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grumpygreenwitch · 1 month

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The Witches and Wizards Job 26-27-28

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TWENTY SIX

"Dresden, you alive?"

The wizard gave Nate a vaguely offended look as the mastermind trotted briskly down the spiral stairs. Harry was freshly showered and shaved, his hair still damp; there were faint shadows under his eyes and he was moving gingerly, but he was up. "Bacon will bring anyone to life," he declared smartly, taking the place that had been reserved for him at the table. There was every sort of breakfast goodie readily available, including fresh coffee from a brand-new French press on the counter.

Eliot finished cleaning up from a bout of stress-cooking, and sat at the table at about the same time Nate did. "How are we doing this?"

"What are we doing?" Hardison added. "I'm still not sure what the con is. Or the mark."

"The mark is the man in black," Nate declared as he sipped on some coffee, grimaced, and began to load it up with sugar until Sophie took the pot away from him. "He's trying to get his hooks in on Fedorov. I'm sure no one here needs to be told why that's a bad idea, after everything we've seen with Dresden."

"You do not want organized crime and magic mingling. You'll never dig them out, and you'll never win a fight against them again," the wizard confirmed.

"So, we need to show the man in black that Fedorov, that Boston, is not up for grabs. That this is a cookie jar that will take his fingers off if he keeps reaching into it. We're gonna do that by hitting him where it hurts - his public image as an unbeatable force of magic, a master manipulator. We're taking the portrait back."

"In front of a dozen supernatural creatures?!"

"Unless you can invite a few more," the mastermind suggested casually, leaving the wizard gaping at him. "Now, the fact he had an invitation on him means this is not his party, he's a guest at it. So this is probably a variation of a Zanzibar Market, with multiple items being sold. The sheer amount of information we can't access hints that this involves mostly, er, Dresden's sort of people. I would like to know who all the players are, but I'll take whatever we can get. Dresden, can those invitations be reasonably counterfeited?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. Other than the tracker it's just fancy paper and ink. Pretty writing. The guest list is the problem."

"The list is the least of our problems," Nate corrected him. "Do you know why there was a crumpled envelope matching one of those invitations in his pocket?" Nate pointed a piece of buttered toast at the bank of screens. "The Christie's man threw it at him."

"He was less than thrilled to be so openly invited to bid on stolen goods," Sophie pointed out with the most delicate undertone of scorn. "The British will buy such items, of course, but they don't like to be reminded of how they've been acquired to begin with. It tarnishes the image of rightful ownership."

"Now, the man in black knows Parker, Eliot, you, Dresden, and me. That means we only have two people for this con. Sophie's going with Fedorov. Get a feel for the guests, see if you can pull a Kennedy Half-Dollar on them."

"Ooo, I do so love a good Half-Dollar game," the grifter declared giddily.

"No unnecessary risks, Sophie." She pouted at him and hid behind her coffee cup. "Parker, Hardison." Nate laced his hands before his face. "The portrait." The table exploded into exclamations, everyone demanding information. "Stop!" the mastermind all but shouted. "Yes, it's probably going to be very publicly displayed. That's the point. It has to disappear in front of everyone there."

Parker suddenly brightened up. "You want us to play his own trick back on him."

"Mm," Nate nodded, and the thief's expression filled with wicked glee. "Hardison, he knows Parker, so you're going in as the new Christie's representative, you'll be Parker's inside man. Dresden."

The wizard looked startled. "Me?"

"Yes. Aside from helping Sophie pass as one of the guests, you're going too."

"I'm - You -" The wizard nearly choked on his orange juice. "You want me, me, to walk into this thing without an invitation."

"Yes."

"They'll recognize me."

"That's the point." Nate pointed a finger. "Eliot's going with you."

"I am?" The hitter sounded dubious.

The mastermind nodded. "He already knows you work with Dresden. And you, you keep bungling whatever it is the man in black's doing, Dresden. I don't need you to do anything, though I do want you to try a few things. I just need you to be there."

Harry paused. "You want his eyes on me," he said slowly as the mastermind's plan came together in his own mind. "Away from what's actually going to be happening. I'm the decoy. You're playing to his paranoia."

"He does seem to be very paranoid, from all Fedorov told us last night."

"And Eliot?"

"You keep getting hurt," Nate said firmly. "That needs to stop."

"Oh, that's been tried," the wizard said wryly. "But alright, give it your best shot." Hesitantly, he added, " Can I suggest a couple of things?"

"Go."

"The ladies from yesterday morning are coming by today to pick up their coats. If their friend's coming with them, you might want to hire him as extra muscle for the auction."

"An outsider?" Sophie protested.

"He won't care what you're doing. You - He's not - You keep thinking of these people as human. They're not. In some cases, like the vampire, like the imp, their motivations run kinda parallel, yes. In this case, if I'm right, they don't. He'll only care that you helped a friend. He'll absolutely care that you're chasing the man in black out of Boston. And he will very much care if you promise him a good chance at a fight."

"You're vouching for someone sight unseen, Dresden," Nate examined the wizard very levelly.

Harry struggled with himself momentarily. "I guess I am."

The mastermind mulled on that for a long moment. "Alright. You and Eliot sort that out. Anything else?"

"Yes. The spider's coming by later to drop off payment. I want to tack a couple of his wife's dresses on it." He glanced at Sophie, then at Parker. "No one's going to be wearing anything that comes even close at that party. Just in case Parker has to join us on the floor, you know?"

Parker gasped in delight. "Is it a magic dress?" When Dresden wouldn't commit to a yes-or-no answer, she snapped at him. "Harry!"

"It's made with magic. It's not magic itself."

She pondered that. "I'll take it."

"And what can you do for me, Harry?" Sophie asked with a smile.

The wizard flustered. "I don't know. I've been wracking my brains for it. Obviously a Veil's the answer, but you're going to be surrounded by some very powerful creatures. The pins would go up in smoke if they so much as breathe in your direction. I can't think of any thing that would hold up under the kind of Veil I'd have to craft for you. It's a lot of energy, it's like Hardison's screens. I'd need something old, something that won't break under the strain."

The table was silent for a long moment, until Sophie spoke once again. "What about a crystal?" she purred. "A crystal with flawless lines. Completely natural, as old as the world. Without a single fracture, without a single imperfection. Unbreakable under pressure."

"I… guess that might work?"

Parker gasped suddenly.

"Parker, can I borrow it?" Sophie asked eagerly.

"Are you going to make my diamond magic?!" she asked Harry with far too much enthusiasm.

"…. Yes?" he offered tentatively.

"Finally!" she cried out, slamming her hands on the table and launching herself away.

TWENTY SEVEN

There was a lot to do before we even got around to the auction. For starters, there was the security around the house, which was purely physical, very modern, and apparently well able to function even with so many magical heavy-hitters around. Hardison and Parker had gone on about it, but as far as I could tell they weren't speaking English. It sounded like it; it just wasn't.

"It's alright," Eliot had assured me quietly while we snuck away to wait for the selkies. "It makes sense to them. That's what matters."

"I still don't know what you people do."

The hitter chuckled low and tipped his chin to the door of the pub. "Get things back for people."

The two selkies came escorted by their friend. As soon as I saw them, I knew I'd been right.

Eliot rose automatically to his feet, his expression hard. "Why'd I just get goosebumps, Harry?"

"Because he's not human," I reminded him. The man was shorter that nearly everyone there but the daughter, his skin copper and indigo ink under a t-shirt and bermuda shorts that barely fit. He wore thin beach flip-flops and was built like the proverbial brickhouse under a layer of comfortable insulation. His eyes were black, and he had a permanent grin that only widened when Sannah snatched her coat from Eliot's hands with a strangled little cry, clinging to it with a white-knuckled grip.

Her mother was far more contained, maybe because she'd probably not believed us when we'd send word that we had both skins. Her fingers plucked gently at the dappled coat and she murmured something rigidly self-controlled in her own language.

Eliot replied in the same tongue, translating for my sake. "It's no problem, ma'am. We're just glad you're gonna be alright, both of you." He dipped his head at both of them, but his smile was brief and didn't show teeth. He was a very quick learner.

She nodded to that, moving to her feet carefully, her daughter by her side. "We go now." Without another word she turned away.

The daughter looked us both up and down. "Guess not all of you suck," she muttered. She shoulder-bumped the man who'd brought them there, who bumped her back amicably, staggering her, and both women walked away.

"What now, Harry?" Eliot asked quietly.

"They'll walk down to the sea and leave." It was the man who replied, a barely perceivable accent to his English. "It's a long time coming." He eyed us both, though he at least did me the courtesy not to linger. "You've done a good thing here. I'm not used to humans doing that."

"You're exceptionally… settled," I pointed out.

To my utter surprise, he laughed. "I like it up here!" he declared cheerfully, grinning at us. His teeth were very white. "It's warm most of the time. The food's good, even when it's bad. No competition. Them, well." He shrugged, glancing at the door. "Some things are just wrong, wizard. If I could have smelled it, I would have hunted down her coat for her a long time ago."

"They're not the only wrong thing in the city right now."

His whole face scrunched up in a grimace. "No. The stink of that one is everywhere, like poison in the water. Maybe I should go home, too. At least for a while. Unless…" He looked at both of us, and his grin turned lopsided and mischievous. "Tell me, wizard. Are you and the human doing something about that, too?"

"We might be," Eliot admitted. "What's it to you?"

The man squared off with him, his face mere inches from Eliot's. I saw the hitter frown minutely, sniffing. I suspected I knew what he was smelling. Salt. Depth. Blood. He didn't budge an inch, but neither did he so much as tense a muscle.

The man laughed in delight and stepped back. "I would wish you luck! It's bound to be a wild ride."

"Ride might have a ticket with your name on it," I suggested when Eliot blinked, confused into speechlessness.

His brows shot up. "Mine? Who told you my name, wizard?"

"Your smell. Your eyes." I considered. "Your lack of shoes."

He groaned and looked down. "Does this ticket require shoes?"

"Yes. But," I assured him, "it's bound to be one hell of a fight."

He got the bright, beaming look of a kid being told he's going to Disneyland. We were told to call him Nick. It fit him about as well as the t-shirt, but I wasn't about to argue with my good luck. He promised to come back when it was time to get ready for the auction and he didn't ask a single question, leaving Eliot even more befuddled.

"Harry, that one," he looked at me levelly while we were going back to the loft. "He eats people, doesn't he."

"And seals, too."

Eliot's mouth worked around too many words, none of which he wanted to put out into the world, not really. "He's… Should I be worried?"

"No. The instruction manual on this one's pretty simple: if there's a fight, get out of his way."

The meeting with the spider went quicker. He came in with his suitcases trailing behind him, and he looked as anxious to be done with us as we were to be done with him. He handed Hardison a brand-new smartphone. "Standard setup, it should be able to do all the things a human phone does." He handed me the two hangers, covered in plain black bags. "I picked two she should not miss. They are not her best, but I hope they are sufficient."

I peeked past the neckline of one of the bags and saw a flash of delicate pink, the color of fresh salmon. "They'll do."

"A pleasure doing business with you," Hardison was doing that thing, where he sounded vaguely British, friendly and threatening at the same time. I had no idea how he was pulling it off, and I would have loved to get him to teach me the trick. The hacker offered his hand.

The spider hesitated, but eventually took it. "Please excuse me. Humans, when I am not in control, they make me nervous."

"Entirely understandable," Hardison replied, and that was wholly Ford he was channeling at that moment, so mild, so potentially lethal. The spider couldn't get out of the pub fast enough.

"You did that on purpose," I told him.

"Hell yeah I did," he agreed with a grin that I couldn't help but return. "I ain't nobody's burger."

I lost track of time while I worked after that. Parker came to get me at the safehouse. Both the window and the garden door had been replaced, and she had some dry-cleaning and a paper bag for me. "Can I see it?" she asked before I could even say 'hello'.

"It's not gonna look any different, you realize."

She scoffed at me and, honestly, what did I know. If someone had told me one day I'd be holding a cut pink diamond the size of one of my knuckles, let alone working a spell into it, I'd have laughed at them while I looked for a quick exit, which is what you should always do when confronted with crazy.

