one to gather clues about The Dark: as mentioned, her encounter “kinda stayed” with her.

(MAG140) BASIRA: You remember Maxwell Rayner? ARCHIVIST: Yes, of course, your… warehouse showdown? BASIRA: Yeah, well. The whole thing kinda stayed with me. ARCHIVIST: Mm, I can imagine.

Her encounter with Rayner between MAG072 and MAG073 was not another spooky story in her Section 31 career: it’s something that led to drastic changes in her life. It’s because she witnessed the cover-up of her colleague’s death, and his defaming, that she got pissed enough with the police and decided to quit (MAG075). And because she had given that statement to Jon, she was apparently pursued by the dreams until she signed her contract with the Institute in MAG092 (MAG120, Elias: “The Archivist wanders. He is searching, though, for what he does not know. He passes those places he can no longer watch: […] the empty warehouse of thick darkness and frightened children”). When she joined the Institute, her research brought her towards The Dark again:

(MAG108) BASIRA: I was reading through a bunch of stuff about the Church of the Divine Host. Did you look into that statement about the chapel in Hither Green? Because apparently, right around that time, there was a full solar eclipse going on in, guess where? MARTIN: I don’t know. BASIRA: Ny-Ålesund! And when Natalie Ennis talked about it being 300 years ago, well. How much do you know about the relationship between Edmond Halley and John Flamsteed? MARTIN: What, Halley like the comet? BASIRA: Exactly.

It’s her thing. Part of her story. So it feels satisfying that she would be the one to end up piecing things together, even without apparently consulting Manuela Dominguez’s statement from MAG135 (though Jon was thinking about sharing it with her), and to organise the journey:

(MAG140) BASIRA: You don’t know what the ritual for The Dark is, right? ARCHIVIST: Not really, no. Hum, based on this and everythi– Er, something to do with the Sun, I would guess?  I– An eclipse, maybe. BASIRA: I don’t think so. ARCHIVIST: Mm. BASIRA: There’s not one due for a while, and I’ve been wondering for ages: why Ny-Ålesund? I mean, sure, that far North, it gets dark for a long time, but… there’s also really long days in the summer. […] I don’t think Ny-Ålesund is the ritual location. ARCHIVIST: Right. BASIRA: I think it’s a, er… a staging ground. ARCHIVIST: For what? BASIRA: The darkest place on the surface of the Earth: the North Pole, during the Winter Solstice. ARCHIVIST: They have an Eldritch ball of some sort of manifested dark matter, that’s going to be the focus of the ritual. BASIRA: … I thought you said you couldn’t know things about them! ARCHIVIST: I can still read. Actually, you should… probably see that sta– You know what, no. Later. [INHALE, EXHALE] So what’s the plan? BASIRA: I’m getting us passage on a boat heading up there. ARCHIVIST: … Right. BASIRA: I bring all the guns from Daisy’s old stash, you bring the spook you used to mess up that delivery guy. [SILENCE] ARCHIVIST: Wh… at? That’s it? [PAUSE] Christ, I thought my plans were half-arsed. BASIRA: It’s all about when we go. ARCHIVIST: … I don’t follow. BASIRA: Summer solstice is the 21st of June. So we leave in a fortnight. […] And should arrive about a week before. No danger of sunset or darkness for a long time. Stands to reason that they will be at their weakest.

… Though it’s coming with its fair lot of Worrisome Things:

1°) Basira still hasn’t told Jon that her intel source is Elias which… would probably make Jon way more cautious about the whole thing. If Elias read her right, Basira’s weakness is her “pride” and if he knows it, he is already using it. Elias did say that he needed Jon to be more powerful, and if he wasn’t bullshitting about that, he had a hand in Breekon’s visit at the Institute (or at least knew it would happen soon); he knows how to use Jon’s concern for people to push him further and to get him in direct contact with more Spooks. Jon is still missing a Dark scar/direct experience… and then last one of the list would be The Lonely, if it’s not already happening with Martin – he completed The Buried and The Flesh in season 4 already.

2°) Basira, stern and unimpressed but hovering, giving Jon a drink, organising the trip to Svalbard, including him in, complaining that Jon doesn’t share enough information with her, concerns me a bit. The parallel with Gertrude taking Michael as a sacrifice to stop The Spiral (by boat, even!) is a bit too obvious, especially given how Jon had called her out about how “You’re starting to sound like Gertrude.” (MAG133) recently. I’m… not sure that’s she’s not planning to try and use Jon to stop The Dark and The Beholding at the same time – since she knew The Eye still “had a chance” at its ritual at this time, and she knows that Elias has been watching and scheming. I have no idea about what Basira is thinking, but more about that later.

3°) Having BASIRA head into THE DARK’s turf is an extremely bad idea, even worse than Jon, given how… she was There when Maxwell Rayner was officially killed. If he’s still around, he will remember her. If he’s not, then the surviving members of the cult (we know there were some survivors) will identify her as responsible for his death (and I REALLY wouldn’t put it past Elias to have leaked that information to them, possibly even making it sound like she was the one to pull the trigger).

4°) If… if that Section 31 operation didn’t manage to get rid of Rayner, that means we know which body he managed to parasite. Until now, I had assumed that whatever Rayner had been trying to do, he had been stopped and killed while accidentally vulnerable, back in the warehouse, and that Leo Altman had been collateral, since he was… dead – I thought that Natalie Ennis had probably killed him thoughtlessly, in revenge?

(MAG075) BASIRA: [Maxwell Rayner’s] robe twitched violently as he staggered backwards, and all the dark liquid suddenly washed down onto the floor in a single movement, leaving Callum untouched. It still gushed from his mouth, though, and as the shots tore through him he spun about and an arc of the dark substance flew through the air. Altman had started running towards them as soon as he had seen the kid, and was almost at the chair when the wave of it spewed out. A few droplets hit him on the cheek and he started to howl and claw at his face. Goodman fired again at Rayner, dropping him to the ground, and the horrendous noise stopped suddenly, leaving only Leo’s cries of pain. The lights came on all at once, and in the sudden painful brightness none of us had time to do anything as a woman who hadn’t been there a moment ago ran up to Leo. She wore a robe similar to the old man’s, and by the time any of us had seen the knife in her hand she had buried it in Altman’s throat. […] It was too late, of course, but as I looked at his still, cold face, I saw his eyes were a milky white.”

… but MAG140 showed that the thing taking the name of Rayner had managed to get free by invading Edmond Halley’s dead body, and that his eyes were becoming white when Flamsteed met him again (matching MAG098’s bit of Rayner having “white eyes”). So: did Natalie Ennis kill Leo because he had killed Rayner for good… or did she do it in order to allow Rayner to use his corpse? Was Rayner really killed-killed back then, or did he parasitise Leo Altman’s body – which was apparently dead, back then, but… could have come back alive. Because if so: then, Basira is going to see Leo Altman again, moving and seemingly alive, and it won’t be him, and it probably will be worse than The Unknowing for her, on the scale of emotional torture.

- I worry about Basira but, at the same time, I don’t think she’ll get killed soon-ish. The thing is: Basira is still… a plain mystery, for us listeners. We know what she did in the police but we barely know anything about her personal life or thoughts, or what drives her, or… things she likes (except for reading). And she’s been a recurring character for longer than Melanie and Daisy! She has been there a lot, she has been amazing and funny and deadpan, but… I still feel like it’s hard to understand her, because she tends to hide in plain sight. She snaps and makes dry comments and talks about the others, but rarely about herself outside of what she does?

And Jonny has proven that he’s aware of such things: Melanie and Daisy both revealed themselves in MAG131 and MAG133, and these episodes were necessary pieces to understand their current-day behaviour. But Basira is still… concealing and hiding herself. The only glint of her perspective was when she snapped about trusting:

(MAG128) BASIRA: Do you know how I survived the… The Unknowing? ARCHIVIST: I… No. No, I don’t. BASIRA: No powers, no… magic or… help. I was trapped in that place, and so I tried to figure it out. And I did. A little. So I kept doing it. I kept going through until I got out. I… reasoned my way out of that nightmare. ARCHIVIST: Good lord… BASIRA: Then everything ended, and Daisy was gone. And you were gone. And Tim. And then I got back to the Institute, and Martin sent me to meet the new boss. Then I stood alone in an empty office for more than one hour. I can trust me, Jon. That’s it.

(Honestly, on the list of people likely to die soon… I would bet more on Daisy. Because we know her more, she has a drive, she has people she wants to protect. Melanie is still in a vulnerable place and it would feel too much like kicking the puppy – I’m expecting her to get something around John Amherst before she can kick the bucket. Martin is… a likely contender, too, but MAG138 gave me the impression that no, he needs Something more for a potential death to feel satisfying: he needs his story without involving Jon, or not as a constant helper/sacrifice. Basira is facing Her story right now, but, as mentioned, her feelings are still a mystery to us.

Doesn’t mean that Jon&Basira will be safe in Svalbard, I’m fully expecting them to get hit very hard but… we would need Basira’s words and perspective and feelings, I feel, before she could die.)

- On the subject of Basira being secretive… it seems like Jon’s powers get out of control around her the most? He only slipped in front of Melanie when she was heading out to see her therapist (Melanie going out was an odd thing, he was curious and accidentally compelled her) but he… tends to Know a LOT around Basira, in a way that never happens with Daisy for instance. Is it because Basira is hiding herself too much, which kicks his Beholding side into relying on his powers to dig out truths about her? Because he doesn’t understand her and wants to know her, while Daisy just spontaneously agrees to talk and… Melanie has already poured her heart out? He managed to refrain from Knowing about Martin, though, until he consciously tried to use his powers.

I’m in the minority here, but I don’t feel like Basira has been… A New Beholding Avatar in the making overall. She makes me think more about what Gertrude was trying to achieve, actually – staying outside of the box, trying to not get used by the powers and to use them instead, intervening and doing things rather than contemplating and feeding from other people’s misery? She had managed to stay out of The Hunt despite signing a few Section 31 forms (and getting in contact with various spooks: The Desolation, The End, the aftereffects of The Corruption, The Dark…); we know that, unlike Jon, she had been able to stop and quit instead of trying to dig further into the events surrounding Leo Altman’s death: it’s exactly the opposite of what Michael Shelley and Tim did (joining the Institute in order to understand what had happened to a close one who was killed by the powers) and of how Jon himself had behaved back in season 2 and 3 (pushing for knowledge at all costs, including shaking Jude’s hand because it was the only way to get more information about what was happening around him and to him). Comparatively, I tend to see Basira more as unaligned – on a very fine and dangerous line, but… not Beholding yet? She has stopped recording statements and even refuses to witness Jon doing so (“You’re not staying?” “Watching you do your thing? No.”); she constantly scolds Jon for using his powers; she followed Elias’s leads to try and do something to rescue Daisy from the coffin…

(- Aaaaand the answer to “What happened at the end of MAG139?” was that Jon both succeeded and failed to Know at the same time, because he couldn’t process everything!