But the Rosalind diamond was exactly that. I know crap-all about gemstones, let's begin there, but I didn't need a formal education to recognize the absolute beauty of the stone. Hell, I didn't need an informal one to know it was one of a kind. Even when I'd looked at it with true sight I'd found no imperfections, no flaws, nothing that might snag or leak or botch the spell I meant to embed into it. Old as the world and completely without fault.

I didn't ask how Parker had gotten it. I may not be a quick learner, but I do learn. Parker offered me the paper bag; it smelled like roasted turkey. "Trade you."

I dismissed my circle and brought the piece of raw silk to the workbench. To be fair, if not because I also had access to some ingredients I would've never been able to afford on my own, I'm not sure I would have attempted the Veil. I uncovered the diamond. In the light of the candles it shone like a fallen star, filling the basement with light.

"You changed it!" Parker exclaimed at once.

I nearly dropped the sandwich she'd brought me. "I did?"

"Yes." She picked it up, silk and all. "It's brighter. It's…" She frowned in puzzlement at the gem. "It's more alive. It speaks louder."

"Uh…"

"It's a thing," she assured me distractedly. "Are you done?"

I pointed out my sandwich.

"Oh, right." She pulled a can out of a pocket and set it next to me.

"Are you nothing but pockets?" I asked her teasingly.

"No. I'm also lockpicks and a taser," she shot right back with that wicked grin, and I nearly choked on the drink. "Is the magic gonna stay in the diamond?"

"Uh, yes and no. It's a nice Veil, probably the best, the strongest I've ever made. And the diamond can hold a lot of energy, much more than I expected. But, the more you use it…"

"The quicker the battery's gonna run out." She sighed, her disappointment obvious.

"You really… You don't care if it's dangerous, or nice, or random, you just like it, don't you? Magic."

"Well, yeah. It makes things make sense."

"It's… Wh- I'm - What?"

"Yeah. Even if you don't understand what's going on, even if it's bad, there's a reason. There's a why. It may be a bad why, but it's a why, you know." She stared at her hands. "Sometimes if you're a kid even a bad reason is worth having. It's better than no reason at all."

"Not everything in the world can be fixed by magic, Parker."

"No, obviously not, or you wouldn't be all beat up," she replied tartly.

"Hey!" I worked on my sandwich some more. "You know, there's a piece of magic you do get to keep forever." Seeing her face light up made everything absolutely worth it. "The dress."

"The dress?"

"The dress."

TWENTY EIGHT

The night of the auction fell warm and breezy, the scent of the Bay a mantle over the city, the Charles lending a kiss of coolness to the river's vicinity. It almost felt like summer in Chicago, except for the salt in the wind and the constant buzz of magic drip-drip-dripping into me. I'd run myself empty preparing everything for the job, and it hadn't made a lick of difference in the long run. I couldn't imagine being a wizard and living permanently in Boston; the city could burn you alive without even trying with its siren's song of unending power.

The auction was taking place in Charlestown, in a gracious manor house tucked out of sight and out of mind among the many newer luxury apartment blocks springing up like mushrooms all over one of the oldest, and wealthiest, of Boston's neighborhoods. The owner, from what any of us had been able to find out, was human. I figured he might be a thrall, either vampiric or fey, but no, the man was just plain ol' human, wealthy and oblivious, like so many could be. In under fifteen minutes Hardison had lined up the family's sins, and while his son had pinged Leverage's radar by dint of being associated with pelt-collecting lawyers, his daughter had hit mine. Or rather, the company she kept while she peddled the family's properties like some sort of supernatural AirB'n'B. While my own field of expertise was limited to the Red Court, and my overall knowledge of the Jade Court was nonexistent, Amethyst Roughan's boyfriend was a known quantity: he was White Court.

"Does she know what she's doing?" Nate had asked.

"Yes and no." I explained. "She knows it's sketchy. She knows it's weird. But depending on how long the vamp's had contact with her, and how much toxin he's doled out, she doesn't care anymore. He's had years with her. At this point all she wants is him. In a biblical fashion."

The mastermind's brows shot up at that. "So she'll side with him."

"Yes. But she's also easy to take out of the game. Hell, you stuff her in a closet and lock the door, and there you have it."

Nate snorted laughter at that. "You sound almost thrilled, Dresden. Glad to have a problem with an easy solution?"

"You have no idea."

And then we had to sort ourselves out according to Ford's plan. Parker took off early. Hardison was doing something to the U-Haul van, I wasn't sure what. Eliot went down to deal with Nick when our improvised bodyguard arrived, and Ford was doing something with Fedorov, -

It crashed into me then, the realization that I had really agreed to do this. That I was going to crash into a party full of deadly monsters. Again. That a counterfeit invitation was going to be involved. Again. That good people were going to be on the line, again.

And all at once I couldn't breathe, no matter how hard I tried. I splashed cold water on my face, for all the good it did. The aftershave was still burning on the nicks the leshy's claws had left on my cheeks, but the rest of me felt colder than ice. I curled my hands into fists and they were still shaking, I couldn't get them to stop, I couldn't -

"Harry." Sophie's hands were warm on mine.

"I can't do this." I sounded like a dying cat, and not the funny cartoon kind.

She made me look at her. Not long enough to trigger a Soulgaze, but I felt it there, lurking far too close. "This isn't just nerves, is it?"

"I've walked into worse traps." I still couldn't catch my breath, it was rattling around in my chest, making funny noises. "I've lost people who walked in with me, expecting me to keep them safe. I don't - I'm not worried about me -"

"Harry," she repeated, her tone a little harder. "We are worried about you. Don't you get it? We aren't walking in with you; you're walking in with us."

"That doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything. You may be going in as Harry Dresden, Professional Wizard, but you aren't the shield and the sword, Harry. You're the pretty princess. The distraction. Listen to me: you wouldn't even have to be a wizard for this, it's just very useful to the con that you are, do you understand?"

God, I wanted to believe her, I did. And the funniest part of it all is that some part of me did believe her. She took the little decorative pin I was supposed to put on my shirt from my hands. They were still shaking, but it wasn't as bad, at least, and I focused on them, on trying to get them to stop.

"We're none of us alone tonight, Harry. Not us, not you. I know you're used to being alone, I was a solo operator for a very long time. It takes time to get used to being part of a team, and time's the one thing we haven't been able to give you. But if you have our backs, and I know you do, we will have yours."

"How do you know I will?"

"Harry, it's you," she replied dryly. "I don't think you know how not to have someone's back.

I did laugh at that. It wasn't much, it sounded terribly rusty even to my own ears, but she'd caught me by surprise and the truth doesn't always hurt. Sometimes it just tickles your funny bone.

And then I made the mistake of looking up, thinking she'd have looked to make sure she didn't stab me with the pin thing.

The darkness was warm and velvety, and it was full of mirrors.

Some were big, the size of a person. Some were slivers, no bigger than one of my fingers. Some stuck close at hand to one another, piece by piece assembling a larger whole. Sophie was there, at the center of it all, but I couldn't see her, couldn't see the truth of her, mirrors whirling sedately between her and me, obscuring the truth of her. She directed them all with little gestures and grand sweeps of her hand, as if they were books she were organizing into a vast, endless library. Some parts of her were reflective, as if she'd once been nothing but a mirror herself. But for the most part she was real, solid, as confident and beautiful as the woman in the loft with me.

Then the image of her gasped and flicked her fingers at me, and she broke the Soulgaze before I could.

I staggered back, more out of shock that she'd done that than anything else. I could still feel the warmth of her, the sheer and enveloping caring. Sophie Deveraux had a thousand faces at her disposal, and a thousand more ready to be created, and in the midst of it all she still knew herself, knew who she was with the sort of awareness even some immortals couldn't manage.

And who she was truly cared. Cared for her family, her friends. Me.

"Oh, Harry." Before I could even begin to feel guilt or shame about what she might have seen in me, she'd hugged me tight. Not gonna lie, I've fantasized a time or three over a gorgeous woman getting so close to me. At the moment, that fantasy was the last thing in my mind. Then she pulled away and said the words I least expected. "You're a good man, Harry Dresden."

She couldn't have taken the breath out of me any more thoroughly if she'd punched me. "I'm glad…" My throat felt funny, my voice didn't want to work. I cleared it up so I could sound as manly as I damn well was. "I'm glad one of us believes that."

"One of us absolutely does," she told me, perfectly balanced between stern and playful, and put her hand out. I gave her the ear clip, though my hands weren't shaking anymore, thank goodness. "Let's work on the other, shall we."

#the dresden files #leverage #my writing #fanfiction #crossover #nathan ford #harry dresden #sophie deveraux #parker #eliot spencer #alec hardison #urban fantasy

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purrincess-chat · 3 years

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Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH29

The plans are in motion! Just a reminder, after I post CH30 next week, I will be taking a break through the month of September to finish up the final edit. I’ll probably be scarce around this blog as well during that time cause I’ve got to work on my BB piece as well, but my queue is loaded through like January of next year, so it’ll be like I’m not even gone.

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Chapter 29: Take Cover

Marinette and Adrien stared at his phone, jaws hanging agape. The silence stretched on until Chloe sighed, and Marinette blinked out of her trance.

“I’m sorry. We’re going to what now?” she asked.

“Ugh, just get over here.” Chloe hung up.

Marinette and Adrien exchanged bewildered looks, and he shrugged as if to say, ‘I have no idea what just happened either.’ Chloe wasn’t one to keep waiting, so they gathered their things and piled into Adrien’s town car. On the drive over, Adrien laced their fingers together, tracing patterns on the back of Marinette’s palm with his thumb. She smiled up at him, that familiar, fluttery feeling spreading through her chest.

She’d dreamed of being Adrien’s girlfriend since they day they met. To her surprise, she was calmer about the whole situation than she’d expected. She wasn’t planning their wedding or naming their future pets, and she’d only daydreamed about his soft lips twenty times that day. They knew each other better now and had grown more comfortable with one another.

Adrien was a true friend and a stable rock in the middle of a storm, always there for her to fall back on if she needed. If it weren’t for him, she would be drowning in her own anguish. Lila may think she had the upper hand, but Marinette and Adrien were the perfect team. Nothing could stop them when they worked together.

Chloe was staring out at her balcony when they arrived, a pensive frown wrinkling her forehead. She turned to them, pursing her lips to mask her expression as they approached. They eyed each other in tense silence until Marinette spoke up.

“So,” she started, “what?”

Chloe rolled her eyes and rubbed her temple with a sigh.

“Look, don’t go getting any ideas. This isn’t about you; it’s about revenge,” Chloe said. “Lila seems to feel the most threatened by you, so I think it will have more of an impact if your name is associated with all of this charity work, and the only way to make anyone else care enough to report about it is to make you someone worth talking about.”

“What makes you think Lila is threatened by me?” Marinette asked with a disbelieving grunt. “All she ever does is toy with me.”

“And why do you think that is?” Chloe rolled her eyes when Marinette still seemed lost. “When someone like her feels threatened, they lash out and try to bring you down.”

“Is that why you were always so mean to me?” Marinette’s eyes narrowed, a smirk curling on her lips.

“Don’t lump me in with her! I’m mean to people for the sheer entertainment of watching them suffer. Totally different.” Chloe scoffed.

“Okay, so how exactly do you plan on making Marinette famous?” Adrien asked.

“Easily.” Chloe shrugged. “The dumb brat has already started making a name for herself, and more and more important people are starting to notice her talent, if you want to call it that.”

“I will ignore the insult in favor of the compliment.” Marinette crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip.

“Look, even my mom has complimented your work, so I think we should—as disgusting as this is—ask my mom to help you launch your fashion career.” Chloe cringed as she said it.

Marinette stared at her for a long moment, and Chloe shifted her weight with a moan.

“Stop looking at me like that!”

“You’re being serious right now?” Marinette asked.

“I know. Even I’m shocked.” Chloe wrinkled her nose.

“You want to help me start my fashion career? Now?”

“It’s the only way to take down that brat for good,” Chloe said, cheeks pink. “After this, I will go back to hating you and thinking you are a talentless nobody.”

“This is uncharacteristically nice of you, Chloe,” Adrien said with a smile. “I’m proud of you.”

“Don’t get any ideas, Dupain-Cheng. I’m not going to be caught dead wearing your trash, but my mom wanted to train you, so I think it’s our best shot.” Chloe shrugged.

“So, what? We’re just going to walk up to your mom and ask her to work with me?” Marinette scoffed as if it were the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. Because it was.

“Pretty much.” Chloe marched past her.

“Wait, we’re going right now?”

“We want to take Lila down this century, Dupain-Cheng,” Chloe said pointedly, crossing the hall to her mother’s suite.

“But…wait, Chloe-” Marinette rushed after her as she barged into the room across the hall.

Audrey was in the middle of a hot stone massage, and Marinette curled her shoulders.

“I don’t think we should disturb her-”

“Mommy,” Chloe said, and Audrey gave some groan of acknowledgement. “You remember my dreadful former classmate, the one who designed the feather hat for Adrien?”

“Vaguely,” Audrey said.

“Well, Clara Nightingale walked the red carpet in one of her designs, and I think you should back her brand,” Chloe said.

“I thought you hated this girl-”

“You and me both,” Marinette grumbled.

“-now it sounds like you’re being nice.” Audrey choked on the word.

“There’s a nasty girl at school that I want to get rid of, and I need to make Dupain-Cheng famous to do it.” Chloe explained.

Audrey moaned as the masseuse worked a knot in her shoulders.

“Get me a portfolio by this time next week, then we’ll talk,” she said.

Chloe clapped her hands together. “Thank you, Mommy.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, a week?” Marinette blanched.

“Fashion moves quickly, dear, so if you want to be relevant, you’ll get me your portfolio with a pitch by next week,” Audrey said more sternly.

“She’ll have it ready,” Chloe promised.

Marinette shot her a look. “I’m not so sure she can-”

“Enjoy your massage.” Chloe grabbed Marinette’s arm and dragged her from the room.

“Chloe, I don’t know if I can-”

"Oh, shut it." Chloe clamped her hand in a mouth-shutting motion. "You are annoyingly persistent when you want to be. I've seen you accomplish way more in less time, so don't you even say you can't do it because if anyone has got what it takes, it's you, and if you tell anyone I said that, I will destroy everything you love."

“A week? To come up with an entire line,” Marinette said. “Not to mention it has to impress your mom—the queen of fashion!”

“And?” Chloe shrugged. Did she hear herself? What was so hard to understand about the absurdity of the situation?

“Chloe’s right, Marinette, you can do this,” Adrien took her hands and gave them a reassuring squeeze.

“But what if I can’t?” Marinette asked. “What if Audrey hates my designs or if I can’t come up with a whole line in time?”

“Then your fashion career is dead, and I’ll just get rid of Lila my way.” Chloe sauntered back to her suite. “Toodles!”

Marinette leaned her face into Adrien’s shoulder with a moan, and he wrapped his arms around her tightly.

“I know this is a lot of pressure, but you are the most amazing girl I know. You’re an incredible designer, and I know you’re going to crush it.” He pressed his forehead to hers, those green eyes shining with a confidence she wished she felt.

She took a deep, centering breath and nodded.

“Okay.” She pressed her lips into a firm line. “Let’s do it.”

♪♫♪ Misery Business ♪♫♪

Lila glared down at her phone screen, her laptop playing Clara’s acceptance speech in the background which only made her blood boil hotter. As if that stupid bakery brat needed more attention. Marinette pulled a couple fast ones on her, but Lila always got the last laugh. She stared down at Adrien’s Instagram post again with a scowl.

“So proud of @marinette-dc! I’m so lucky to have such an amazing girlfriend like you.”

Most of their classmates had already liked it, but it didn’t matter. Lila would figure out a way to spin this back on Marinette. The cracks were already forming in her little good girl reputation. Lila just needed to apply pressure, then everything would come crumbling down.

♪♫♪ Look What You Made Me Do ♪♫♪

The next day at school, Marinette was quite the hot topic after her big debut. Everyone was buzzing about Clara’s dress, and she received compliments left and right, though she found it hard to enjoy her moment with Audrey’s deadline looming over her.

She’d spent all night brainstorming ideas, but so far she had nothing. Nada. Zilch. No ideas. No inspiration. Nothing, and she was a sweaty ball of nerves. Numerous times she’d tried to give herself pep talks. She saved the city on a daily basis, fought ten-ton monsters and tricky magicians. How hard could it be to design a few dresses and coats?

Infinitely hard, as it turned out. In fact, part of her wished it was as easy as fighting an akuma. That there was some clever shortcut to her end goal, but there were no such things in this case. Just her own imagination and the wall between it and her sketchpad.

“Why so glum?” Macy asked as Marinette shoved books into her locker. “Shouldn’t you be excited about your dress? Everyone loves it. Things didn’t go bad with Adrien after we left, did they?” She cupped her cheeks in horror.

“No.” Marinette assured her with a laugh. “Everything is fine, but I just… Another amazing opportunity has fallen in my lap, and I don’t think I can do it, and I’m stressing out over it.”

“Yeah, you are breaking out a little.” Lisette pointed out, and Marinette covered her chin with a groan.

“You’re amazing, Marinette, and you always find a solution,” Macy said, but when Marinette seemed less than convinced, she pursed her lips. “Tell you what, Lisette can help you cover your zit, and we’ll help you get your mojo back, okay?”

“Okay,” Marinette said, allowing Macy to tug her to the bathroom where Lisette managed to completely erase any signs of her stress. Honestly, she was a wizard with a tube of concealer.

“There they are with the lady of the hour,” Eliott said when they met up for lunch. “How did your alone time go with a certain model last night?”

“He gave me this necklace.” She pulled it from under her collar with a soft smile.

“How romantic!” Lisette said.

“How sparkly.” Macy added with a longing look until Eliott nudged her with his elbow.

“We should double date this weekend. The weather is going to be nice, so we could go golfing.” Eliott suggested, and Macy shot up.

“Oh! Can I come? My parents are part-owners at one of the courses so my dad can play whenever he wants.” She bounced excitedly.

“Fine, but you have to bring a date,” Eliott said.

“I’ll just bring Martin again.” Macy shrugged.

“That’s cheating.”

“How? You said to bring a date, so I’ll bring a date.”

“You didn’t even ask him!”

“Fine! Martin, will you be my date?” Macy turned to him with pleading eyes, and his cheeks flushed.

“Uh, sure,” he said.

“Ha!” Macy stuck her tongue out at Eliott.

“That’s all fun and everything, but I’ve never played golf,” Marinette said. “Besides, I have a lot to do.”

“Oh, come on, Marinette. We can teach you,” Macy said. “Please?”

“I-” Marinette hesitated when they all gave her pleading looks. “We’ll see.”

“What’s so urgent that you can’t come out, Marinette?” Eliott asked as they took their seats.

“Does it have to do with that girl?” Martin lowered his voice.

“Kind of…” Marinette took a deep breath before explaining the entire situation—the plan, her deadline, all of it.

“Whoa, you’re really gonna pitch to Audrey Bourgeois?” Lisette whispered, eyes wide.

“I’m gonna try,” Marinette pushed her peas around with a spoon. “I’m kinda running on empty right now.”

“If you need any help let us know, okay?” Macy reached out to place a hand over hers.

“Yeah, we know tons about fashion and starting charities, not to mention handling drama queens.” Eliott echoed. “We’ve got your back.”

Marinette smiled, though the sentiment didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t their fault that Marinette was never going to make it in the world of fashion. When she inevitably failed, Adrien would probably dump her, Lila would take over the world, and she’d be left selling stupid little trinkets off of a cart to tourists. Why did she let Chloe talk her into this?

♪♫♪ Yeah Right ♪♫♪

“Good morning, Lila! I have your geometry homework!” Sabrina greeted on the front staircase the next morning.

Lila feigned a smile. Sabrina was annoying, but she did all of Lila’s homework, so she usually didn’t complain. After that brat Marinette scored a point against her last night with the award’s show, Lila wasn’t in the mood to deal with clingy girls with dependency issues.

“Thank you so much, Sabrina. You’re such a sweetheart,” Lila said.

“How is your ankle feeling? Do you need anything? Aspirin? A hot compress? Foot massage?” Sabrina offered.

“Well, it feels much better than it did a week ago, but if I walk around a lot, it gets a little sore. Would you mind taking my bag to my locker for me?” Lila slipped her bag off her shoulder and held it out.

“Of course! You rest that ankle,” Sabrina said without hesitation.

Lila smirked as she trotted off to the locker room. At least Sabrina was easy to get rid of. Some of her other idiots would have insisted on walking her to class—a commitment Lila didn’t have time for today. She needed to figure out her next move against Marinette. Everyone was still conflicted over the stairs incident from the Louvre. That stupid goody-goody built up a reputation over the years that wasn’t so easily collapsible. Even still, every shred of doubt Lila could cast would pile up in the end.

“I see you’re still walking around like you own the place.”

Lila stopped a few steps into the school, jaw clenching. Adrien was leaning against the wall just inside the door, and he pushed away when she narrowed her eyes, taking slow, deliberate steps toward her.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I do own the place,” she said. “Or I will soon enough.”

“I’ve warned you before, Lila, but you didn’t listen. What you did to Marinette was not okay,” he said darkly, green eyes narrowed into slits.

“Oh? And what are you going to do about it? Call another one of your celebrity buddies to call me a liar? Go ahead, it’ll help me win these losers over even faster.” Lila crossed her arms over her chest and cocked a hip. “You can’t beat me, Adrien. You’re too nice to get your hands dirty.”

“If you do anything else to Marinette, you’re going to learn how nice I am.” He glowered down at her, sending a shiver down Lila’s spine. “You hurt someone I love, so enjoy your reign while it lasts. Pretty soon everyone is going to see you for who you really are, and I won’t feel sorry for you.”

He brushed past her, and Lila rolled her eyes. He was bluffing, and even if he wasn’t, Lila could handle anything he threw at her. Whatever they were plotting, Lila wasn’t going down without a fight.

#mdcspr #marinette dupain-cheng's spite playlist remix #my writing

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trekscribbles · 3 years

Text

Triple Threat: A Stones Triplet Fic

Fandoms: Leverage/Leverage Redemption, Librarians, and Almost Paradise Cross-Posted: Ao3 and FF Summary: So I shared some ideas about this fic here, not intending to actually write it. And then people asked for it and I have zero self control, so here you go!

Of course it never works out that way.

She's used to Alex interfering with her cases, but she didn't even tell him about this one. So how did he end up with the smuggler she was supposed to be meeting, and why doesn't the seem to know her?

Or: Eliot and Jake are both in the Philippines for separate jobs that turn out to be related. Kai takes the existence of Alex's brothers as a personal attack on her mental health. Ernesto happily goes along for the ride.

Chapter One: Déjà Vu

A simple smuggling case. That was all this was supposed to be—just a smuggler looking to set up shop on the island, some place where he'd be able to store and ferry goods to the United States without attracting too much attention. Ocampo hadn't even asked Alex for help, even though they suspected drugs were involved. "We need more information," Ocampo told Kai. "Just meet with him and see what you can find out." No need to involve the most annoying man on the island.

Kai didn't tell Alex about any of it. It was only the third time Ocampo trusted her to go undercover, and though she wasn't above using Alex's help when it was necessary, this was something she could handle on her own. Ernesto would be monitoring the meeting from nearby, ready to come to her aid, but she was confident in her skills. It was a simple case. She could handle it.

She made contact with the smuggler, telling him she could get a cargo plane for his use and ensure the attention of the authorities was elsewhere when he was ready to load it. The meeting had gone well, well enough that he asked her to join him in his hotel room the following day to hash out the details. Ocampo had been thrilled, and she'd gotten the proud grin from Ernesto that always made her feel like she could take on the world. "Wrap this up, Detective," Ocampo said, already planning the press release for the end of the case. One more meeting, and it would all be over. A swift ending to a simple case.

The next morning she found the hotel fifteen minutes before their appointed time and knocked on door 211, letting herself in when a voice yelled, "We're on the balcony." The we made her nervous, but she told herself it didn't matter. Once she found out what the cargo was, she'd have enough to arrest him.

But then she walked onto the balcony and found her contact raising a toast to Alex Walker, and it took all of her self-control not to break character and strangle him right there.

The smuggler stood up with a grin. "Ah, Ms. Navarro," he said, motioning for her to be seated next to Alex. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No," she choked out. "Thank you."

He shrugged and swept his hand toward Alex. "This is my American contact, Marc Rosen. Mr. Rosen, my associate Nicole Navarro."