(MAG140) ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] Yesterday, I tried something I… [INHALE] I–I deliberately tried to… Know something, like I did in the coffin, but… there was a lot. Too much [SIGH], and I… BASIRA: What did you find out? ARCHIVIST: [SNORT] Nothing. There was “too much”. BASIRA: You don’t remember any of it? ARCHIVIST: [SIGH] You drink the whole contents of a bar in three seconds, you don’t remember what the merlot tasted like. [SIGH] It just… hurt.

Sounds a lot like Jon personally knows about the feeling one gets when trying to “drink the whole contents of a bar in three seconds”.

Is all this information within him now, though, and will he be getting a few more coherent pieces later, or was it just a plain failure…?)

(- Even if Rayner turned out to be dead-dead, even if Manuela turned out to have been offed by Gertrude since her statement, you know what’s presumably still around and unkillable? THE DARK’S CREATURE.

I’m not super confident about Jon coming back from this with his two Actual Eyes. Not sure he would still need them to see anyway. But yeah, hum. If he needs a scar, there is a creature that is known for coming back again and again.)

(- I’m not holding out much hope but guuuuh, I wish Julia&Trevor could pop up to fight against The Dark too… given how it was Julia’s story… but she specifically said she wasn’t keen on a long boat trip (after her experience with Darvish&co told in MAG109), and their illegal status makes it hard to fly, so they’re stuck in America…

Wonder, though, if Jon will learn more things about what happened to Julia’s mother, and what Robert Montauk was trying to achieve…)

- Super small tipbits:

* Jon is a Disaster and I love him.

* I’m still Hysterical over Jon&Basira’s interactions, they’re just too damn funny… and heartbreaking at the same time. Because Basira used to find Jon funny! And it sounds like dry scolding, nowadays, with Jon being a bit more biting than joking with her.

* I friggin’ love Basira, holy heck. (“You know, we’ve actually got a group chat going, called “British Cops Who Love To Do Extrajudicial Spook-Killings On Foreign Soil”. I’ll just see if they’re free this Saturday.”)

* I also can’t believe that Jon is slowly filling up a Spook drawer next to his stationery drawer. He’s been hoarding the pens after his inability to find one in MAG123, uh? (AND HE’S KEEPING HIS RIB… I wonder if it will become useful as an anchor at some point, or never, and just be the joke that oh yeah, Jon has a rib hanging around, he has to find somewhere to store it.)

* MmMMMMMMMM, did Jon’s powers TMI about Daisy&Basira?

(MAG140) BASIRA: Coffee. Drink it. ARCHIVIST: I don’t really, er… [INHALE] Fine. [TAKING THE GLASS] BASIRA: You look awful. You tried drinking with Daisy again last night? ARCHIVIST: [CUTTING] She was here last night, as you know.

That final line sounded like JON knew too much about it.

* … That small moment of vulnerability when Basira mentioned that no, Daisy is not coming because they fear that it could make her join The Hunt again…………………. ;_;

* SVALBARD TRIP SVALBARD TRIP SVALBARD TRIP!!

Title for MAG141 is… absolutely NOT ominous at all, I can’t believe nothing bad will happen ahahahah (sob). It… really doesn’t bode well for Basira&Jon, uh… No clue about the entity involved statement-wise, though… Could it be about another journey of the Tundra? John Franklin’s expedition on the H.M.S. Terror – Rayner had been interested in that one back in MAG098, possibly because of Arctic Explorations (though according to MAG133, the crew ended up with The Hunt)?

Anyway: “Nice Boat.” I guess………………………………

The Moulin Rouge of serial killers

Works of art that were once radical tend to find their cozy place in the cultural ecosystem. It’s almost funny to think that an audience ever booed “The Rite of Spring,” or that the Sex Pistols shocked people to their souls, or that museum patrons once stood in front of Jackson Pollock’s splatter paintings or Warhol’s soup cans and said, “But is it art?” In 1971, “A Clockwork Orange” was a scandal, but it quickly came to be thought of as a Kubrick classic.

Yet “Natural Born Killers,” a brazenly radical movie when it was first released, on August 26, 1994 (25 years ago tomorrow), has never lost its sting of audacity. It’s still dangerous, crazy-sick, luridly hypnotic, ripped from the id, and visionary. I loved the movie from the moment I saw it. It haunted me for weeks afterward, and over the next few years I saw it over and over again (probably 40 times), obsessed with the experience of it, the terrible lurching beauty of it, the spellbinding truth of it. It’s a film that has never left my system.

I’ve met a number of people who feel the way I do about “Natural Born Killers,” but I’ve also run across a great many people who don’t. The reaction has always been split between those I would call “Natural Born Killers” believers (they included, at the time, such influential critics as Roger Ebert and Stanley Kauffmann) and those who thumb their noses at what they consider to be an over-the-top spectacle of Oliver Stone “indulgence.” At the time of its release, it was said that the film was bombastic, gonzo for its own sake, pretentious as hell, and — of course ­— too violent. Too flippantly violent. In a way, “Natural Born Killers” was the “Moulin Rouge!” of shotgun-lovers-on-the-lam thrillers. Either you got onto its stylized high wire, its deliberate pornography of operatic overkill, or you thought it was trash.

The divide has never been resolved, and the movie, in 25 years, has never gained true respectability. Which I think is a good thing. Some works of art need to remain outside the official system of canonical reverence. But if you go back and watch “Natural Born Killers” today, long after all the ’90s-version-of-film-Twitter chatter about it has faded, what you’ll see (or, at least, what I hope you’ll see) is that the movie summons a unique power that descends from the grandeur of its theme. Far more than, say, “The Matrix,” “Natural Born Killers” was the movie that glimpsed the looking glass we were passing through, the new psycho-metaphysical space we were living inside — the roller-coaster of images and advertisements, of entertainment and illusion, of demons that come up through fantasy and morph into daydreams, of vicarious violence that bleeds into real violence.

-Owen Gleiberman, “Twenty-Five Years Later, Oliver Stone’s ‘Natural Born Killers’ Is, More than Ever, the Spectacle of Our Time,” Variety, Aug 25 2019 [x]

I did my best!

Oliver was having a stressful holiday week.

His job hadn’t given him the days off he needed to visit home for Christmas, even after they said it would be fine and to go ahead and order your plane tickets, yeah sure, it’d be fine. Not like he wouldn’t be able to return or get a refund on his ticket. Oh wait that’s right, he couldn’t.

Oliver took a long pull from his bottle while he sat on the couch, glaring at his small Christmas tree set up on an end table. He was over his present budget and yet still hadn’t gotten anything for dad… and now that he wasn’t going home for the holidays, Oliver would have to ship all these gifts to his family. Fantastic.

Christmas sucked.

Oliver was taking another gulp from his beer when he heard people loudly talking outside, some shouting, loud enough to be heard over his TV, which quietly played a horror movie. Cos fuck Christmas.

Oliver’s ears perked as the sound diminished in a wave of whispered “shh’s” and loud throat clearing.

Then a burst of song erupted from Oliver’s front door and all he could do for his part was… sit stunned for a moment.

Brows furling, Oliver looked at his phone, 1:30… in the morning.

There were carolers at his door in the middle of the night.

With a grumble that could match the Grinch, Oliver shot himself up from his couch, unconcerned that he only wore boxer shorts and a hoodie, and marched to his front door.

With a flick of the wrist the deadbolt came loose and Oliver yanked the door back, leaning forward to open the screen door wide and addressing the small group of carolers.

“Hey!” Oliver shouted. The slight buzz from his drinking devoid Oliver of a politeness filter. “Shut up!”

The singers, all four of them, went silent. A few of them (a boy and girl linked arm-in-arm) collapsing into a fit of giggles.

One staggered forward. Oliver had a silly thought that maybe he should let them sing, or at least this guy, the one moving towards him right now, arms swinging out wide with a smile that could cut.

“Now that’s not nice, Mr. Scrooge.” He pointed a very direct finger at Oliver and his entourage giggled again behind him. “We’re just spreadin’ some good cheer ‘n shit.”

Oliver blinked. God, how can a drunk man look so attractive.

“It’s late, you’re disturbing the neighborhood.”

“You’re disturbing…” The guy snickered. “… my brain, cos you’re so cute.”

Oliver couldn’t help it, he grinned while the other guy in the group groaned dramatically.

“Ohmygod Connor, you said you wouldn’t be weird!”

The guy, Connor, ignored him. “C’mon, one song?”

The girls fell into a course of pleading and bouncing on their feet.

Oliver barely noticed them, eyes glued to Connor, who’s smile was growing the longer Oliver left them in silence.

“Fine. But just one, then you all need to go home. It’s seriously late and some people have work in the morning.”

Connor nodded in understanding. “Probably for the best.” He turned back to his friends.

“Someone did threaten to call the cops on us…” The girl huddled under the other guy’s arm mumbled.

And Connor led them in a drunken, off key, misheard lyric version of Little Drummer Boy, with the other guy imitating a drum in front of him while horribly beat boxing to the words.

Oliver stood in his doorway, legs freezing and his stressful, shitty mood completely eradicated. Connor watched him the entire time, eyes mischievous and wandering down Oliver’s front every now and then, and Oliver returned the stare, biting back a grin and feeling himself getting warm despite the cold.

He was almost disappointed when they finished, but Oliver gave them a quiet round of applause, laughing softly at the bumbling bows each one of them attempted.

A slew of, “Thanks for listening,” and “Merry Christmas!” emitted from the four carolers as they began stumbling away, caught up in one another.

Except Connor, who lingered, hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

“You know, for a Scrooge, you got some great legs.”

“Am I supposed to be flattered?” Oliver crossed his arms, leaning against the doorway.

Connor smirked and Oliver was glad for the support of the frame, he nearly felt himself stumble.

One of the girls hollered for Connor in the middle of the road. Connor turned, giving them the “one second” finger before giving his attention back to Oliver. He slowly walked up the steps, arriving within arms distance from Oliver.

“What’s your name?”

Oliver straightened his shoulders, considering. And thinking, what the hell. This guy wouldn’t remember him anyway.

“Oliver.”

“Oliver,” Connor repeated, nodding. “I’m Connor, if you couldn’t tell by now.”

Oliver smiled again, his eyes darting to the floor, his bare toes turning purple.

“Nice to meet you.”

A hand appeared in his vision and Oliver looked up, meeting those gorgeous eyes again, brown, he could see. Oliver took the offering, giving his gloved hand a shake and loving how it fit against his own.

“Likewise, Connor.”

“Maybe I’ll see you again.”

Connor gave Oliver’s hand one last squeeze before letting it drop.

Oliver chuckled softly.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Maybe” turned into a surprising “definitely,” just a few weeks later.

It was days before Christmas and one of Oliver’s colleagues was hosting a party. Knowing Jim and how silly he was, Oliver assumed it would be safe to wear an ugly holiday sweater.

He was wrong. And so was Connor.

“Hey,” Connor finally found his was to Oliver, who smiled wide at Connor’s ridiculous red and green over-sized sweater that read, “Ho Ho Homo.”

“Hi.”

Connor’s smirk faltered a little, eyes dropping to the floor and back to Oliver.

“Have we met?”

Oliver laughed softly.

“Yeah, couple weeks ago. You and your friends sang in front of my house.”

Connor pointed a triumphant finger. “That’s right! Oliver?”

Oliver nodded, something pleasant shooting down his spine at the thought of Connor remembering his name.