Alex gave her a polite smile, and his eyes seemed to laugh at her.

"Mr. Flores," she said tersely. "I thought we'd agreed to keep this meeting between us."

Robert Flores shrugged and again gestured to the chair beside Alex. "I assure you, Mr. Rosen is essential to this operation. He has already arranged a buyer in the United States. All we need from you, Ms. Navarro, is to follow through on your promise with the planes."

Kai sat, forcing her tensed shoulders to relax. "The flight is already secured," she said. "But I need to know what it is I'll be transporting."

Flores smiled. "All in good time."

"Time is the problem," Kai said. "We only have three days before the plane is scheduled to depart, with or without your cargo. I can't prepare properly until I know what we'll be loading."

"I will take care of that. Three days is plenty of time."

"Then... once you've made your payment, I will tell you where to bring your cargo." She managed this with only a single glance (not a glare) at Alex, who had returned his attention to Flores. A sand-colored fedora was pulled low over Alex's eyes, shading a face that seemed paler than usual. In an instant her irritation turned to worry. Did he know Flores from his time as a DEA agent? Had he arranged the meeting, or had Flores contacted him?

Why couldn't he just tell her before he did stupid things like this?

"I am glad to hear it," Flores said. He was still standing, and Kai bristled at the imbalance—he towered over them in a position of power while they literally sat in his shadow. "Mr. Rosen was just telling me that his buyer is anxious to get his hands on this shipment."

Alex huffed a nervous laugh. "Well, you know how it is when the guy in the big office wants something. Patience ain't exactly a virtue for my boss."

"Luckily for you, I have what he needs," Flores said, lifting his glass with a chuckle.

"Is that Alex?" Ernesto asked through her earbud. "What's he doing there?"

Kai chanced another glance at him, wishing she could reach over and wring the answer from his throat. His body language was all wrong. His shoulders were drawn in, the fingers of his left hand fidgeting against his palm. His voice had been different too—almost hesitant, self-depreciating. Usually Alex played a loud character, brash and confident, always pushing to keep his mark off-balance. This... this was just another pencil-pusher running an errand for his boss. Insignificant. Overlookable.

And it was working. A hard, greedy glint flashed in Flores's eye as he swallowed the rest of his drink, his gaze lingering on the trembling glass in Alex's hand. "Well," he grinned. "There is much to be done. Wait here. Your payment is in my adjoining room." He set his glass down on the balcony railing and strode into the hotel room. Kai watched him go, but as soon as the door closed she rounded on Alex.

"I'm going to give you ten seconds to explain yourself."

He blinked at her. "What?"

"Why are you here? Did Ocampo tell you about the case? Did Flores contact you?"

"Did—what? Why would—?"

"Or do you just like messing with my life? Because I swear, Alex, when this is over I'm—"

The hallway door opened before she could finish, and two men in black jackets entered the room. Neither of them was Flores. "Your payment," one said, holding out an envelope.

"Oh... thank you." She stood and entered the room, aware of Alex trailing behind her. He stepped to her left, covering her weak side as she reached out for the payment.

But the second her fingers brushed the envelope, Alex flashed past her to strike the back of the man's outstretched elbow. He screamed, staggering, and Alex pulled him away from Kai and hurled him toward the wall. The other man lunged into the room, but Alex met him with a neat punch to the jaw. He dodged a swing and caught the man's wrist, bashing his elbow into the side of his face. The first man had regained his balance by then, steadying himself against the wall before squaring himself to the fight.

That was when Kai reached him. His attention was on Alex, so it was easy for her to get close and grab his forearm. She drove her knee into the man's stomach, using the momentum of his fall to throw him to the ground. She turned as Alex ducked another jab and slammed his fist into his opponent's cheek. The man dropped, sprawling at Alex's feet and lying motionless.

"What the hell was that?" Kai demanded, stomping down on her man's back to keep him on the floor.

"Kai?" Ernesto said in her ear. "Everything okay?"

Alex knelt to pick up the envelope. "They were gonna kill us."

"He was handing over the payment!"

He tilted his hand so she could see inside the empty envelope. "Flores knew you were coming," he said, running his hands over his fallen opponent's waist and producing a long serrated knife. "He should have had the payment ready."

Damn it—she hated when he was right.

"He must have guessed you're a cop," Alex went on, taking off his hat and dragging a hand through his hair. "Probably one of your first undercover assignments? You know what you're doing, I'll give you that, but you pushed too hard for the cargo. You have to let the mark think he's in control."

"What are you...?" Kai started, but she trailed off when Alex put his hand down. Freed from the hat, his hair fell over his forehead and down around his ears, long enough to brush his shoulders. "Are you wearing a wig?"

"Am—am I—?" he sputtered. "Look, I don't know who you think I am, but—" He broke off, eyes widening. "Wait, you called me Alex before. Alex Stone?"

All at once, her vision seemed to shift. The man before her had Alex's face, but now that she looked closer, she could see a handful of inconsistencies. A scar over his eyebrow that hadn't been there before, a leanness about his jaw, a shadow she'd never seen in his eyes. Ernesto kept talking through the earbud, but she was only half-listening.

She stared into the face of her friend, and a stranger looked back.

The door burst open, breaking the tension that had paralyzed the room and tearing Not Alex's attention from her. Ernesto came in with his gun drawn, not quite pointing at the imposter, but not aimed at the men who'd attacked them either.

"Your partner?" asked Not Alex. His voice was calm, but so gruff she could barely understand it. She motioned for Ernesto to put his gun away. He swept a shrewd look over her, checking for injuries, and then knelt beside her man on the floor and pulled a pair of handcuffs off his belt.

The imposter cleared his throat. "Do you know Alex Stone?"

For a moment Kai considered lying, but the sharpness in Not Alex's eyes had softened. The look he gave her wasn't quite pleading, but it was clearly a request. She heard the please in his eyes as clearly as if he'd said it out loud.

So, in a voice that sounded more confident than she felt, she answered, "Alex Walker."

A snort of laughter blew through the imposter's nose. "Walker? He could have picked anything, and he went with Walker? At least I used a family name."

"No," Ernesto said to himself, shooting Kai with a look that somehow contained astonishment, delight, and trepidation all at once.

Kai echoed the denial in her head. This couldn't be happening.

"My name is Eliot," the other man said.

Don't say it. Don't—

"I'm Alex's brother."

No. No no no no no.

There were two of them.

#fanfic #leverage #leverage redemption #librarians #almost paradise #stone triplets #the terrible triplets #eliot jake and alex are triplets #and poor kai has to deal with them #thanks for enabling me by reading this

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hedgiwithapen · 3 years

Note

How about the Leverage Crew arriving in Central City in time for the that time Barry got accused of murdering DeVoe. Basically, Leverage Crew (Classic or Redeption is your choice) meddling in that plan. Because screw DeVoe. Can be in the same universe as The Central City job, or a brand new AU; your choice.

this one Long The courthouse was packed when a sleek black van pulled up to a loading zone. Nathan Ford turned from the passenger seat. “You all know the play?” “Mm, yup,” Parker said, clipping a badge to her blazer pocket. “The Boston skip.” “It’s not the Boston Skip,” Hardison snapped, fussing with his tie.. “You’re just grumpy because you have to play the lawyer again.” Eliot smirked. “Hey, you said only if it comes to a cross examine, I did my job, if you all do your jobs right and it doesn’t come to that,” Hardison’s voice pitched upwards. “If?” Sophie put on the emergency break. “If? Hardison, I’m hurt.” “Soph,” Nate sighed. “Let it go.” “For now. We’re having words later,” Sophie insisted. “Can we just get this over with?” Eliot asked, maneuvering to take the driver’s seat. “ you know I don’t like us splitting up like this.” “It’ll only be for a bit,” Parker said, squeezing his hand. “ We’ll be fine.” They left the van in twos, first Parker and hardison, briefcase and extraneous computer in hand, and a minute or two later Sophie and Nate followed-- and Nate with a plain folder tucked under his arm. Eliot drove in the direction of the police station, ready for the next phase of the plan. They hadn’t exactly called ahead, but that wasn’t going to be much of a problem. Cisco Ramon was the first to spot them. He goggled a bit. “What are you doing here?” he asked as Hardison approached the bench where Team Flash had congregated. Hardison smiled, knowing the prosecutor was watching. “I came to offer my services,” he said, sending a quick text with a thought. “ Where is Ms Horton?” “Here,” the short woman said, her eyes cutting between the two as Cisco checked his phone. “ Who are you? Cisco, who is--” Cisco looked up from the message--you didn’t see us coming?-- and relaxed slightly for the first time in weeks. “I’m part of Mr. Allen’s legal team,” Hardison smiled wide. “He’s ok, Cecile,” Cisco vouched. “ He and his, uh, coworkers have helped us in the past. With Z--wait, that was before you. Um.” “My firm helped get Henry Allen some money, after that unfortunate mess. And we’re here to see justice through again.” He hesitated. “ Or pick up where it leaves off,” he said under his breath. Cecile took in a sharp breath. “When did we hire you?” “Uh--” “Cecile, it’s really ok,” Caitlin joined the cluster. “They know about STAR. And apparently about the recent… developments.” “You think we don’t keep tabs on your crazy city? Now, Ms. Horton, as your co-lawyer, we need to discuss strategy. I’ve got some character witnesses I’d like to introduce, some crucial evidence that needs to be submitted, is there an office we might use?” He steered her away, nodding to Parker, deep in conversation with the prosecutor.

“You let that jerk stick around?” Iris jumped when she heard the voice in her ear. Turning she sighed with recognition. “ Lilli--Sophie?” “In the flesh.” She smiled. “I can’t stay long, but Eliot wanted me to ask.” Iris sighed. “If it’s Eliot asking, I guess you mean Harry. He’s been a lot better since Eliot kicked his ass, that’s for sure. And he has been helpful.” “I’m sure,” Sophie sounded anything but sure. “Listen, we’ve got this pretty well handled, but you and your friends may wish to be ready in case of reprisals. Have you upgraded security lately?” “Cisco’s worked on it,” Iris confirmed. “Good. Hardison would love to take a look, later. We’re probably going to be in the area, we’ve had word something’s fishy at that prison of yours.” When Iris opened her mouth Sophie shook her head. “Iron Heights. Point is, we’ll be around should you need anything.” “Thank you for the offer,” Iris said. She shook her head. “ These people are smart, Sophie. Dangerous.” “Not compared to my team,” Sophie smiled. “Save your worry. Look, see? Hardison’s in place, and Parker’s in the wings. I’ve got to go take care of my part. If you see your husband, let him know, will you?” “I-- sure,” Iris said, and she watched as Sophie stood and walked into a crowd. An entirely different person made her way past a bailiff and into the Juror’s box, leaning over to the man beside her and nodding in the direction of the door Barry Allen had just been escorted through. As Iris stood to take his hand across the gap between his seat and the benches, Sophie gave a little nod to the two of them. “It is strange,” the man said. “But I don’t think we’re meant to discuss the case until we’re in the back.” “Of course not,” Sophie said. “I was just thinking about it, is all. If it were a scene in a mystery novel, I’d call it too obvious.” “You do have a point,” the man agreed. “I’m actually a novelist myself.” “You don’t say,” Sophie smiled. “Classic red herring, am I right? And what a story. Two men in the same family accused of nearly identical murders…” She tapped her com, giving a quick signal. Nate was up. “Ah, a quick word?” Nate stepped away from the wall, flagging down Mrs. DeVoe and her companion. “No,” she snapped, putting on what Nate could see was a reasonably convincing mask of Grieving Widow. Convincing to a mark, maybe. But the Mako was right--you can’t con a conman. “Vultures, all of you.” “Oh, I’m not a reporter.” Nate said easily. He nodded to the tall man at Marlize’s Elbow. “Mr. DeVoe, I’m sure you’ll want to hear what I have to say.” He was pleased to see shock cross the face of Dominic Lanse. The man grabbed him by the arm, yanking him into an empty room. Mrs. DeVoe followed, locking it behind her. “Just so you are aware, there is video footage of you dragging me in here,” Nate said in his most helpful voice. “In case you decide to kill me here, probably not your smartest move.” he glanced around. “Private, though. Good.” He gave his signature infuriating grin. “Make this quick,” Clifford said in Dominic’s voice. “Court begins soon.” “Right, well, that’s going to be your problem.” Nate shrugged. “ Let’s skip the pleasantries. I know everything, about your plan at least. Your computer banks! Normal people couldn’t even find them, so you’ve got that going for you, though the security is lacking once you get past that, so B+. I am not Normal People. I have the best hacker in the multiverse, though, so,” he clicked his tongue in mock dismay, “like I said, my team and I --I’m sure you’re trying to think of who we are right now--know everything.” Marlize glanced at her silent watch, frowning. “Oh, no, no, I’m not a meta.” Nate shook his head. “But the thing is, I don’t have to be to destroy you.” “What--” “Again. I know everything, Thinker. Your basement prison, your hidden files, what you want with that satellite… you really shouldn’t have written everything down… twice even.” He fished a small book out of his pocket, and let them see the plain cover. Clifford’s eyes darkened. “That’s mine.” “Yeah, well, I also have the

multiverse’s greatest thief.” “Our home is under police protection and surveillance. There are officers--” “There right now, I’m aware.” Eliot Spencer, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand, flashed a badge at the pair of officers standing by a door. “Any trouble?” “Nope. She just left for the courthouse. Some work, huh? Just standing here.” “Hmm.“ Eliot agreed. “Though I guess if something did happen, the Flash would swoop in.” “Nine times out of ten,” the first officer agreed. “Or one of his buddies. “ “Maybe 8 times,” the second officer shrugged. “ You new?” “Just transferred from Keystone.” Eliot said. “Not so much nonsense there.” “I hear that. Good to have the backup though.” Eliot nodded. “ You do a walk through?” “Uh, no…. Like I said, no trouble, officer-- “Ted Crichton,” Eliot interrupted. “You haven’t walked through? What if someone’s in there, waiting to assault Mrs. DeVoe when she gets back?” “Well, uh, we don’t have a warrant--” “For crying out loud--” Eliot pulled a paper from his pocket. “See? Now let's go. You stay out here. Who has the back-- does no one have the back door? “ The officers hurried inside. “Don’t forget to check the closets,” Eliot called. -- “ Like I said. Best thief. Best hacker. Now, honestly--and you can run the numbers-- your best bet would be to cut your losses right here, right now. You’re already lying on the stand, so say you were coerced into implicating Mr. Allen--if you need someone to blame I do have a list of patsys that really need the jail time. You do that, put your little plan,” he waggled the book “ back in the box or write it up as the next dystopian best seller for High School English classes to dissect for decades to come, and you can walk away from this.” A laugh. “No one will believe anything you say. That book can’t be traced to me, and even if it could be, it doesn’t prove anything. So someone thinks I’m a supervillain. I’m dead. You have nothing that proves Mr. Allen innocent. You’re out of your mind, Mr. Ford.” “Oh good, you know who I am. Think a little harder.” “As threats go, it’s half baked,” Marlize challenged. “What are you going to do if we refuse? Break Allen out of jail so he can be a fugitive? He’d never go along with it. And the Flash can’t stop us.” “I’d run those numbers again, you’ve left out quite a few variables. But no.” “No?” “If you refuse, if you keep up your little game, lie on the stand, sell that sob story, maybe you're right and the Flash can’t stop you. But he doesn’t need to. I’ll destroy you.” “You.” It was not a question. “For someone claiming to be the smartest man in the world, I’m a bit worried about your memory. I said it already--I’m not here alone. But be my guest. Tell your lies. Right about now the Jury is thinking about what an embarrassment to the city Henry Allen’s trial was and how closely this resembles it… the similarities, the way the timelines don’t quite match up… “ “Really? You’re trying to convince the jury to ignore evidence and go with their hearts? A pathos appeal? That’s not going to work. There’s less than a 3% chance of that even ending in a mistrial, much less acquittal.” “I’m sure that’s what your numbers said,” Nate smiled yet again, this time sharklike. “Cute. I bet you think it’s difficult to get assigned jury duty. “ “It-- we checked all the names. We know--” “You know who they are, yes, yes. But you don’t know who we are. Another sloppy mistake. Now, the jury’s, you're right, not a total slam dunk. So, right now the prosecutor is getting word of some new evidence from a very well respected FBI agent about how helpful the Flash and Mr Allen have both been in assisting with a case against a known human trafficker--you know her, Ammunet Black. The one you bought your puppet from. FBI picked her up…mmm, ten minutes ago? And she had some very interesting things to say. You can guess what they were. Add to that the evidence--” “What evidence?” “The wire transfers between you and Ms. Black. In December and a few days ago. We didn’t even have to fake that first one, but even if the second

one looks a little fishy, the fact that--” “Nate, we got him,” crackled Eliot’s voice in his ear. “--the police just found a metahuman locked in your hall closet--Weeper, I think is what Ms. Black called him-- should make things clear. He wasn’t thrilled about having to stick around much longer but your basement is pretty hard for normal people to find so we had to nudge that a bit. But hey, you’re all for planting evidence. Anyways, court’s in ten minutes…. but the police will be arresting you in about three, if my math’s right-- care to check?-- so I can make this very quick. We have video of you threatening the Flash, holding him prisoner the same night as that wire transfer, proof of Dominic’s powers and sale--my hacker thanks you for all those cameras and bugs, by the way, made his job much easier-- and you add that all up and it sure looks like you got upset at the Flash and Allen for poking into your meta trafficking and decided a frame up was in order.” Nate hefted the folder, “and then there’s this.” “And what,” Marlize asked, shaking with rage, “ is that?” “A copy of files that will be delivered to the FBI, NSA and Dean of Husdson University if you don’t admit to the frame up.” Nate said, thumbing through them. “Proof that you, Mrs. DeVoe, fed information to certain entities across Africa and the Middle East where you were doing your research and aid work to assist in their terror attacks and human trafficking--ties in quite nicely to your work with Ammunet, if I do say so myself. And proof that the “late” Mr. DeVoe plagiarized his thesis, his dissertation, even the syllabi for his classes.” “Lies. No one will believe any of--” “Oh, it’s all very well forged. Except for the bit about the Syllabi. For shame.” Nate tutted. “And part of the dissertation. Can they take away a PH.d posthumously? Anyways, even if it wasn’t, do you really think that no one would believe a man who thinks that giving everyone on the planet late stage Alzheimer’s is going to solve famine and illness? What kind of legitimate history teacher doesn’t know about cholera or the effects of the agricultural revolution? Every lie has a kernel of truth to it.” Nate glanced at the clock on the wall. “Well, that certainly was enlightening. And before you decide to simply kill me, run your little calculations with one more variable: Eliot Spencer.” DeVoe’s brow furrowed and what little color he had drained from his face. “ That’s what I thought. Three.. Two.. one.” Nate raised his voice. “ Help! I’m in here!” The door crashed from its hinges. “The Gloat is the best part,” Parker, FBI badge swinging, put an arm over Barry’s shoulders. He stood with Iris next to her and Eliot as the DeVoes were hauled away. “You know, I think I might have to agree,” Iris said, squeezing Barry’s hand. “Or second best, at least,” she added meaningfully. “So… what now?” Joe asked. “I mean, there’s still… the red tape, but… do we need to be worried? Don’t they still have--” “Oh, that sick chair and computer set up?” Hardison asked with a smirk. “I want it.” Harry announced. “When did you get here?” Hardison asked, affronted. -- Parker held up her badge as she pushed the crate up a ramp into Lucille. “Special Agent Hagen! Let me help you with that,” Agent McSweeten said, taking the dolley handle from her. Parker beamed, patting the side, careful not to dislodge the panel on the side. “Thanks!” -- “Anyways, you can’t just call dibs. You’re too late,” Hardison added, giving Parker a fistbump. “We stole it.”

#dammit hedgi day 2021 #leverage #the central city job #the flash

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

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I’m Always Curious Part Nine

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. Synathehol is a TNG thing I think, so. On Earth in this story they drink alcohol, thank you. I hope everyone is well :) Thank you to everyone that’s read/liked/reblogged/replied! I really appreciate it! Summary: I’d become too engrossed in an argument with Spock (albeit a friendly one) on the effects (and logic) of using time travel to go back and change certain events. My idea was, if two totally separate events weren’t known to have any impact on one another, what would it matter which order you visited them in?

Shock of all shocks, I didn’t sleep well. “What are you listening to?” Thira asked as I pulled my headphones out. “Oh, it’s...” I floundered before waving her off, “Don’t worry about it, I can only understand, like, some of it.” “What are you up to?” “I’ve got a lecture in--” I glanced at the time, “Like an hour, so I have got to run.” “Are you coming to Liquara tonight?” Thira asked, watching me gather my things. “Ah... I think so?” I glanced back at her as I packed my PADD into my bag. “You can take one night off,” Thira said, “Loosen up, have a couple of drinks...Maybe meet somebody?” She waggled her brows at me, and I laughed, unable to help it. “I don’t think that’ll be happening,” I said, pulling bag onto my shoulder. “Come on, when was the last time you dated?” Thira asked, folding her legs up under herself. “I don’t know, my last year of the Academy?” I shrugged. “...Yikes,” Thira muttered. “Thank you for that-- I’m leaving now!” I tacked on before hurrying out of our room. -- I did manage to make it to my Dominionese lecture on time, with a very large coffee (loaded with extra espresso and additional caramel drizzle). I got to the lecture hall just on time and took the only available seat left - right next to Captain Pike. I couldn’t help my stiff posture as I sat down, taking out my PADD and putting on the virtual display sensory headset that was left out for me. As the instructor began to lay out what we’d be working on, I felt Pike lean over, his bicep pressing against mine as he murmured, “Late night?”

I hummed the affirmative, picking up my coffee and taking a sip as if to prove it. I heard Pike chuckle beside me, and I fought the urge to turn my head, see the waiting smile. I kept my eyes on the instructor, then on the Dominionese that appeared on the headset. I could still feel Pike’s arm pressed to mine; that didn’t matter, right? I could focus on something other than contact. I zoned in on the text on the headset, letting my fingers move over my PADD as I worked through the first few rows of translations. Now and again, the instructor would interrupt us, calling on students to read their translations aloud, correcting for grammar and syntax. Pike and I escaped the questioning; I’d found that unless the workshops or classes were geared specifically toward alumni, instructors tended to leave visiting students alone. Pike didn’t lean over to chat anymore throughout the rest of the class, which was a relief, but he didn’t lean away, either. He was close throughout, arm still resting against mine, thighs occasionally brushing, or our feet would knock against one another under the desk. Every single time I’d tell myself that if this was Una, or Thira, it wouldn’t be making my heart jump the way it was. If this was Spock-- Actually, no. Spock would keep his limbs to himself.

Nevertheless, class passed without incident. I removed the headset as it ended, closing my eye for a moment to help it readjust. “Well, that was informative,” Pike piped up. I glanced over at him, nodding, and was more than a little relieved to find him focused on packing away his things. I turned back down to my PADD, saving the notes I’d taken as I saw Pike’s head turn back to me, presumably as a result of my lack of verbal response. “You heading back to the ship?” He prompted. “Ah-- No. There’s a language panel on Iconian in...” I glanced at the time on my PADD, “Like ten minutes, so, I’m just gonna hang out here.” "Packed morning,” Pike commented, brows raised. I shrugged. “I just--” “Like to keep busy?” Pike finished knowingly, smiling. I returned the smile in spite of myself, nodding. “Exactly,” I confirmed. “Well, try to get some rest some time this week, lieutenant,” the Captain said, standing and patting me on the shoulder as he passed me. I returned my eyes to my PADD, unthinkingly answering, “Yeah, you, too.” I heard Pike’s steps falter, but I didn’t raise my eyes to meet what I was sure was a questioning gaze. I just reopened my Dominionese and reviewed my answers until I was sure he was gone. -- I did not want to go out. After the last 24 hours I’d had, I just wanted to take an extra long, extra hot shower and curl up in bed with my PADD and a bottle Risian wine. But I also knew that if I didn’t go, I wouldn’t hear the end of it from Thira -- and possibly from Una. I got to Liquara a little while after everyone else (the panel on Iconian had run long and delayed my getting back to the ship; I’d taken longer to get ready because I’d had to re-talk myself into going every five minutes). “You’re alive?” Thira teased as I settled into a seat beside hers and across from Una. There were a few others at the table - Spock, Nhan, and Connolly, as well as a few people from engineering that I vaguely recognized. “I was just telling everyone how you had your headphones on this morning and you were listening to something that sounded so harsh, but kinda...Lyrical. What was that?” Thira asked. The surrounding party looked at me expectantly and I answered, “Klingon poetry.” “I wasn’t aware there as an intensive on Klingon poetry this week,” Una commented, brow raised. “This was more of an independent study situation,” I admitted. “Is there anything in particular that sparked your sudden interest in such a topic?” Spock asked. I shrugged, reaching for a menu and skimming it in favor of meeting anyone’s eye. “Just had the urge, I guess,” I excused before looking around, “I haven’t been here in a while, so, someone refresh my memory: are the slush-o mixes worth the hangover?” -- I stayed out later than I had anticipated. I didn’t partake in many sugary alcoholic drinks on the Enterprise, so it didn’t take long for a decent buzz to kick in. People peeled off as the night wore on, until it was down to myself, Thira, Una, Spock, and Connolly -- practically the ready room crowd.