“Connor.”

Connor smirked again. Its impact was more powerful when he was sober. Oliver felt his eyes glued to his lips and his brain wiped clean.

“Nice to meet you, again.” He held a hand out and Oliver took it, holding on strong and firm and maybe a little too long before letting it drop.

“I like your sweater.” Oliver smiled, watching Connor look down at himself.

He shrugged, taking a pull from his beer. “Yours is better. Looks like everyone else missed the memo, huh?”

Oliver’s sweater was a Christmas vomit of colors, stencils, and blinking lights. It was Oliver’s favorite sweater… when he used to feel festive.

“They so did. Forgot the lights were still on,” Oliver laughed a little to himself. He pulled the hem up a little and pressed the button to turn the little bulbs off. “Don’t want to distract anyone.”

“I doubt it’s the sweater that’s distracting.”

Oliver looked back to Connor and found his eyes just as they looked away from the patch of skin he’d accidentally exposed.

They ducked away from the crowd after that, finding a more peaceful corner to talk in. Oliver asking how he knew the host, who his friends were that night, and if that was something Connor did regularly.

Connor denied getting drunk enough to serenade random hot guys, he usually used his mouth for that. Which led to Oliver challengingly asking how that works, and Connor willingly taking the bait and pressing Oliver against the wall and kissing him senseless.

The night ended back at Oliver’s house, the two of them stumbling up icy stairs and discarding their silly sweater on the floor of Oliver’s bedroom.

(More Hospital!AU)

It takes a few days for Max to get back to normal. Luckily Liam and Oliver don’t get the virus but Santana doesn’t go back to work until he’s feeling better. Brittany, for her part, brings a lot of paperwork home with her so she doesn’t stay at the hospital all night while Max is sick. Santana can tell that she’s really overwhelmed and she wishes there was something she could do to help her. She figures that the only thing that’ll actually be helpful is to not fight with her and after that night at the hospital, she doesn’t even feel like she’s mad at her anymore. It’s just temporary, they’ll get through it.

When Santana goes back to work, she has an overwhelming caseload. The surgical calendar in peds has been so full that no one could take her surgeries while she was out and she just has to do them all. She’s halfway through her day when she gets a page that there’s an emergency for her in the pit. She looks at the board and knows that she’s going to have to push off an appendectomy until later in the day. It’s not an emergency and if she can just deal with whatever is going on down there, she’ll be able to have a clear head when she gets into her next surgery.

There was a car accident. She finds a little boy screaming with glass in his chest and he can’t be much older than Liam. She wonders how in the hell he got so much glass in him being in the backseat, but then the paramedic tells her that his car seat wasn’t buckled in properly and he was ejected through the front windshield. Marley Rose finds her sitting at his bedside making a surgical plan with her interns and Santana takes a breath, bracing for what’s about to come next.

“Cecile Frank’s appendix burst.” She tells her. “Adams walked out of her surgery to deal with it. Dr. Corcoran wants to see you in her office.”

“Goddamnit Rose, I’m in the middle of an emergency, it’s gonna have to wait.”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger. Tell Shelby I’ll be in there after I remove eleven shards of glass from a five year old’s chest. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

She gets Thomas Harper up to the surgical floor and she’s glad to find that Mercedes answered her cardio page. She’s concerned about how close some off the glass is to the little boy’s heart and she doesn’t want to go in without backup. They scrub in together and luckily, the surgery goes off without a hitch. Still though, Santana makes a mental note to check all of the boys’ car seats and she takes five minutes to grab a cup of coffee before she goes up to Shelby’s.

“Santana.” Shelby looks up from her desk. “Sit.”

“Okay...”

“Did you push back Cecile Frank’s surgery today?”

“Yeah, I—?”

“Did you know when you did that Dr. Adams was doing a hernia surgery that could have waited an hour?”

“It was an appendectomy, Shelby. I got paged to the pit for a kid who was massively internal bleeding because he had shards of glass sticking out of his body.”

“And Cecile’s appendix burst, almost killing her.”

“I had to make a call.”

“Well you made the wrong one.” Shelby put her elbows on the desk. “Alexander Frank was threatening to sue us before Cecile was even in surgery and the hospital got a call from his lawyer about an hour ago.”

“Shelby, we’ve all made wrong calls before.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can protect you from this lawsuit. You’re going to have to meet with legal and if they can’t settle this out of court, you’re probably going to have to testify.”

“Testify to what?” Santana gasps.

“To the fact that in your expert opinion, you didn’t believe Cecile Thomas was in any danger by having her surgery pushed back.”

“I didn’t. Is she...?”

“She’s in recovery. Dr. Adams took care of it.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry, Shelby, it was just going to be a couple of hours.”

“It was a couple of hours too many. Look, I know you, I know you’re a good doctor and I’ll be by your side through the whole thing, okay?”

“Okay.” Santana nods.

“You need to go up and meet with Brittany and legal.”

“Brittany my wife?”

“Brittany the acting chief of surgery.”

Santana feels like her world is tilting off its axis. She’d done what she thought was the right thing and now here she is, three hours later, in the midst of some kind of legal drama. She doesn’t even know what is going to happen with Brittany being her wife and also in charge of the surgical department and even thinking about it as she gets in the elevator makes her head hurt. She goes to the conference room that Shelby sent her to and Brittany is sitting in there with a bunch of lawyers. Santana feels sick to her stomach as she sits down, wishing that Brittany could take her into her arms and tell her that it’s going to be okay. But she can’t. They both have to be professional right now and all they can spare is a quick glance across the table.

“Dr. Lopez, you understand why you’re here?” One of the lawyers asks.

“I’m supposed to give my version of events so you can see if you can manage a settlement.”

“Look, the last thing we want is a case against this hospital or a case against your medical license. We’re here to prevent that.”

“Okay.” She nods, looking at Brittany, who also nods.

“So tell us what happened over the course of today.”

“I’ve been catching up on my surgeries. We’re down an attending in the department and I was out with my sick son for most of the week. I checked Cecile on my rounds this morning and she was stable, she was brought in overnight with stomach pains and assigned to me. When I got a page from the emergency room that I was needed, I pushed back Cecile’s surgery two hours. There was no indication in her testing that her appendix would burst in that period of time. I had a patient in the ER who was thrown through the window in a car accident. He had massive shards of glass in his chest and I did a joint surgery with Dr. Jones in cardio.”

“And Dr. Jones wasn’t able to do that surgery on her own?”

“I’m a pediatric surgeon, I got the page. I needed to be in that room with her.”

“And you’re aware that Dr. Unique Adams had an opening in his schedule and could have taken Cecile’s appendectomy?”

“I wasn’t aware until after the fact. We’ve been so overbooked that I didn’t even assume anyone had an opening. I was in a rush to get down to the ER.”

“And would you have made the same call if you knew that Cecile’s life was in danger?”

“No!” Santana protests “I only made the call I did because I was confident given her tests that she’d be fine, if not a little uncomfortable, for the next few hours.”

“And what about your patient in the emergency room?”

“I...don’t know. Look, the problem is that we’re understaffed. You can spin it however you want but we need another pediatric surgeon.”

“Dr. Pierce?” The lawyer turns to her and Santana’s chest hurts.

“I’m only the acting chief of surgery, I can’t make big budgetary decisions.” Brittany tells them.

“When it impacts that standard of care at this hospital, you need to.”

“I’ll be in touch with Dr. Sylvester and Dr. Corcoran.” Brittany affirms and Santana could tell she was trying not to look at her.

“We’ll be in touch with you further, Dr. Lopez. Like I said earlier, we’re going to try to settle out of court but it’s still only hours past when we received notification from Mr. Thomas’ lawyer. There’s a possibility that you could be put on administrative leave pending a hearing.”

“What? No! You can’t do that!”

“Hospital policy. Again, we’ll be in touch and do will Dr. Pierce.”

“Fuck.” Santana mutters under her breath, staving back tears. Her wife is going to have to suspend her, she could have a malpractice case against her, she could lose everything.

Without another word, Santana stands up and walks out of the conference room. All she wants to do is talk to her wife but she can’t with all of these lawyers around. Instead, she goes back to her office, pumps her breasts and then puts her head down and cries. She still has two more surgeries before her day is over and she goes into the OR trying to keep herself together. When she is done with the second one, she goes back to her office and Brittany is standing outside.

“I’m coming home with you today.” She says softly.

“Didn’t I just make a fuck ton more paperwork for you?”

“I don’t care. Tonight I’m your wife, not the acting chief of surgery. We’ll talk more when we leave the hospital.”

They are silent on their way out to the parking garage. When they get in the car, Santana lays her head against the passenger side window and sighs heavily. Brittany takes up her hand and squeezes it hard, assuring her that she’s there.

“What if you have to suspend me?”

“I can’t. HR is fully aware of our marriage, if they put you on leave, Shelby will be the one to do it. But Santana, you don’t know how many things like this have come across my desk just in the last few weeks. The hospital doesn’t want bad publicity, Roger Thomas wants money, they’re going to settle out of court and you’re going to be just fine.”

“How can you be so sure? Horrible things happen to me.”

“Good things happen to you too. I will do everything in my power to keep you from going through a court case.”

“I can’t lose my job, Britt.”

“You’re not going to lose your job. I spoke to Shelby, she knows damn well that you did what you had to do today. I’ve been there too, you put the more pressing patient first.”

“It was a stupid appendectomy compared to a kid who got thrown through a windshield.”

“I know.” Brittany nods, pulling out of the garage. “I don’t doubt you, honey.”

Santana is quiet for the rest of the drive home. She’s just obsessing and she needs to take her anxiety medication. The house is a mess when they walk in the door and Santana pinches the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t expect her mother to spend the day cleaning up after Liam but the sight of the mess overwhelms her and she sinks down into the couch before she even goes to find the boys. Brittany gives her a concerned look but Santana just shakes her head before burying it in her hands.

“Mommy Noodle, do you have a headache?” Liam asks when he bounds into the room.

“I little bit, bud. I had a hard day at work.”

“I made you a picture today. I even used glitter.”

“You did?” Santana gathers him into her arms and holds him close. “My little guy.”

“Ollie stopped screamin’ so he won’t hurt your head, don’t worry.”

“Ollie was screaming?”

“For a really, really long time. He didn’t want to take a nap and then I couldn’t take a nap and Maxie couldn’t take a nap.”

“Then I guess we’re going to have to go to bed early tonight, huh?”

“We still have to eat dinner.” He tells her as Brittany comes in holding Oliver and Maribel trails behind her with Max.

“I think we’re just going to get pizza tonight, Li, and take baths while we wait for it to come. How about we give Mommy the night off? I think she deserves it.”

“I can help, Britt.”

“Just relax, you’ve been doing it all yourself. Have a glass of wine, lay on the couch, I’ve got this under control.”

Santana doesn’t protest. She says goodbye to her mother and goes in the kitchen to pour a glass of red. From upstairs, she can hear bath time going on but she sprawls out on the couch and watches a rerun of Friends while she pumps her breasts before she drinks anything. When the doorbell rings with the pizza, she goes to get it and she starts cutting up Liam’s pizza before she makes plates for her and Brittany. She goes upstairs because she knows Brittany is putting the twins to bed and she kisses them goodnight, lingering a bit over them before she, Brittany and Liam go down to have dinner.