I should not have stayed out, though. I should’ve had one drink and then ducked out gracefully. But I’d become too engrossed in an argument with Spock (albeit a friendly one) on the effects (and logic) of using time travel to go back and change certain events. My idea was, if two totally separate events weren’t known to have any impact on one another, what would it matter which order you visited them in? “My point is, if I chose first to go back and stop T.S. Eliot from writing Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats and then subsequently traveled forward in time and stopped Oppenheimer from designing the atomic bomb--” “Why would you choose to halt the writing of a book rather than the creation of a catastrophic weapon?” Spock asked. “Okay, two reasons: One - It is a time machine, Spock, I’d have literally nothing but time. Two-- No, actually, three reasons-- two, that book came out in 1939, the Manhattan Project didn’t start until 1942, so I think it is safe to say that despite its historical significance to mankind, I would not be doing the world a disservice by visiting those events in chronological order.” “And the third reason?” Una asked. "The movie CATS was the first step to the subsequent tanking of Universal Studios in the 22nd century, so that’s my first priority if I ever get a personal time machine,” I said simply. His laugh joined in with the others-- my ear caught on that sound, the way it had the night before. My eyes darted to the other end of the table, and I felt my smile falter a little. I had been so engrossed in my conversation with Spock that I hadn’t even noticed the Captain settled on the other side of Connolly. Pike’s eyes met mine as the laughter settled, and I gave him a quick smile before averting my eyes. I could feel Una looking at me, and when I raised my eyes to hers, I found her brow quirked. She peered around Connolly at the Captain. “What kept you?” She asked. “I was speaking with Admiral Cornwall about our next mission. Nothing for us to discuss tonight. How was the lecture?” He asked. When silenced followed the question, I realized it had been directed at me. I met Pike’s eye again. “Informative.” I left it there, picking up the menu again and looking it over. Part of me already know I was going to be switching to water, though. -- I remembered why I’d liked being called to the ready room so much at the beginning - when there were so many of us, before I was better acquainted with the Captain, it was easier for me to hang back; I didn’t feel as pressured to speak up. And at Liquara, with Una, Thira, and Connolly there to steer the conversation, and Spock to interject (heavily), I didn’t feel that the conversation lagged anywhere. And I was being good - keeping my eyes to myself, only looking at the Captain when he was speaking; smiling and laughing an appropriate amount, and definitely, definitely not thinking about that sigh of his name and the giggle I’d heard the night before. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving.” Thira had managed to catch what I had assumed was a subtle shrugging on of my jacket, but what to her was apparently a beacon of retreat. I gave her a small, regretful smile. “I just realized how late it is.” “You’re not going to the long-range sensor lab again, are you?” Spock asked, watching me. Unbeknownst to me, he’d been there himself the night before, and had actually left shortly before I had. I laughed a little, shaking my head. “No, not tonight. I’ve got an Exoarchaeology and the 22nd Century intensive that I’ve gotta be up for,” I excused, “I already settled up at the bar.” “I thought you were going to ask about their drink special,” Una pointed out, raising a brow. I shrugged as I stood. “And I did. Right before I settled up. Have a good night, guys,” I cast a quick smile around, careful not to let my eyes linger on anyone for too long before I turned and left. That had been good, right? Natural. I had contributed to the conversation, I hadn’t hung on the Captain’s every word like some giggling schoolgirl. I’d more than earned that extra long, extra hot shower. And maybe one Klingon poem. “Headed for the shuttles?” Every single instinct told me to walk faster, pretend I hadn’t heard him. I turned in spite of this. He wasn’t too far behind me. I stopped walking, giving him the chance the catch up. "Sort of our only way to get back to the ship right now, so, that was the plan,” I nodded. Pike pulled his communicator out, raising it to his lips. I was a little tipsy, but I was looking at the communicator, I swear, not at Pike’s mouth. “Pike to transporter room. Two to beam up.” “But--” Before I could finish my sentence, we were in the transporter room. “But?” Pike asked before nodding to the crew. I gave them a quick wave before stepping off of the pads behind Pike. “But I thought the transporter room was out of commission until the Enterprise’s diagnostic was complete,” I said, following Pike to the turbolift. “Diagnostic was completed this morning, Enterprise was cleared,” Pike reported, brow furrowing, “I mentioned that earlier.” Maybe he had; I had been making an active effort at the bar to not listen too intently to what he was saying, and apparently I’d done too good of a job. I nodded once. “Right. Sorry, I must have slush-o mix in my ears,” I muttered. We stepped onto the turbolift, each reaching for the control panel. Pike and I both lowered our hands, and I heard Pike murmur, “Go ahead.” I entered my destination before Pike entered his. There was a pause before the lift hummed. “...Lieutenant, may I ask you something?” “‘Course.” “Please don’t take this unkindly, but,” Oh god, “Is everything alright?” I turned a frown up at Pike, confused. “Why do you ask?” “You seem to be burying yourself in work. Between the lectures yesterday and this morning,” How did he know about yesterday? “The long-range sensor lab last night, your lecture tomorrow-- I’ve been told you took Onafuwa’s one-day intensive?” Una. Blabbermouth. “All compelling evidence, but need I remind you, Captain, that we are in the same turbolift right now because we just left the same bar?” I pointed out. Pike’s brow quirked. “Be that as it may, I just wanted to ask the question on the off-chance it needed asking.” I turned my head again to face the turbolift doors. “I’m alright, Captain.” “...Then why couldn’t you look me in the eye and say that?” “Is that why you left?” I asked, looking up at him then. “Excuse me?” “The bar. Is that why you left the bar? To ask me this?” He blinked once, twice, then pursed his lips, shook his head once and said, “No.” I couldn’t help the smug look that overtook my features as the turbolift doors opened on my floor. Looking back, I’d pass the boldness off on the copious amount of slush-o mix I’d had at the bar. “Never join the Starfleet poker league, Captain. You don’t bluff well,” I said before stepping off of the lift and leaving him behind.

#Christopher Pike #Chris Pike #christopher pike/reader #christopher pike x reader #Christopher Pike/You #Christopher Pike Imagine #I'm Always Curious #captain pike #captain pike x reader #Captain Pike/Reader #Captain Pike Imagine #Captain Pike x You

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fedtothenight · 3 years

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this competition asked to write a short story in the dystopian genre and my entry's below - don't rb!

the sweetest fruit

The boy gasped, straining against the padded frame of the jeep just as the vehicle slowly came to a halt. ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing at a spot about a hundred feet from the group. ‘Look, Mum! That’s so cool!’

Half-instinctively, his mother had already grabbed a fistful of his tank-top, ready to yank him back. She had spent the entirety of the trip sitting as still as possible, facing forward, eyes stubbornly fixed on the self-cooling top of the car in a pointless effort to fight her motion sickness: her patience was already wearing very thin without her eight-year-old personal safety hazard trying to get himself killed.

‘Ethan, for the love of God,’ she snapped. ‘I already told you to stop leaning over the frame! Do you realise how dangerous that is?’

‘No, Mum, you’ve got to look!’

‘Emma, darling,’ her husband whispered, a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘You should really look at this. It’s magnificent.’

Whatever it was, even her fifteen-year-old daughter - who had spent the last thirty minutes texting her friends back home without so much as a glance at the scenery - was jaw-slacked, so she slowly got up on her wobbly knees and peered over her shoulders.

In the shadow of a tree, protected from the sweltering heat, two lions were feasting on a zebra. Perhaps belatedly, as it’d taken her a second to drink the sight in, she realised that the poor thing was still alive: writhing as blood, red and hot and pulsing, gushed out from where the bigger lion - the male - had bitten into its back.

The smaller one, the female, soundlessly sank its teeth into the dying animal’s neck, and the latter gave one last weak kick, finally falling limp. When the lioness stood again, it was almost impossible, from this distance, to see her eyes amidst the bloodied mess on her face.

‘Oh, my God, Matt,’ Emma said. ‘This is beautiful. Nature truly is beautiful.’

‘You don’t really get to see this kind of show anywhere else today,’ their guide said from the driver’s seat. He sounded proud, as if he’d hunted and fed the zebra to the lions himself.

Alberto wasn’t wrong, Emma reasoned. Given that they were parked in the middle of the privately-owned biggest North American savanna, he - or rather, his employer - was the one effectively feeding the lions. Like feeding mice to cats. She glanced at her children, glad they could have a window on a reality that was long gone. To think it would have taken a trip around the world to watch this spectacle - imagine the motion sickness then! If only, she considered wistfully, there could be a way of replicating glaciers just as accurately.

‘Honestly, it seems a bit unfair that they get to eat real meat,’ Ethan said at the dinner table a few hours later. He was picking at his plate, moving the fried grasshoppers they’d been served for dinner around, but not really eating any. ‘While we are stuck with insects and microprotein or whatever.’

Emma pinched the bridge of her nose. She was tired and sunburnt, her sensitive pale skin suffering under the blistering sun of the region, so different from the temperate weather back home North. She had a splitting headache, too. She was, yet again, at the so-called end of her tether. ‘Ethan…’

‘You should be glad you get to eat at all,’ her daughter said at the same time. ‘There’s a reason it’s illegal to eat meat. These animals are here for show, anyway. They were originally from Africa.’

‘Shut up, Becca,’ Ethan mumbled. ‘Everybody knows there are no animals in Africa. There’s nothing there.’

Becca’s cheeks were tinted pink, eyebrows furrowed. ‘Of course there were animals. There were animals everywhere before the Climate Crunch.’

‘Both of you, stop it,’ Matt interjected. ‘Ethan, your sister is right. You should be grateful that we are here in the first place. That said…’ He leant forward, voice down to a whisper: ‘I have a surprise for you. Or, well, Richard has a surprise for us. When he arrives tomorrow, he’ll bring us real meat. Bovine meat.’

‘But it’s illegal,’ said Becca.

‘It’s technically illegal,’ Matt acknowledged. ‘It’s not if you know how to get some and no one from Animal Conservation finds out. Do you think our president only eats insects? Please, Becca. Use that big brain of yours.’

‘Yes,’ Ethan snickered. ‘Use your brain, Becca.’

‘That is too generous,’ Emma said. ‘Inviting us here in the first place was, when even he hasn’t gotten here yet. Now this. I wouldn’t know how to repay him.’

Truly, all she felt was jealousy. Her guts twisted with the sheer force of it. Yes, she had known that Richard was comfortable. The gated, heavily guarded estate spanned for thousands of acres, comprised the 5000sqt villa they were staying at (five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a cinema, marble floors and solar panels on the rooftop), an indoor swimming pool inspired by vintage photos of Amalfi, two indoor tennis courts, and the savanna they’d explored earlier in the day. ‘The biggest conservation area in North America since they repurposed the Midwest,’ he’d bragged in a video call, two weeks before. ‘You will love it. The holiday you deserve. Make yourselves at home.’

But meat? He could get meat?

Matt’s family had designed DeNuketify, which was basically the only effective way of purifying ocean water from whatever nuclear waste Japan kept spewing so that it could be used and, most importantly, drunk. They had managed to flee the continent with the last handful of greencards about the time her family did, too, taking their precious Queen’s accent with them to found Nova London. She was the governor of Nova London now, for God’s sake. The bloody queen herself was long dead but she was alive, and yet, yet - they had never had meat.

‘We don’t have to, Emma,’ Matt said. ‘We just need to remember how lucky we are to enjoy this meal, this house, this holiday. Look at that,’ and he nodded towards the TV screen again. ‘Actually, Alexa!, volume up!, I think the Italians have finally surrendered.’

The war correspondent’s voice grew louder. She - they, Emma reminded herself: Becca always told her not to assume anyone’s gender - was wearing a dust mask and reading from a bundle of documents. ‘The last military hospital in the island of Palermo was destroyed four days ago by a Canadian airstrike,’ they were saying. ‘The rebels surrendered soon after, followed by the group of extremists in the Nebrodi island. Etna had already surrendered last year.’

‘It’s important to remember that these actions were necessary to finally put a rest on the instability of the region,’ they added. ‘Canada will fund a complete restoration of the Southern archipelago. The remaining civilians will be provided with a shelter and then, when the time comes, a suitable job. Nova Italia will be the sixteenth Canadian state, the fourth offshore. There are also hopes to extract petroleum from the seabed of the sunken city of Gela.’

‘Watch them make it into a holiday hotspot,’ Matt commented. ‘The weather is still nice there.’

‘Ooh, I heard about this.’ Becca picked her phone back up and started furiously typing away. ‘There’s this journal entry soldiers found over there, under the rubble, that’s gone viral. It was translated into English. Wait, I’ll pull it up. Alexa, volume down.’

‘I’m not sure I want to hear it,’ Emma said, uneasy. ‘We’re on holiday. Should we not watch a movie? Something funny?’

Becca waved her away, as if she was an annoying fly. ‘It’ll be good practice for my drama class.’

Matt didn’t help—he simply shrugged, half-apologetic, as if to say: Let her do her thing.

Becca made a show of clearing her throat, too, before she started reading from her phone—her high voice now grave, studied, as if she were speaking to a larger audience: ‘I wonder what peas taste like.’

Right then, the scene on screen changed to footage of what looked like a destroyed village, something out of an apocalyptic movie. Emma found herself unable to look away.

‘Nonna used to say that her own great-grandmother grew them in her garden. Figs, too,’ Becca read. ‘They say they were the sweetest fruit.’

Emma wondered if this journal was actually written by a child or a teenager. It didn’t sound like an adult at all. She couldn’t help but picture a girl, a brunette, not much older than Becca, perhaps a rebel, or a trainee nurse on the sweet cusp of adulthood, holding this journal of hers, or perhaps a gun. It violently reminded her that her own daughter, too, would have to serve her time in the Forces in three years.

On screen, the Canadian soldiers walked among the ruins, zigzagging between torn up clothes and discarded weapons, surely looking for surviving rebels under the rubbles.

‘Isn’t it silly that we can hear the fighters overhead and that all I can do is think about food?’ said Becca. ‘I wish we could also eat figs and be happy.’

On screen, the camera zoomed in on a long-forgotten man's shoe, some crumpled photographs, on a pile of bodies in black bin bags.

‘Grandma - I miss her - left me a poetry book, too, from T.S. Eliot. I hope the book is with me when I die, so I can give it back to her when we meet again, afterwards. So I can tell her that T.S. Eliot was wrong.’

On screen, one of the soldiers approached and showed a little trinket to the camera: a bloody, heart-shaped locket that must’ve once been golden, hiding the miniature pictures of two brunette children that would never have a name.

‘That’s enough,’ Emma said. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. ‘Stop reading.’

‘The world may have not ended with a bang, but it didn’t end with a whimper, either: the world didn’t end at all. Sometimes,’ Becca finished reading, ‘I wish it had.’

‘What a load of rubbish,’ Matt scoffed. ‘Everyone should feel lucky to be alive. I bet this journal is a fake. Alexa, turn the TV off.’

As the screen faded to black, Ethan finally popped a grasshopper in his mouth. ‘I can’t wait to have meat tomorrow.’

#my writing #honestly dystopia is not a genre i'm interested in #lol #this was lazy and i wrote it in one morning while i was hungover on negroni

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wordsaresimple-imnot · 4 years

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New Hope - Eliot x Reader drabble/one-shot

A/N: Okay, so I’m re-watching Leverage and I just wrapped season 2 where Nate is arrested and the angsty idea of his daughter being part of the team and losing him came to me so I started writing that and then the rest just sorta happened. Basically a drabble that turned into an unplanned one-shot I’m not entirely sure I like. I feel like I should give it additional parts but y’all can decide that. I also have another Eliot angst/fluff I’m almost done with and about 2-3 one-shots/multi fic ideas for Eliot I’m trying to organize.

Details: You are Nate’s daughter (either by Maggie or maybe gf/hs sweetheart before Maggie) that’s part of the team and already established gf/love of Eliot. Nate is arrested and it spirals you down, until you find something out and your life changes. Kinda sucks, please be kinda, haha.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the span of maybe two minutes, everything came to a screeching halt. Well, not quite a halt. More like trying to watching a video that was trying to load and play at the same time. Every part of your body felt heavy, heavier than you ever remember feeling. You try to focus on the situation at hand but things register too late.

Sterling, standing with cops, surrounding you and the team. Guns pointed at you. Trapped. Your dad speaking, walking to the rail. He cuffs himself to the rail. Why? What’s happening? Him and Sterling talking. What’s happening?

“Dad? What are you doing?” You take a half step towards him, when Eliot grabs your hand to hold you back. The guns shift in your direction.

Your dad tells the team how you’re his family and he will never forget that. None of this is computing. He’s yelling for you all to get on the helicopter. You feel Eliot tug at your arm to get you to move. It snaps you out of your haze and everything is in crystal clear focus. You pull away from Eliot and rush to your father.

“No. No! You aren’t doing this. There’s another way.” You frantically start tugging at the handcuffs, believing if you pull it hard enough it’ll break apart and free him. You hear your teammates call your name, but ignore them still rambling. “This isn’t happening. We lost Sam. I lost Sam. I can’t lose you too. You can’t leave me. Dad, no!”

He shifts his cuffed hand to gently and firmly grab yours, saying your name. You freeze and look up into his eyes. “Do you remember what I use to tell you when you were little?”

“That I was your first true love, and true love is about protecting each other.” You whisper, your voice shaking. He gave you a gentle smile, his eyes softening.

“That’s right. I couldn’t save Sam, and I’ll live with that guilt forever. But if I don’t do this to protect you, and them, I couldn’t live with myself. I love you, so much.” He leaned forward and gave your forehead a kiss. As he pulls back, he nods to Eliot to grab you.

“Daddy.” You try to keep hold of his hand, but Eliot pries you apart and keeps a firm hold on your arms, following the rest of the team to the helicopter. Your eyes lock with Sterling as you move past him. The look you give him makes him take a side step back. You hear Eliot telling him to watch his back; Eliot will be the least of his problems.

Then, it was like the video fully loaded and everything sped up at once. You barely remembered the flight, or the following weeks after your fathers arrest. It was a blur spent in bed, crying off and on with random bouts of anger. Sophie and Eliot spent the most time with you, trying to make you eat and stay somewhat in a routine of at least wondering around Eliot’s apartment. About a month after his arrest you tried to ease back into being with the team and wanted to help in planning his escape. Then you got sick.

You were sitting in the bathroom in your dad’s flat, loving the cool side of the tub against your neck as you focused on breathing. A soft knock made you open your eyes a crack, seeing Eliot quietly step inside and close the door again. He grabbed a washcloth, got it damp, and sat down in front of you while holding it to your forehead.

“How you feeling?” Every part of him showed concern.

“Like death.” You gave a dry chuckle. “Why aren’t you sick? We’ve been eating the same things for months.”

“Minus your comfort food,” Eliot joked.

You rolled your eyes, “I haven’t had that in...” You trailed off trying to remember the last time you had any comfort food aka period cravings. When you realized you couldn’t give a confident answer on the last time that happened, you said the only thought you had. “Uh, oh.”

Eliot tensed, “Uh, oh? What ‘uh, oh’?” His eyes follow your hands as they settle on your stomach, his own arm dropping from your forehead. “Uh, oh.”

One not-so-secret trip to the corner drug store (courtesy of Parker eves dropping and blabbing to everyone else in the apartment) and twenty minutes of drinking water and waiting to pee later had everyone sitting in the living room looking at the timer on your phone. Well, Eliot was pacing but everyone else was sitting.

“Man, if this is positive Nate is gonna break out just to kill you. We might not have to do anything.” Hardison tried to joke, looking at Eliot who was far from amused.

“Hardison I’m gonna jump over this couch and -” Eliot started before Sophie jumped in.

“Can everyone just stop for a minute? We need to be supportive right now.” She gave them a pointed look and went back to rubbing soothing circles on your back.

The timer went off and you couldn’t shut it off fast enough. Beyond that quick movement, you found yourself stuck to your seat. You turned and looked at Eliot, standing at your side, neither of you seemed able to move. Then you hear a huff and a flash of blonde as Parker sprints to the bathroom and comes back just as fast holding the stick. Her face is unreadable.

“Well?” Sophie asks.

“Negative.” Parker looks between you and Eliot.

“Oh.” You feel your shoulders drop, processing the news.

“That’s good, though, right? That’s what you wanted?” Hardison asked.

“I mean, yeah. That’s the smart outcome. It’s just...” You felt tears prick at your eyes and turn towards Eliot. He sits on the arm rest and hugs you to his side. “I guess I had just assumed it was gonna be yes so I started thinking of all the memories we’d make and our life...”

“Me too.” Eliot confessed, kissing the top of your head.

“Well, good news then. It’s positive.” Parker’s face broke into a smile. You and Eliot’s heads snapped over to her. “I lied before. Just wanted to be sure you knew your real emotions on it.”

You jump up and rush to grab the test from her hands. She’s still smiling like she somehow won the jackpot. “You are the craziest person I’ve ever met.” You mumble to her, but she didn’t seem remotely fazed. There it was, big and pink and plus. You look back up at Eliot and nod in confirmation. “It’s positive.”

He walked over and took the test from your hand, staring at the symbol as you had done. Then his arms wrap around you and hold you close, being as gentle as possible so you don’t get sick again. Your arms wrap around him and you start to cry and laugh at the same time. Eliot pulls back enough to see your face.

“Those happy tears?” He looked slightly worried. When all you could do was nod and smile at him, he smiled back. Eliot put one hand on your check and moved the other to rest on your stomach, leaning down he gave you a passionate and loved filled kiss. The euphoric moment ended once you heard Parker speak yet again.

“So what’s Nate gonna be more pissed about: Eliot getting his daughter pregnant or not knowing Sophie’s real name?”

“Those are problems for another day. Right now, we are going to celebrate the newest member of our family!” Sophie came forward and gave you both hugs, followed by Hardison and a typical semi awkward Parker hug.

You looked at your team, laughing and smiling. They would be there for you and Eliot and your growing baby, and that made you feel a happiness you’d been missing for the past month. Your dad was right - they are family. And you saw hope and a future for your family. You’d get your dad out and once everyone was together again, no one would be able to break them apart again.

#leverage #one shot #eliot spencer #nate ford #parker #alec hardison #leverage fanfic #fanfiction #drabble #eliot x reader #eliot spencer x reader #nate ford daughter #sophie devereaux #christian kane

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dalekofchaos · 4 years

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Why I ship Grahamfield

For a long time I was a huge Pricefield shipper and I still am, but over time I've come to appreciate, ship and prefer Grahamfield.

I was originally indifferent towards Warren and Grahamfield cause I saw the focus of the game was Max and Chloe and I used to be in the "Warren is a creeper” camp but over time, I realized I was wrong. These posts explain why I’ve come to appreciate Warren. Post 1. Post 2. Post 3. Post 4. Post 5. Post 6. Post 7. Post 8. Post 9 Post 10. Ultimate post Warren is a good guy and he does not deserve to be compared to Eliot. Even Chloe would agree about that.

Now let’s explain why I love Grahamfield.