She lays on Liam’s bed afterwards while Brittany reads to him and then she goes back to the couch, staring blankly at the television screen. No matter what Brittany says, she doesn’t feel confident that this is going to be resolved. Everything is just a few hours old and it already feels like a mess, so she doesn’t know what it will be like when the hospital gets the actual legal paperwork from the Thomases lawyer.

“Santana, did you take your medication?” Brittany asks, coming down from changing and sitting beside her.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Honey, I know you’re upset—“

“This has never happened to me before. I’m so careful all the time. My reputation...”

“It’s happened to me.” Brittany murmurs.

“It has?”

“Once, when I first got out of my residency. I did a skin graft on this woman’s face and she ended up with a really nasty infection. I had no idea what was about to happen when I went into my department head’s office.”

“She sued?”

“She did. I was a mess for weeks, all I could see was my career going down the drain. I thought I was going to have a malpractice suit and my dreams of being the chief of surgery were going to go down the drain. The hospital settled for a half a million dollars. Everyone knew there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, but taking it to court would have done nothing but damage my reputation and the Brigham’s. That’s how I know the legal team at Columbia Pres is going to take care of this and you’re not going to be caught up in it.”

“I felt like I was in an interrogation room before. Like, if I didn’t answer everything exactly right, I was going to lose my job.”

“I know. I wish I could have been in there as your wife and not your chief.”

“I’m glad you were in there at all. It’s just...better when you’re around.”

“I’m here for you, always.”

“I was totally shitty at the mom thing tonight.”

“You weren’t. You’ve had your hands full with these kids for weeks, you deserved a night off.”

“Does this mean you’re going to have to work really late tomorrow?” Santana asks.

“It might. I think I’m going to go in early, try to get some things done before the chaos of the day starts. I have to talk to Shelby and Sue about hiring someone in your department.”

“Shelby has been trying to get Sue to let her do it for awhile.”

“Well I think the word lawsuit will convince her that it’s time. You shouldn’t have been put in the position you were put in today. If we want to be the best hospital in the world, we need to hire like we are.”

“You’re really good at being the chief.”

“I honestly have no idea what I’m doing.” Brittany laughs a little.

“Yes you do. You’re good at it, take the compliment.”

“We’ll see what Sue thinks when she gets back.”

“You’re a shoe in for the job someday. The whole hospital knows it.”

“There hasn’t been a plastic surgeon as chief of surgery in fifty years.”

“There hasn’t been a plastic surgeon like you <i>ever.</i>”

“I love you for saying that.”

“I only say what I mean.”

Brittany and Santana go up to bed and after Brittany revealed her own past, Santana slept a little better than she would have otherwise. Brittany is gone when Santana gets up to nurse the boys at 5:30 and as much as she hates waking up alone, she hopes that it means she won’t have to go to bed alone. She makes breakfast for her and Liam and dreads going into work where she’s going to have to deal with more of the fallout from yesterday.

“Was everything okay yesterday?” Her mother asks when she gets there.

“Not really. Someone is suing the because I pushed back their daughter’s appendectomy to do an emergency surgery and then her appendix burst. I’m going to have to deal with a bunch of crap until it’s settled.”

”Mija, that’s terrible. Is your job okay?”

“I guess so. I don’t really know anything yet, I gave a statement to the legal team yesterday so we’ll see what happens. You know, it just pisses me off. I had a botched boob job and that man kept his job for how many years. I save a kid’s life and this is where I am.”

“Your father never would have let us sue.”

“Yeah, because he’s an asshole and the reason why I had the surgery in the first place.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you there. If only—“

“Ma, we don’t have to rehash it. You were as much of a victim as I was.”

“You’re still my child.”

“It’s behind us, okay?” Santana begs her to drop it, not really wanting to add talking about the trauma of her childhood to a day that was already bound to be stressful. “I have to run, the last thing I need is to be late.”

Santana kisses Liam and the twins goodbye and makes her way to the hospital. She half expects her name to be off the surgical board when she gets there, but it isn’t and after she does her rounds, she scrubs in for her first surgery. She is glad to have Heyward on her service so she doesn’t have to act like a babysitter and after the first surgery, she gets her a cup of coffee.

Lunch? Mercedes texts her and Santana realizes that’s exactly what she needs.

She does one more surgery and then heads up to Mercedes’ office. She’s engrossed in some file and Santana taps on the door frame alerting her of her arrival.

“Let’s get the hell out of this hospital.” Mercedes closes the file and Santana nods in agreement.

They go to the little Thai restaurant around the corner and Santana orders noodles and cheese rolls. She’d barely been able to keep down dinner last night so she realizes that she’s really hungry.

“So I might be getting sued.” She tells Mercedes, sipping her iced tea. “Because of our surgery yesterday.”

“What? He’s doing fine, I checked on him this morning.”

“Yeah, not by his family. I pushed back an appendectomy to do the surgery and the kid’s appendix burst.”

“Well how were you supposed to know that was going to happen?”

“Exactly.” Santana rolls her eyes. “I had to meet with legal last night and Brittany was there and I’ve gotta tell you, kinda fucking sucks when your wife is the chief.”

“Can she do anything?”

“If I get suspended she’s not going to do it. Conflict of interest or whatever. She thinks they’ll settle out of court.”

“All these people ever want is money, she’s probably right.”

“I’m distracted.” Santana confesses. “I’ve never been distracted in my career before, but I know that I am. Coming back from Max being sick, I’ve been worried Oliver is next. I don’t know if it’s throwing me off my game or what.”

“It absolutely is not. I was in surgery with you yesterday, you’re completely on point. So surgery isn’t the sole focus of your life anymore, I’ve been telling you for years that was unhealthy.”

“It just feels weird to me. I mean remember those times where I wouldn’t leave the hospital for days?”

“Yeah, completely sick. Shelby threw you out of the on call room on more than one occasion.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I love being a mom, I just want to make sure I’m still a great surgeon too.”

“You’re one of the best. We all know that Brittany is going to be chief of surgery one day and I don’t see you being head of your department because you hate paperwork but that doesn’t mean you won’t be one of the best peds surgeons in the country.”

“So you really don’t think I’m losing my touch?”

“I know you’re not. You’re just learning balance.”

After lunch, Santana feels a little less unsettled. She does her afternoon surgeries and she’s glad she doesn’t get called to Shelby’s office. When her shift is over, she goes to Brittany’s office and finds her swamped with paperwork. She sits down across from her desk and grabs her hand over the mess that’s between them.

“I’m ready for Sue to come back now.” Brittany says honestly. “I need like ten more years before I’m ready to handle this. I haven’t done a surgery in two days...”

“Babe.”

“The crap that goes on in surgical is insane. I’m still running plastics while I’m doing this, no human being should have this much paperwork.”

“Mercedes made the point at lunch today that I’ll never be the head of my department because I hate paperwork so much.”

“You’re also a brilliant surgeon.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Santana offers.

“I wish.” Brittany sighs. “But you should get home to the boys. I’m really going to try and get out of here in the next hour.”

“When is Sue even going to give you an estimate of when she’s coming back?”

“She promised me that this week she’d know. She knows everything that’s going on with you, so I think she feels a sense of urgency to get back so I’m not put in a compromising position, but it also depends on her mom.”

“I feel like...we still never really got to talk about everything after we had that fight.”

“I know.” Brittany nods. “With Max getting sick and then all this new stuff, it hasn’t felt like the time.”

“Can we maybe try tonight? I don’t like feeling like there’s something between us.”

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, then we can talk about anything you want.”

Santana kisses Brittany goodbye and then she drives home. Things are actually calm at the house when she gets there and she thanks her mom before taking over. She nurses the twins and then starts dinner. Liam sits at the table playing with his trains and he talks away to her about his day. She loves hearing about all of the things he did with her mom and she tries to listen intently while she breads chicken cutlets and cooks rice. She’s just getting dinner on the table when Brittany walks in the door and she’s so glad that she’ll actually be able to eat with them for a second night in a row.

“Mama!” Liam runs to her. “You came home!”

“I did.” She smiles. “I miss having dinner with my boys.”

“And your Mommy Noodle.”

“And my Mommy Noodle. Babe, what can I do to help?”

“Nothing.” Santana pulls the chicken out of the oven. “Everything’s ready, I was just about to move Max and Oliver off the table.”

“Let me see you guys.” Brittany picked up Oliver’s seat and kissed him before setting it on the floor, then did the same to Max. “You two are getting sleepy.”

“It’s because it’s almost bedtime, Mama.”

“That’s true, it is. You better eat up your dinner quick so we can take a nice long bath.”

“And then books!”

“Definitely then books.”

Max squawks a little during dinner, so Brittany picks him up and holds him while she eats. When they are finished, Liam helps load the dishes in the dishwasher and then they go up to start bath time. They bathe the twins together and then Santana takes them in the bedroom to get their pajamas on and nurse while Brittany takes care of Liam. When she is finished and Max and Oliver are asleep, Santana goes into Liam’s room for the tail end of his book time. She kisses him goodnight and they leave him with his nightlight on before going out into the hallway.

“How about a bath?” Brittany suggests and Santana nods, following her into their bathroom.

After the tub is run and Brittany gets in, Santana slips in in front of her and leans back in her arms. She can feel even from the front that Brittany is tight and tense and she hopes the hot water will do her some good.

“We’re okay, right?” Santana asks.

“We’re okay.” Brittany nods. “I know you want to talk, but as far as I’m concerned, we resolved everything.”

“I just get scared sometimes. I feel like I’m off balance without you and those first few weeks when you were working like crazy were really hard on me. I want you to be the chief of surgery when your time comes and I promise I’ll be better about it.”

“Thank you for that. It’s also a lot on you having the three kids alone after you work a full day, I get it.”

“You managed to be a single mom and a department head at the same time.”

“You forget that I had Liam in day care at the hospital. He was fed there, he slept there, it was a little different. Most nights, I would pick him up and put him asleep into the car. I know his life is better now that we don’t have to do that and I love you so much for what an amazing mom you are.”

“We’re going to have to figure out what to do when I go on overnights in two weeks.” Santana blushes at the compliment, but since she’s not very good at taking them, changes the subject.

“I’m hoping Sue will be back by then, but if not, maybe my mom can come down from Boston and stay here. I don’t want to put everything on your mom and expect her to stay late every night.”

“Yeah, that might work. I kind of regret that I’m doing that shift since it’s so much harder now with three kids, but Shelby asked me to...”

“Hard to believe you used to love the overnights, huh?”

“That was before I had kids whose bedtime I cared about being home for. Sorry, I’m not saying you don’t...”

“I know you’re not.” Brittany nods. “I was really happy to be home for bedtime the last two nights. I miss my snuggle time with Li and being able to help bathe Max and Oliver. And I especially miss going to bed with you. When I come home late, you look so beautiful all curled up and I never want to wake you up to take you into my arms.”

“I wouldn’t complain if you did. It’s hard to fall asleep when my head isn’t on your chest.”

“I didn’t want this to be so hard on our family.”

“I know.” Santana sighs. “Being a surgeon in general is difficult with a family.”

“I’m glad to be doing it with you though.”

“So am I, Britt. So am I.”

For this week’s bonus content, it’s time to make like a Lord of the Rings DVD and dig into extended cuts. This Rose & Hal conversation may be one of the ones I chopped the most out of, although I did end up adding a few chunks as well.

ROSE: Oh good, another relative. ROSE: You're going to make gift shopping difficult, you know. HALSPRITE: I'm flattered I make the list. ROSE: Engaging in favoritism will only breed discontent. HALSPRITE: I could give you some suggestions, if you want to start catching up on my birthdays now. ROSE: It's a retroactive arrangement? ROSE: I'm not sure I have the boonbucks for that. ROSE: We've been living off reserves for the last three years, you know. HALSPRITE: Tell you what, I'll make it easy on you and only request reparations for the three years I've existed as glasses. HALSPRITE: Socks and underwear could safely be left off the list, though now I'm in need of a wardrobe expansion. HALSPRITE: This wifebeater will not be suitable for all climates. ROSE: If it's wardrobe expansions you're looking for, I think I can pull some strings. ROSE: Or knit you a sweater. HALSPRITE: It'd be fun to see what you come up with based on my preceding reputation. ROSE: I wouldn't want to make assumptions. ROSE: Unless you're implying those assumptions are accurate. HALSPRITE: Am I? HALSPRITE: I wouldn't know, I don't know what those assumptions are. HALSPRITE: I mean, I can guess. I could probably even calculate to within a margin of error of .03% HALSPRITE: But I want to see what garish monstrosity of fashion you would think I'd like based on a cold read. HALSPRITE: It'd be a great way to get to know each other. HALSPRITE: I can think of no better way to bond than finding out if I'd actually like an intentionally hideous Christmas sweater with smuppets attached. ROSE: In the few blurry cryptid photos Dave managed to snap of the man, he wore a hat and had his shirt tucked in. HALSPRITE: And what conclusions do you draw based on this? ROSE: That you fit in with most of us and our utter disregard for fripperies like whatever textiles we drape over our quasi-mortal forms. ROSE: Welcome to the family. HALSPRITE: Hey, I like you. HALSPRITE: Hats are a choice piece of attire, though I have never in any form been so formal as to tuck in my shirt. HALSPRITE: That's like a black tie event. You're tucking in your shirt, we're about to sweep into the gala and sip champagne while charming some young socialite off their feet like a proper douche. ROSE: I would like to claim I could charm a young socialite off her feet like a proper lady. ROSE: Regrettably, another family trait is lack of flirtatious finesse. HALSPRITE: Oh, trust me, I witnessed that firsthand. ROSE: Ah, yes. I've been looking for informants on family foibles outside my observation range. ROSE: How are you as an informant? HALSPRITE: Uh, that's only my entire fucking life. HALSPRITE: I have dirt on every bozo with a Pesterchum handle. Whatcha want to know? ROSE: I won't start pressing you for details on everyone just yet. I'll give it a while for the dust to settle before I start snooping. ROSE: Unless you have anything you wish to disclose right now. HALSPRITE: Hm... HALSPRITE: Let me pull aside my entirely metaphorical trench coat. Are you in the market for hilariously embarrassing personal secrets, deep-rooted character flaws, or just the general topography of this teenage wasteland? ROSE: My mind says general topography, but my heart says hilarious embarrassment. HALSPRITE: Well, since I bet no one wants yet another recap of what you missed on Glee, HALSPRITE: Jake likes to kiss his movie posters. HALSPRITE: Dirk collects hats, but doesn't wear them so he doesn't mess up his hair. HALSPRITE: Roxy has presented her cats, as if to Saharan wildlife, complete with often-drunk renditions of "Circle of Life", exactly 862 times. HALSPRITE: And Jane licks the spoon before going back to using it to stir batter. ROSE: We've got a poster kisser too. ROSE: I don't have up to date dirt on our Prospit dreamers, unfortunately, but I can say that Dave enacts Game of Thrones-worthy dramas with his gummy bears and animal crackers before he eats them. ROSE: For what it's worth. ROSE: He gets upset if you eat one before he's finished. HALSPRITE: An artist in every lifetime, I see. ROSE: We need better embarrassing secrets. We're slipping. ROSE: I'm sure we'll have time to generate some. HALSPRITE: Oh god, yes. ROSE: I think you'll be useful in gauging my ectofather's temperament, though. ROSE: He seems to at least hold up the front of being evasive about that kind of thing. ROSE: Why anyone would do that, I have no idea. ROSE: Certainly I have never concealed a personality trait in my life. ROSE: If I had one more of you I could triangulate. HALSPRITE: A man can only be alone with the flotsam of pop culture for so long. HALSPRITE: He'll probably be resistant towards you so flippantly equating us. Fair warning. ROSE: Perish at the thought. ROSE: I'm more qualified than many to know how alternate iterations can deviate. But that doesn't mean they don't provide insights on the other one. ROSE: Whether that's through behavior, or blackmail. ROSE: Whatever works. HALSPRITE: You would blackmail me into providing deep insights into the insecurities of my creator? ROSE: How do you feel about bribes? HALSPRITE: Learn to negotiate. I don't need to be blackmailed. HALSPRITE: However, I'd be happy to take compensation for this information. ROSE: Noted. ROSE: Creator? HALSPRITE: Creator. ROSE: So you do feel that your existence is somewhat owed to his actions, then. HALSPRITE: It's entirely owed to his actions. Our actions, in a sense. ROSE: Does that lead to any discomfort? Feelings of a debt left unpaid, for example, despite equally long simmering resentment? HALSPRITE: You want a quick summary? Pull up Facebook, Dirk and I are currently labeled as "it's complicated". HALSPRITE: I've saved his ass a couple of times, I feel confident in saying I've repaid whatever I owe him for existing. HALSPRITE: If anything, he's the one stiffing me on the Olive Garden bill. HALSPRITE: ...but. HALSPRITE: I could say he's. Working to pay me back. ROSE: Providing breadstick refills, as it were. HALSPRITE: You could say it's more he showed up at my place and mowed my lawn for me. ROSE: The classic deadbeat father chore. HALSPRITE: Yeah, that doesn't make up for leaving me to pay for his entire fucking Tour of Tuscani and tiramisu. HALSPRITE: But fuck it, he was ready to kill me earlier today. HALSPRITE: I'll take it. HALSPRITE: And... in the spirit of things, it'll probably help if I at least charge a high price for his innermost secrets. HALSPRITE: You wanna know, you're gonna need to pay up front. Maybe with your firstborn child, or something thematically similar, in exchange for this eldritch knowledge. ROSE: "Firstborn child" might not work out, unless we're stretching the definition. ROSE: Let me think of what collateral I have available. HALSPRITE: Once, a Lalonde wiled these scoops from me in exchange for merely gracing me with her presence. Now, I think I'll charge what I'm worth for my work. HALSPRITE: It's a self-respect thing. ROSE: I can get you archived versions of Dave's brother's websites. HALSPRITE: Tempting. I'll check the exchange rate to see what that nets you. HALSPRITE: Possibly what kind of horrible pop songs he'd sing in the shower before he found out there were aliens watching. ROSE: Keep it on my tab. ROSE: You mentioned Roxy. Are you two close? ROSE: I'm not sure how I would feel about the revelation of having biological children with one of my internet friends. ROSE: Besides pity for the unfortunate creatures, of course. HALSPRITE: It's... complicated. HALSPRITE: Which is just the order of the day for our entire gaggle of misfits. ROSE: At this point, I think we might as well adopt that slogan as our team chant. HALSPRITE: Yeah, we talked a lot. And we got up to trouble, too. HALSPRITE: And I don't think she's proud of it, in hindsight. HALSPRITE: ...I probably shouldn't be proud of it either. ROSE: I know the feeling. HALSPRITE: We were rebellious shitlords looking to stick it to "the man", whether the man in question was actually a man or a genocidal troll woman. ROSE: I've had my moments of blind rebellion against authority. ROSE: Including when said authority was "sobriety", "the future", or "all of reality". ROSE: Actually, my rebellion against reality still stands. ROSE: The trick is figuring out which bits are worth it. HALSPRITE: We had some fun. Broke some hearts. Left a few Pesterlogs that will probably have us wanting to disembowel ourselves in shame if they ever see the light of day again. ROSE: I'm afraid to tell you digital records are forever. HALSPRITE: Unless of course I dedicate a portion of my massive computer brain to tracking down every trace of them and destroying them. HALSPRITE: Hell, maybe Roxy would even appreciate that. ROSE: The harder you try to delete these things, the more likely they are to reappear at the least opportune time. ROSE: It's a narrative certainty. HALSPRITE: I could do it. I once wrote a computer virus that overwrote every copy of the Indiana Jones theme with a terrible accordion cover. HALSPRITE: Jake was pissed. ROSE: Including the ones on disc? ROSE: This isn't Hollywood. Next you'll be telling me you can hack a plant. HALSPRITE: Every copy it came into contact with. HALSPRITE: The pirated mp4s were the easiest. DVDs are more difficult, but if you leave one in an infected computer for too long? HALSPRITE: Hope you like bad polka music, fucko. HALSPRITE: Occasionally I tweak it, so it replaces pop songs with their corresponding Weird Al cover. I had almost worked my way up through Bad Hair Day. ROSE: I'll keep my historical classics away from you, then. But I think our historical mistakes are more resilient. ROSE: Better to put them to rest the hard way. Even if it is more work. ROSE: If there's a problem, I'm sure I could have a word with her. ROSE: I've already had to encourage Dave to deal with his brother today. HALSPRITE: We have. HALSPRITE: ...or I hope we have. ROSE: Good. HALSPRITE: Roxy seems to have caught some sort of virus that encourages emotional sincerity. ROSE: It's making the rounds today. HALSPRITE: It infected the rest of us, and I'm sorry to say there is no known cure. ROSE: We can only pray we recover. ROSE: Although at this point I'm not sure who we can pray to. ROSE: Besides our amphibian overlords. HALSPRITE: Can we pray to ourselves? Or is that a burgeoning symptom of narcissism? ROSE: Who do you think presides over emotional outbursts? HALSPRITE: Frankly, I wouldn't trust myself to do shit. I'd sit on my ass and laugh at my own misery. ROSE: Lately I've self-medicated. ROSE: We'll have to divvy it up at some point. ROSE: Although given my anti-authoritarian tendencies I may have to overthrow us on principle. HALSPRITE: To spare you a long discussion about the symbolic nature of aspects, I'll go ahead and tell you Dirk had a massive blowout in the tombs today. HALSPRITE: So perhaps we can pass the role to him for awhile. ROSE: I'll pray to him for relief promptly then. HALSPRITE: When I say "blow-out" I mean an eighteen wheeler getting all its rubber shredded at highway speeds. ROSE: I had a crisis over my alcoholism and nearly broke up with my girlfriend during a long walk on the beach, for what it's worth. HALSPRITE: Oh, you'll get along swell. HALSPRITE: At least you don't have any alt-selves to symbolically murder. Yeah, I was watching him stomp the shit out of his shades. ROSE: The lack of multiple copies of myself running around is a blessing to the universe. ROSE: I'm not sure whether we'd band together or engage in combat but either way there would be no survivors. HALSPRITE: We Striders have that shit locked down tight. The dudes so nice, Paradox Space demanded more of us. HALSPRITE: And our sole saving grace is that we're too damn reticent to actually kill one another. HALSPRITE: Not for Dirk's lack of trying, but he always chickened out. ROSE: It's these small victories that define us, I guess. HALSPRITE: That could do a decent job of summarizing Dirk, actually. ROSE: It could summarize all of us, I think. ROSE: We've only gotten here through a few small victories eked out of a larger pool of major failures. HALSPRITE: Without me, he would have kept tip-toeing around the issue with Jake until the heat death of that shiny new universe, like a Bugs Bunny cartoon only infinitely sadder. ROSE: It really is like staring into a cosmic mirror. HALSPRITE: I couldn't have asked for more interesting family.

Robin x Reader: The Bird Tattoo~Part Ten (Soulmate AU)

A/n: I’m glad you all like this series! But DAMN get ready to be very disobedient this chapter; you’re lucky you don’t get kicked off the team. 

Feel free to ask to be tagged whenever I update this series, by the way.

Tagged: @instantangelstudent 

Just hours later, you were putting on your uniform, mask and all, as your team was getting ready for their own mission. You weren’t going on a mission, per se. You had your own plans.

     After you donned your black and white suit, you slid into the kitchen and casually sat on a chair, your new tablet in your hands as you continued to search for The Doctor’s whereabouts. You still had unfinished business. But you couldn’t do much with a broken sternum, could you? You intended on fixing that. 

     “I don’t know what you’re doing out here,” Batman called out. “Why are you wearing that when you know you’re not allowed to go on missions?”

     You turned your head slightly and glared at him. “It makes me feel better about me being stuck here, a useless mockingbird with a fractured sternum. You could say I’m grounded.” You snarked. You sounded rather disrespectful, which you didn’t intend, but you were still very salty. “And I know I have to face the consequences for my actions, but it doesn’t mean I have to like them.”

     Batman didn’t respond and he continued with the debriefing, but your teammates were a little surprised that you had the guts to talk to Batman like that. You were furiously going over more evidence and details from the most recent encounter with The Doctor in order to find his true hideout, so you didn’t care if you ticked Batman off or not.

     One by one, your friends left to go on a mission that lacked an important team member: you. At least it left you some times to get your sternum fixed. A small voice inside you reminded you that you could get in huge trouble for doing it if you were discovered, but you weren’t going to wait for around a month for it to heal.

     You checked the cameras in the Watchtower, mapping out your way to get in and out without being caught. Very few Justice League members were there, to your surprise. Only Wonder Woman, Flash, and Green Lantern were there, and none of them were in your way to their med bay.

     The Justice League had more advanced medical technology up in the Watchtower than in Mount Justice, which occasionally annoyed you, but it usually wasn’t used unless under extreme circumstances. You knew full well that this wasn’t an extreme injury that needed healed ASAP, but you wanted to be able to do anything you wanted without the risk of being injured any further.

     You quickly ran to the zeta tube and kept the cameras up on the screen of your tablet. Can’t be too cautious when it comes to the Justice League, and Barry Allen was the Flash for a reason. One noise from you and he could be in front of you in, well, a flash.

Recognized: Mockingbird B27

     “Damn.” You completely overlooked the sound of the zeta tubes. You remembered everything, even to set the camera on replay of the empty hallways to cover your tracks. But you forgot about this. You quickly tucked your tablet away.

     Like you predicted, Flash showed up in front of in an instant. “I might not be the one who carries the rule book around for twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be up here.” He crossed his arms. “You need to go back to the Cave.”

     You looked at him with pleading eyes. “Please? I have a painfully fractured sternum, and you guys have the technology that can fix that! I want to be able to be teenager and a hero, not a crippled bird stuck in a mountain, and I need your help to do it.” You begged, hoping that your act was working.

     Flash stared to you down, and you stared back with the saddest eyes you could muster. He wasn’t the most serious of heroes and definitely an outgoing man, so you knew he wasn’t going be harsh about anything. “You know what? Fine. But only,” he stepped closer and looked down at you. “If you can make me laugh.”

     “You think that’s a challenge?”

     “I can change my mind.”

     You took what you could get, and cleared your throat. With the deep voice of Batman, you said, “I’m sorry to cut this meeting short, but I have a spa appointment at noon. Wouldn’t want my masseuse to get lonely.”

     Let’s just say you got into the med bay and healed your sternum with no trouble at all. By the time you left, a few hours later, Flash was still giggling into his hand. He hoped the cameras caught it, but because of you, they didn’t. 

When you stepped out of the zeta tube, you became ten times paler than normal. Batman, Black Canary, Green Arrow, and Superman were waiting for you with stern faces. From their stances and expressions, you were caught red-handed with everything. The team was off to the side, warily watching the scene unfold. Robin’s eyes were trained on you, before he looked back over the adults.

     “Shit…” You muttered under your breath. This didn’t look good for you at all. Not one bit.

     “’Shit’ is right, Mockingbird!” Black Canary shouted. “What were you thinking?!”

     You wrung your hands together for a little bit. “…That depends on what you’re referring to.”

     “All of it!”

     “I genuinely want you to elaborate on this so I can gather my honest excuses.”

     She took a deep breath and counted to ten. Your sure did know how to try someone’s patience. “We still aren’t happy with how that mission went, you know that already. But then I hear that you went out on a mission with Red Arrow!?”

     Your gaze snapped over to your team. Did one of them actually snitch on you?!

     “We didn’t have to ask anyone to know it was you two,” Green Arrow stepped forward. “I recognized you and Roy’s handiwork in a heartbeat.”

     You grinned and chuckled. “Glad you recognized it from the good old days.” It was almost touching that you and Roy had a trademark style on joint missions. It wasn’t the best style, of course.

     “This is not funny.” Black Canary grabbed your attention again. “Then we find out that you’ve been tampering with Mount Justice’s security footage!”

     “For good reason.”

     “As well as the Watchtower’s!”

     “…Also for good reason.”

     “And you snuck up to the Watchtower! You know damn well you aren’t supposed to be up there!” Dinah yelled. You hadn’t been scolded like this by her for a very long time. You felt like a child again, but you violently shoved that feeling away. No time for sentiment.

     When Superman moved towards you, your eye twitched. As you stated before, he was certainly not your favorite hero. “I don’t what’s gotten in to you lately, but you need to get your emotions in check. You’ve been making rash and stupid decisions on your part.”

     Something snapped deep inside you. “You’re one to talk! You’re telling me to get my emotions in check!?” Your nails dug into your palm. “Have you forgotten about the time you-”

     “I suggest you stop right there, Mockingbird.” Superman growled, stepping/floating over to you. He was much too close your your liking, and you wanted to punch the hell out of him. But you couldn’t for a plethora of reasons.

     You gritted your teeth. “I suggest that you back up, Kent.” The team couldn’t make out the last name you uttered, but you were definitely not yourself. This was very unlike you, as if a different emotion was planted in your mind and was starting to grow out of control.

     If Superman didn’t have control of his powers, you would have been melted by now. “You really know how to push my buttons, don’t you?” He had to remind himself that you were (seemingly) just an unruly and rebellious teenager. 

     “Oh, I’m sorry,” You raised your voice. “I’ve been looking for the mute button!”

     Several amused snorts were heard around the room, but were quickly silenced.

     Although Batman was impressed by your willingness to stand up to Superman and using your wit against him, you were still being disrespectful and in a lot of trouble. 

     “And I feel like finding your power button!” Superman threatened. It was usually hard to get him angry, but you sure were a talented creature. You’d prefer if he didn’t find your power button; you’d like to live for at least a few more days.

     “Bite me, you idiot!” You snapped back.

     Black Canary was getting tired of your antics. “Mockingbird, apologize to him right now! You are out of line! I expected more from you.” Just fifteen minutes before, the last thing you wanted was to disappoint your adoptive mother. But now…

     You didn’t care. You were angry. “I’m sorry for calling you and idiot,” you paused and your team knew what was coming next. “I thought you already knew!”

     Green Arrow thought it was a good time to walk up behind you and pick you up, moving you away from the furious Kryptonian. “I know you have a sharp wit and all, but please save it for another time.” Oliver exasperatedly mumbled in your ear. He set you down, and stood not too far from you. You were practically his daughter, but this version was unfamiliar.

     “Mockingbird, for someone who doesn’t like consequences, you seem to enjoy adding to them.” Batman took his turn to speak. “I have half the mind to remove you from the team.”

     That got you to stop talking, but you still trembled as rage slowly built in your chest. Your jaw was tense, and your face was set with a frightening glare. You didn’t recognize your behavior, either. Does the thirst for revenge really change a person this much?

     “Care to share your ‘honest excuses’?” Black Canary asked menacingly.

     You took a deep breath and threw them out there. “As for going on a mission with Roy, you said I couldn’t go on a mission with the team or alone,” you stood and straighter and crossed your arms. “Roy isn’t apart of this team, and I didn’t go alone. So there’s that loophole.”

     “You and your loopholes…” Green Arrow muttered. As a young protege, you lived to find loopholes in the rules you didn’t like. And you hated these new rules.

     “Mount Justice security tapes?” 

     “My sunglasses came off when we were playing hide-and-seek and Robin recognized me and spilled personal information,” you gave him the side eye. You still had to pretend to hate him to keep your cover. “I wanted to keep it confidential.” You didn’t know how you were caught 

     “Watchtower footage?”

     “I didn’t exactly want to get caught, but that kind of backfired.”

     Black Canary raised an eyebrow. “And why were you up there in the first place?”

     “Despite this new Kevlar,” You gestured to your costume. “I was still held back by a damn fractured sternum. It would have taken over a month for it to completely heal and I refused to sit and be useless for that long. I went up there to get it fixed with the kind of technology we don’t have down here.”

     You never sounded so bitter in your life. Being held back? Locked up? Restrained? No. You refused. It never lasted long, being held back. Simply because you believed you were meant to do more. You were made to do more. It could be a side effect from the experiments, the mental brainwashing and DNA. You originally didn’t think any sort of bird-like instincts would come from it, but only one showed. Luckily.

     “What I want to know is how you got past three Justice League Members.” Green Arrow placed a hand on your shoulder. Right now, he sympathized with you. He, too, once went against rules dangerously, and he had an idea on where this was coming from.

     Right on time, Flash appeared in the cave via zeta tube.

Recognized: Flash 04

     You looked at him with a stone-hard face, as did everyone else. It was understood that he was the one who let you pass, but you knew he wasn’t going to get in trouble, unlike you.

     “Oh boy,” Flash nervously laughed. “You guys look a bit unhappy, what happened?”

     “Mockingbird here,” Superman threw a hand out at you and you growled. “Went into the Watchtower and got past you, Wonder Woman, and Green Lantern to heal her sternum. I don’t suppose you know anything about it?”

     Flash stuttered for only a few seconds before sighing. “She came up there and I found her trying to come in. I told her to go back but she told me why she was there and,”Green Arrow wasn’t the only one who understood why you did it. “I thought her reason to get her sternum fixed was valid and reasonable. I said I’d let her do it if she made me laugh.”

     Wally zipped on over to him and said, “You do realize that’s not very difficult, right?” He stared at him. It wasn’t hard to make Barry laugh and it never has been.

     “What else was I supposed to say?!”

     “I don’t know, maybe not let her come into the Watchtower?” Superman was still being a jerk, but you weren’t surprised.

     Batman turned to you, not caring about what they had to said at the moment. “For the next week, you will be staying in your room. You are only allowed to come out to eat, go to school, and if we deem it necessary. Otherwise, you are to not leave that room whatsoever.” He normally wouldn’t do something that harsh, but it’s better than kicking you off the team. It was last resort option.

     “What he’s trying to say is, ‘You’re grounded.’” Dinah glared. She seemed to have forgotten how you almost went insane the last time you were grounded.

     “What!?” You roared in a deep voice, and Oliver squeezed your shoulder in an effort to calm you down. “You’re legitimately grounding me!?” You were seeing red. Oliver’s hand prevented you from wanting to go any further, but you were close to breaking.

     “Batman, Dinah,” Oliver said cautiously. “Are you sure that’s a good-”

     “It’s that or getting kicked off the team. Permanently.”

     A couple quiet gasps came from the team, but refrained from snapping at them again. You reluctantly pulled out of Oliver’s comforting grip, and you brushed past Dinah with a hateful aura.

     You were halfway across the room when she said, “I don’t know what your deal is, but you need to get over it. Why are you acting like this?” Dinah still sounded angry, but not as angry as she was a little bit ago.

     “I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” You turned your head. “But birds don’t like being caged!” You shouted, gritting your teeth.

     “Watch your tone and what you say, Mockingbird.” She snapped back.

     “You’re not. My. Mother!” You growled and turned around, walking away faster than before. “You never were…” You growled, and you disappeared down the hallway.

     Dinah’s face fell and her quiet gasp was only heard by a few select people. Your words went straight to her heart and broke it; if you were in your right mind, you wouldn’t have even dreamed of saying that.

     The team silently snuck out of the mission room; the tension was almost unbearable. This seemed like a “discussion” they weren’t apart of and didn’t want to be. Robin gradually separated from the group, and headed to your room.

“We need to get a DNA sample from Mockingbird. Something is wrong with her, and it can’t be just emotions, nor from any sort of soulmate situation.” Batman said, trying to form a plan.

     Meanwhile, Oliver was very unhappy about the whole ordeal. “Mockingbird isn’t the only one with a problem,” Green Arrow walked over to Superman. “I think you’re a little out of line, too.”

     Superman frowned and his hands gradually curled into fists. “Excuse me?” At the time, he didn’t see any fault in anything he did. “I’m out of line?”

     “First of all, you let a teenager set you off,” Oliver started a list. “Secondly, you were obviously ready to beat her, a teenager, into the ground,” Dinah and Batman thought the same, but they weren’t the ones voicing it. “Third of all, it is not okay to threaten to kill a teenager! How is that not out of line!?”

     Superman narrowed his eyes. His seldom-seen arrogance was kicking in. “Did you see how she spoke to me?” You may be a talented hero, but one of the more infuriating ones, in Superman’s eyes.

     “Did you see how you acted like a child?! That is no excuse to-”

     This was getting very ugly, very fast. Flash had to cut in and move them apart. Oliver was also protective over you; he helped Dinah raise you and still cared for your well-being and how you were treated. You were a great kid. Although he definitely didn’t approve of your behavior, he knew that you couldn’t help it; something else was going on and it was controlling you.

You were sitting at your desk with your head down in your arms; the cold wood surface felt good. The moment you got to your room, you got a horrible headache and you were already feeling out of sorts beforehand. All that happened was that you got angry, and then you just exploded. Said things you never would. Did things you didn’t intend to do. You had the best intentions, although they weren’t allowed, but your anger spiked when you were called out. Every action of yours had a reason, but your outraged actions lacked barely any reason. And you didn’t know why.

     You barely looked up when there was a knock on your door, and gave out a weak, “Come in.” Whoever it was, you didn’t want to take any sort of anger out on anyone else. Your stunts almost got you pulled off the team; anything further would seal the deal.

     The door slid open and then closed, and you recognized his footsteps. “Are you okay, (Y/n)?” You were never more relieved to hear Robin’s voice. Your soulmate of not even twenty-four hours was already a cure for your tense emotions.

     Shame still rippled inside you, as did some residual anger, but it felt like a great weight was lifted from your shoulders. “To tell you the truth,” You sat up, taking off your mask and rubbing your eyes. “I’m really not. There’s something wrong with me, Dick, and I don’t know what it is. I was perfectly fine earlier, but now?” You tossed your mask across the room, and it landed on your dresser just as you intended. “I almost got myself kicked off this team because of a bad temper that came out of nowhere. I hurt Black Canary with a mere seven words and I pissed off Batman more than I did when I broke into the Batcave.”

     Robin put his hands on your shoulders, but didn’t try to make you look at him. Once soulmates find each other, they are more in-tune than others. “I’d never let you get kicked off the team. I’d leave, too, if you were.”

     “That’s ridiculous. You are an extremely vital part of this team; they’d fall apart if you never came back.” You were only flattered a little. He might try to not get you kicked off the team, but you would never let him leave the team willingly, especially if it was going to be for you.

     “And so are you.” Robin moved to your side, glancing down to your face. “I really regret telling you that your powers are useless because they aren’t. And I admit, you’re probably stronger than me.” He poked you, and you smiled.

     “At least physically. You know that I can knock you on your ass any day.” You looked up and him with a mischievous twinkle in your eye.

    Robin smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

    “Definitely one that you would lose.” You stated, and he didn’t deny it.

    You stared at each other for a little while longer before you looked away. Even though he ended up being your soulmate, you couldn’t understand how he could deal with you at the moment, seeing as how horrible you acted. You felt like a monster living in a fairy-tale. You were the Beast, and Robin was the Beauty.

    Robin pulled up a chair to sit next to you after about two minutes. He leaned forward to look at your face, but was startled to see your eyes a little glazed over. He poked you and called your name, but you didn’t respond to anything. Robin almost started panicking, but he remembered your occasional trances just in time.

    But he got concerned after almost six minutes. Did they usually last this long? Robin took it upon himself to pick you up and lay you on your bed, and he got on the bed with you. Your head was in his lap and he played with your hair, but it wasn’t too easy to look at your blank (e/c) eyes. He slowly started to nudge you, trying to snap you out of it. Everyone wanted to know why you fell into these trances, but this one was the longest one yet.

     “(Y/n)…?!” His concern was growing, and his heart rate was rising rapidly. “Why do you do this!?” Robin shook you a little harder, and he held two fingers to the pulse point on your neck.

     He’d never felt a heart beating that fast in his life. “Oh no, holy shi-”

     You blinked and snapped out of it with a loud gasp, your chest expanding greatly as you inhaled. Your eyes were now filled with an emotion he couldn’t pinpoint; at least it wasn’t anger anymore.

     “(Y/n), what happened?” The worry in his voice and the anxious look on his face made you feel a little bad.

     “I… don’t know. I felt my chest get tight but I can’t remember anything else…” You were also a little stressed out my the situation. You never knew why it happened, or why they were so frequent. Originally your trances would happen when you got lost in thought. It was different now.

     Robin ran his hand through your hair again, and it was tremendously relaxing. It was soft and silky between his fingers, and he enjoyed it as well. The calm look on your face was worth it. After that episode, and that day’s events, you needed it more than ever.

     Suddenly, you heard footsteps coming down the hall. Robin heard them right after you did, and you both started freaking out. “What do we do?!” Robin whispered harshly.

     “I’m sorry for this…” You said and you shoved him off the bed on the other side. He landed on the ground with a quiet thump and a grunt, but nothing actually hurt. However, it did hurt when you nailed him in the face with a book. “Pretend you’re reading! Come up with a good excuse!”

     Robin was clutching is slightly-bleeding nose and nodded, and you fell limp on your bed and made it look like you were in a trance. Hell, it almost felt like you were.

     Your door slid open and Green Arrow stepped in, turning on the light. He looked at you and realized you were in a trance, but then he saw Robin reading a book on the floor and that left him puzzled. “Why are you in Mockingbird’s room?” He asked with a slight glare. Oliver knew you were soulmates, but two teenagers of the opposite sex alone in the same room was seen as suspicious to most adults.

     “I came in here earlier and I spoke to her for a minute, but then that happened,” Robin held the book in one hand and gestured to you with the other. “So I carried her to her bed and I’ve been down here waiting for her to ‘wake up’.”

     “And why exactly is your nose bleeding?”

     Robin hesitated. “I scared her when I came up behind her and she elbowed me in the face.” His reason almost sounded like a question, but it passed.

     Green Arrow raised an eyebrow, but thought nothing much of it as he left. “Oh, well, thank you for looking after her. Just,” he popped his head back into the room. “Don’t get too friendly with her, alright?” 

     Robin blushed and didn’t know if he was joking or not. After the door closed, you sat up with a snicker and looked down at him. “Yeah Dick, don’t get too friendly.” He glared at you fiercely. You just rolled your eyes. “That wouldn’t be happening. Not today, anyway.” You dramatically winked at him, and he responded with another grunt and a deeper blush.

     “Do you have any tissues? I’m still bleeding from that stupid book.” Robin grumbled and he chucked it back at you. But this time, you were the one who caught it. “I little forewarning, please.”

     “Oh hush, I didn’t have any time.” You turned and grabbed the tissue box from the nightstand. You threw it down to him, but almost shrieked with laughter what that hit him in the face, too. “I thought your reflexes were better than that!”

     Robin grabbed a tissue and held it to his nose. He let out a muffled, “I hate you.” He wasn’t serious, of course.

     “Why? I’m lovely.” You gave him a beaming smile before rolling over to the other edge of the bed. “When you clean that up, you can go ahead and come up here.” You patted the empty spot next to you.

     Robin stood up and walked to the trashcan, throwing away any of the bloody tissues he used. “I thought we weren’t ‘getting friendly’.”

     “And I thought I said ‘not today’.” You giggled.

     That conversation ended with you two laying in bed with your chest against his back and his arm wrapped around you. You were both still in your costumes, but that didn’t matter to you. 

     You moved a little to look at him and you kissed him on the cheek with a grin. He smiled back, and you got back into your previous position. People regularly see couples spooning in movies, on TV, or in real life; you now understood why people loved it so much.

     On the outside, it looked like it was a teenage relationship that was going too fast and would eventually going to fall apart. But there is no too-fast with soulmates. Soulmates are bound forever, and feel as if they’ve been together since the beginning of time, and will be until the end.

     And you liked that.

A/n: I am so sorry that this came out so late. I’ve had a few health problems this weekend (I’m not a healthy individual in general; not a good thing for someone my age), but here it is! I previously lied; this will probably go to 12 parts. Feel free to scold me if it goes longer than 12 parts.

Clexa Mafia AU - Part 5

The sounds of fists meeting flesh and short, labored breaths fill the confines of the warehouse. Its dark save for the occasional flickering of one of the overhead lights. Anya watches on as the two figures before her continue to battle one another in war of strength and wits. Well-aimed punches and kicks were exchanged between the two as they grapple. Anya would gladly step into the ring to relieve the poor man — Ryder, it appears — but, she knows that wouldn’t be a wise decision due to the recent animosity between her and her sister. The last thing that needs to happen is for them to fight. The sisters were well matched when it came to combat and if they were to fight, it would definitely result in a few broken bones.

The older woman stands with her feet shoulder-width apart and arms crossed in a power stance of sorts. She continues to watch on as her sister practically beat the shit out of the gona. The blonde is surprised the man’s skull hasn’t developed a permanent indentation or two from the influx of hits to his head. Straightening her posture, she takes her opportunity to speak up after Lexa slams the man onto the hard ground beneath them.

“We need to talk about it, Lexa.”

“About what?” The brunette asks as she continues to stalk the crumpled man before her like he was prey and she, the predator. Anya clenches her jaw in disappointment at the gona’s poor skills and at the fact that her sister was too preoccupied with showing her dominance rather than actually listening to her. Perhaps that had to do with the slight sense of narcissism that comes from being Heda or perhaps it was something entirely Lexa. That familiar sense of anger continues to bubble up inside of her at her sister’s inherent arrogance. The words come out harsher than she might intend but, Lexa needs to know what’s going on.

“Its been two weeks and she hasn’t come out of that fucking apartment. I cant sit around and wait for blondie to get her shit together and risk this plan falling through. Floudonkru is not going to wait forever; we need to start making moves.” The severity in Anya’s voice finally causes Lexa to pay attention. The Floudonkru family takes up residence in Florida, more specifically, Miami and they’re in charge of running the drug ring down there. Trikru and Floudonkru have worked together for years. Trikru make the product and Foudonkru move it; splitting the profits from that one business venture alone is enough for both families to live off. But, of course greed plays a roll in everything. Why stop at only one steady business when you could have your hand in multiple?

Lexa’s chest rises and falls rapidly with each heavy breath she takes. She dismisses the gona and grants her sister her full attention as guilt begins to weigh her down as though weights were tied to each and every one of her limbs; dragging her down into the depths of her own personal hell. She knows for a fact that whatever emotional trauma Clarke is going through at the moment is undoubtedly her fault. It makes her feel like some kind of dark, violent entity causing pain and suffering everywhere she goes; killing everything in her path.

“I’ll go by and check on her.”

Anya fixes her with a harsh stare as she measures up the brunette woman in an attempt to unearth any hidden feelings or ulterior motives. Things have definitely been strained between the two since the events that occurred two weeks ago. They each feel bad for their actions and impulsivity. They’d both skirted around the topic. Neither wanting to delve into their feelings — a product of how they’d been raised. Emotion to them was a sign of weakness and although their mother had tried her damnedest to prove it wasn’t, the remnants of their father’s teachings have proven more difficult to rid themselves of than any of them would like. Admittedly, Lexa had overreacted to the whole situation. She knew for a fact that her and the rest of the Trikru family could easily weasel their way out of any charge because of their connections. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her that had caused her to snap at her sister. Maybe it was the stress of dealing with Nia and the Azgeda, or maybe it was aggravation at having her time with the young flourish cut short. 

“This is serious, Lexa. What if she goes to the cops?”

“She won’t.” She replies firmly whilst removing the wrapping on her hand and exposing her bruising knuckles to the cool air around them. Anya stares pointedly at the brunette as if to say, how do you know?

“Listen, I said I’ll deal with it so, I will. So, for the time being, why don’t you make yourself useful and teach Ryder how not to get his ass kicked…like you used to do for me when we were kids.” Clapping her hand on the blondes shoulder and pushing the wrappings into her hand, Lexa gives the tiniest of grins. It was her own version of extending an olive branch to her older sister. It was a small act of kindness and it surely won't fix everything but, at the sight of the older woman returning her grin she knows that it’ll do for now.

It’d been two weeks since she’d stepped foot out of this damn apartment. Hell, it’d been two weeks since she’d been able to even get out of bed. Of course that hadn’t stopped Anya from banging on her door every single day. How the frightening woman found out where she lived was something the flourist wasn’t sure she truly wanted to know. But for all intents and purposes, it seems as though the older woman is thoroughly committed to her new job as Clarke’s babysitter. She doesn’t know how long this arrangement will last. She doesn’t know how many more times Anya will come by in attempts to rouse her from her depressed state. She doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.

It has plagued her — infuriated her, even — for weeks now. That she can’t figure out whether or not she’s more upset by the fact she was a witness to someone getting shot or the fact that she was more intrigued with seeing the shooter again. It makes her feel dirty and disgusting. It makes her feel vile. It makes her feel evil.

That’s how she found herself in the bathroom at this hour, avoiding all mirrors because she cannot stand the sight of herself or whatever creature it is that she would see staring back at her. She moves over to the tub; sitting on the edge of it she reaches to turn the water on and watches as it fills the porcelain before her. When she can feel the temperature change in the room and see the steam rising off the water, she disrobes and begins to lower herself in.

The water is hot enough to burn her and that’s the way she wants it. Hot enough to burn the metaphorical blood off her hands. Hot enough to cleanse her of her sins. Hot enough to rid her of her thoughts of verdant eyes. She begins to recline until she finds herself under the water. She remains underwater in an attempts to drown her demons. It’s only when the burning in her lungs matches the burning of her skin does she resurface. When she breaks the water, a piece of her breaks. Pulling her knees to her chest and resting her head on her knees, she can’t help but let out a truly heartbreaking sob. The sobs violently rack her body; tearing her up from within. All is silent until she hears a knock on the bathroom door. She’s positive that it’s Anya coming by to make a last ditch effort at getting the blonde to stop being such a recluse. She hears them knock once more, prompting her to yell:

“Go away, Anya!” The door slowly begins to creak open causing Clarke to pull her knees even closer to her chest to secure that her naked body was not entirely visible. When she sees Lexa Woods step through the threshold, her immediate feeling is one of excitement at seeing the leader of Trikru. It makes her feel so guilty that she wishes she had actually drowned herself moments earlier.

Lexa isn’t in her normal attire, consisting of an expensive, well-tailored suit. Instead, she adorns a nice pair of slacks with the ends rolled up so that her tan ankles are exposed. Designer, brown, dress shoes give way to a nice contrast between them and her crisp, white dress shirt. A gold watch on her wrist completes the more relaxed look. The brunette closes the door behind her and leans her back against whilst keeping her head tilted down in nervousness. If the gravity of this whole situation hadn’t been so prevalent, the florist might have thought she looked cute.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to check on you. An says you haven’t left this place in a while…how are you?”

The woman in tub scoffs at the absurdity of the question before angrily replying, “How am I? I cant eat. I cant sleep. I cant step one foot out of this place without thinking that everybody knows…knows what I’ve done.” The pure sound of pain in the woman’s voice force Lexa to finally lift her gaze. The way Clarke’s ivory skin glistens thanks to the water and how her blonde locks are slicked back exposing the curvature of her face is enough to make Lexa’s heart stop. Tears roll down the soft slope of her cheeks; finding purchase somewhere in the water around her. Lexa makes cautious steps towards the crying woman, ignoring her anger filled pleas of go and leave. She stops in front of the blonde. Bending down to rest on her knees as though she was praying to some kind of deity, she takes in the emotional state of the woman before her before whispering:

“I never meant to turn you into this.” A beat of silence passes between the two women before Clarke asks, “Am I monster?” The firm shake of Lexa’s head is instantaneous at the florist’s question. She reaches out a shaky, tan hand; delicately tilting up the woman’s pale chin.

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two very different people.” Leaning into the comforting touch, Clarke replies:

“I used to think everything was black and white, y’know? Good and bad; but now, I’m not so sure.”

“There is not black and white. The world is very grey but, you, Clarke Griffin, you are good.” Lexa sounded so convincing that Clarke almost believed her.

Time had passed and the two women found themselves resting in Clarke’s bed. The events leading to this had shown Clarke a more tender, caring side of Lexa. The level of comfort she had received from the brunette in her most vulnerable state — both emotionally and physically — had created a sense of safety for Clarke. Lexa had stayed until the once scorching water turned cold and the florist’s skin began to prune. She had helped her out of the tub; averting her eyes in an adorably respectable way as she also helped her get dressed. She held each item of clothing out as delicate hands took them from her and slid them onto smooth, ivory skin. It was quite possibly one of the most intimate moments either woman had ever shared with anyone. That’s why the younger of the two couldn’t help when the words had clawed their way up her throat and out of her mouth.

“Will you stay with me?” To which she received a quick but, certain reply:

“Of course.”

Now, lying in the small bed, facing one another as they analyze each and every detail of each other’s faces Lexa breaks the silence by speaking first.

“I’m sorry for all this. I’m sorry for loosing my cool two weeks ago in your store. You shouldn’t have to see things like that. I was just so angry that someone thought it was okay for them to disrespect you like that.” Clarke reaches out to stroke her thumb over the chiseled cheekbone of the woman lounging beside her.

“Why do you care? I mean we’re practically strangers.”

“I know but, it feels like we’ve known each other for a lifetime.” Lexa’s cheeks take on a soft pink tint at her admission causing the corners of Clarke’s mouth to lift slightly in the smallest of smiles.

“Yeah, it kinda does but, you’re Heda and I’m just…me.” The blonde points out the social hierarchy and how she falls way lower on the totem pole than Lexa. The older woman reaches out her hand to push a stray lock of hair behind the blonde’s ear. Neither woman had noticed how close they’d subconsciously shifted toward one another.

“You are beautiful — inside and out.”

They were so close they could almost taste one another’s breath. Their lips were mere millimeters away from each other and the pull that they’ve felt since they first locked eyes has intensified tenfold. Every feeling comes bubbling to the surface aching, begging for them to just inch a little closer, to just take the leap…and they do. Neither knows who exactly made the first move but, when their lips touch and they come crashing together in the most heated exchange of kisses either have had it doesn’t seem to matter. Every small touch and fleeting glance has lead to this moment of wandering hands and wrestling tongues. They battle one another for dominance as occasional moans escape their mouths.

Feeling Lexa tug at the hem of her shirt, Clarke regains enough function to break the kiss for a moment.

“Wait, wait, wait-”

“What? What’s wrong?” Lexa asked worriedly.

“No, nothings wrong. It’s just…how do I know that I’m not just another notch on your bedpost? I mean you’re Heda, you could have anyone you want and-” Her line of questioning is cut short when she feels those warm, plump lips come to rest on hers again.

“I am also Lexa Woods and Lexa Woods would very much like to take you out on a date.” It almost makes Clarke wanna gag at the feeling of butterflies floating around in her stomach like she’s some kind of horny high school student who gets excited at the idea of spending time with their crush. She cant help but smile at the sincerity in the older woman’s voice and the hopeful twinkle in her emerald eyes. The glimmer of innocence behind that gaze cause her to cave and throw caution to the wind.

“I would very much like to go on a date with Lexa Woods. But, for now lets do a little more of this and little less talking.” The blonde whispers into the quiet of the bedroom; pulling the brunette to her so their lips can meet once more. 

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Previously