I ship them because I think they are cute nerds and adorkable together. They just click and fit well together. He's the male protagonist and she's the female protagonist. Not only that, they were meant for each other. You can't find any couple more perfect than them. Just picture them together, they're so cute together. They are both quiet, chill, nerds and spiritually old school that use dark humor and have special interests they both relate to. Warren genuinely cares for Max and Max cares for Warren too. Warren can be persistent and he knows it can be a bother, and doesn’t want to be but Max doesn’t mind. And honestly, being persistent isn’t always a bad thing. If I wasn’t always persistent, I would not have the connections I do today. And it really isn’t bad in Warren’s case. Where everyone else tells Max their problems for Max to help them with, Warren is interested in listening to Max and helping Max throughout the game. No matter the context of the situation, Warren is there for Max. It’s Warren who encourages her to be sure of herself, who notices that Max isn’t well and always likes to listen to her to help her and give her reassuring words. Max wanted to tell Warren all game about her powers and Warren instantly believed her. But if she told him in the beginning, I still believe Warren would’ve believed her. Max did not want to see Nathan hurt Warren, so she put herself in harm’s way until Chloe drove up to her and Warren was willing to put himself in harm’s way to ensure Max’s safety. Despite not knowing the context of Max’s request of what he knew about time travel, he emailed and texted her everything he knew about time travel. Warren invites Max out to “Go Ape”(lol this fucking dork) it’s our choice, but if we choose yes, Max says it’s exactly what she needs to take her mind off things and Max was willing to hear him out. She is wary of him making a move on her, but she has a lot on her mind and I think romance is the last thing on her mind but as the game goes on it is clear Max has an interest for Warren. I do believe Max was always interested in Warren. It started out as friendship and had the opportunity to blossom into romance. I think she’s shy and confused about how she feels about him and doesn't want to come to terms with the fact that she may be falling for Warren, but she trusts and loves him in her own way whether you choose platonic or romantic. Both Max and Warren show worry over Kate and did something for Kate. Max helped her and Warren checked up on her. And depending on whether or not you were able to save Kate, Warren is there for Max congratulating Max on saving her or there to tell her it is not her fault for being unable to save Kate and Warren will hug Max at the end of episode 2 but leaving enough space for Max’s personal space, it was sweet and nice of him. Warren will send a message saying how proud he is that Max saved her or if Kate died, Warren is there for Max saying that they can cancel on their “Going Ape” date but leaves the option open if she needs something to help her take her mind off things. Max asks Warren for help to build a bomb and Warren gives her the info she needs. lol Warren is Max’s ride or die man. Legends only. He even asks to make sure she’s okay. In the alternate universe, Max looks genuinely distraught that Warren hooked up with Stella. Warren reacts to whether or not you kissed Chloe and is willing to step down if Max is more interested in Chloe, but Max says she still wants to go ape with him. So wholesome. Even Kate wants them together. “Even angels need angels” and Warren certainly is a guardian angel to Max. Max writes a cute dorky message on Warren’s dorm slate. Warren was willing to throw himself against Nathan again with a loaded weapon to protect Max and Chloe. You have the option to intervene or not. Max does not want Warren to be like Nathan, so she stops him. Max trusts Warren so much that she wanted to tell him the truth about her powers from day 1, she kept pushing it off, but in the end she told him and he believed her. He don’t need any proof to believe Max of her powers. He believed her, listened to her and encouraged her to save Chloe. He loves her and Max loves him. The game is tailor made to be focused on Max and Chloe and didn’t really give Max and Warren to flesh out, but still it is clear throughout Max’s journal entries that she does love him and Warren through example has shown that he loves her.

Warren is in love with Max. And Max is starting to develop feelings for Warren. It took Warren a lot of persistence but it's coming around. It also took an alternate universe of Warren to hook up with Stella for Max to realize she does have feelings for Warren, but it's there.

Warren is in love with Max, Chloe loves Max, but she’s in love with Rachel. Warren likes Max for who she is. Chloe pushes Max to do things she wouldn't normally do. Now they both do push Max to do things they want to do, like going to the ape movies and watching some movies. But for Warren, that's it. The thing he push Max to see or read is what Max is already interested in. They share the same interests. They're cute together.

Now you can say the same for Brooke. But the thing is that Brooke is too much at Warren's level, to the point it's better if they stay friends. I was a geek in high school and I have female friends who had my same interests and we discuss conversations and so on and share the same interest. It was so much alike, I never can like her and see us together. I always like potential partners who share interest with me but have some differences and I would prefer to have a partner who does have some difference too. And we can say that to Max and Warren.

And I just love them together. Their adorkable, cute and they just feel right. Plus Chloe approves.

Honestly I just wish they gave us the choice on who we have Max focus on. Chloe, Warren, Kate, Victoria or Nathan. We should be given a choice instead of having it be just Chloe. Though if we are only allowed to choose between Chloe and Warren, we should have been given two choice routes for Max to play through. Chloe and Warren.

If we were allowed to choose between Chloe and Warren on who we focus on/choose who we spend our time with as Max, this is how I could see it happening if it were Max and Warren in this scenario.

Episode 1, let’s say there is a time limit. If you progress to the parking lot within 5 minutes after being done in the dorms, Chloe’s truck will be there. If not, Chloe’s truck will not be there. So Max and Warren’s interactions will be the same and Nathan will attack will remain the same. But without Chloe, Max would knee Nathan in the groin Warren will try to help Max but Nathan will keep beating on him until David breaks up the fight. Max would rush Warren to the nurse’s office and help wipe the blood off and reduce the swelling of Warren’s bruises. Warren would say “Max, you are my super hero” and Max would say “and you are my white knight Warren.” they smile at each other and hold hands. They would drive off to Warren’s place and while in the car they would talk about Max’s powers and Warren would believe her and you tell Warren about Chloe, how guilty Max has felt about not talking in 5 years and after hearing Max out, Warren will convince her to reach out to Chloe and Max will call Chloe and ask if she can come over and Warren would drive her over, so episode 1 remains the same but with more Warren.

In episode 2, is when you get to focus entirely on Warren. Before leaving the dorms, you get the choice of inviting Warren to your dorm and tell Warren about Kate, Nathan and Chloe. Warren will of course believe Max about Nathan’s involvement with Kate and believes Max even more about her powers and say he will be there for Kate and help her. Warren wants to ease Max and take her mind off things and invites her to “Go Ape” and Max will say yes! Since this is the Warren path, Max asks Warren to go to the Two Whales with her and this allows Warren to officially meet Chloe. Chloe will say “any friend of Max is cool enough to be my friend” they have the whole Chloe test. After you get to choose between spending time with Warren or Chloe, naturally this will be with Warren. Chloe will be pissy, but she calms down. In place of the junkyard, I can see Max and Warren studying together while both trying to figure out how they can help Kate. At the end of episode 2 their moment of them together remains the same, but we are given a choice to kiss Warren(this will also have Chloe gushing about it in text in episode 3 lol).

In episode 3 we have Max, Warren and Chloe investigating Blackwell at night looking for evidence on Nathan, Rachel and Kate. While on the job, Chloe is pretty much being the absolute worst wingman for both Max and Warren cause she wants them together but giving them both the absolute worst pick up lines possible, she wants the best for the cute nerds lol. During the pool scene pretty much the same type of talk, but a scene of Max and Warren kissing and Chloe cheering them on. Pretty much plays the same way trying to hide from security, and after Max has the choice to either go to Chloe’s or go with Warren’s. If you choose Warren it will open with Max and Warren cuddling and the two taking a selfie together. They will talk and say they should go on a date to the End Of The World Party as a date and a means to spy on Nathan and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone again. Chloe texts Max to come over and Max kisses Warren goodbye and says “see you later my white knight.” The rest of the episode would play out as it did.

Episode 4 would have Max, Chloe and Warren working together throughout the episode. Chloe would tease the two of them by saying “you nerds are so cute together” Warren helps uncover the truth of Rachel and Kate. Max and Warren comfort Chloe for Rachel. Chloe is on the hunt for Nathan, while Max and Warren are on their date while also looking for Nathan. After talking with Victoria. Max and Warren share a dance and a kiss and Max takes a picture of them to save the memory. We are given the opportunity to enter a photo for the Everyday Hero Contest. We enter at the last minute as Jefferson would give Max the opportunity. So Max with Kate’s permission, Kate would let Max take a photo of her in the hospital. And Max enters her photo at the last minute when she returns to Blackwell. Max wins the Everyday Hero Contest. Max gives an inspiring speech about how everyone can be a hero and that Kate has always inspired her, how much she loves Kate and that she hopes that Kate knows that she is loved by everyone in Blackwell and everyone, especially Warren, Chloe, Victoria would cheer Max on. This would also give Jefferson the means and opportunity to drug Max without killing Chloe at the Junkyard. Chloe doesn’t die because it’s a public place and Jefferson has Max where he wants her. It honestly works better than Jefferson magically appearing at the Junkyard with no explanation(and it never being brought up).

In episode 5 Chloe and Warren brings David and Samuel(I feel like Samuel was meant to go with David but his plot was dropped entirely) to help and save Max. Warren has the photo in hand and Max is able to save the town. Max embraces Warren and Chloe and glad that they are both alive. Max tells them both the truth about Jefferson and how Jefferson killed Nathan and Rachel and dosed Kate. Warren is shocked but is glad Max is safe. Chloe is pissed but glad Jefferson is going to jail and that David saved her. I think how we end this is for either choose to let the Storm play out and find out that Max, Chloe, Warren, Frank and Joyce are the survivors or Max can go back in time via the selfie she took with Warren and warn the town. Chloe doesn’t have to die and Max is together with Warren and they finally Go Ape.

#Grahamfield #Marren #Max x Warren #Warren x Max #Warren Graham #Max Caulfield #Life Is Strange

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thicctransboi · 5 years

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Newspaper (Sam and Grizz)

Prompt by @bystudying @alliesrules

Monday, 3pm, One week before the Homecoming Game

Grizz was stood in front of his locker, gathering his books and supplies and loading them into his backpack. He made sure to grab his copy of "The Count of Monte Cristo" before heading to BookClub. His locker was sat directly across from the school newspaper's workroom, which is why he found himself every Monday lingering by his locker for 15 minutes before BookClub started. Not because he had a fascination with newspaper, but because of a particular student that was part of the school newspaper: Sam Eliot was a junior, about 5'8, and had auburn ginger hair. His eyes were so blue, they almost appeared translucent, and freckles scattered amongst his chiseled features. Sam was popular, but not in a prep sort of way. Sam was popular and well known for two reasons; He was deaf, and he also just so happened to be gay. West Ham's sole out and proud homosexual, who was part of the school newspaper, a ginger, and deaf. Basically, he was a target for attention. Negative attention.

But not from Grizz; Grizz had been pinning after the younger boy ever since his 7th grade year when he first laid eyes on him. He found the young man fascinating, not just because of his disability, which he had proved didn't enable him in any way, but because of his vibe. Sam Eliot had this magnetic pull to him, something about the ginger kid pulled Grizz in and made him want to learn more about him. But, he couldn't. If he were to befriend Sam, people would talk. They would assume. And Grizz wasn't sure if he was ready for people to assume the truth about him; he was gay. He worked hard to hide it; star athlete, in both football and hockey, dedicated bookworm and stoner, and had made sure to regularly date girls. None of which he had ever lusted after nor cared for in a romantic way. But oh, how he longed to get to know Sam, to have some excuse to talk to him. He had considered joining the newspaper, but he had chickened out last minute in fear of making an ass of himself in front of his crush.

Becca Gelb, Sam's best and only friend, and Sam had shown up to one Bookclub meeting, but never came to another one. Grizz had been so excited that first meeting, and horribly disappointed when they didn't return.

Checking the time on his phone, Grizz made his way to BookClub.

Becca and Sam sat side by side in their newspaper club meeting, Becca interpreting their next assignment to Sam:

The homecoming game was Friday, and the teacher was assigning roles. Sam was in charge of interviews, Becca in charge of photos. It made sense on Becca's part, she also did photos for the yearbook. But, Sam conducting interviews? With asshole, dimwitted, football players? Sam could speak, he often had to. But that didn't mean he wasn't insecure about his speech. He was often made fun of for it. But, Becca reassured him that she would help.

Becca began conducting a list of all of the football players, and assigning both of them players to interview. Becca had the majority, while Sam had Luke, Jason, Clark, and Gareth Visser, aka "Grizz".

"You picked him on purpose!" Sam signed to Becca, pointing at Grizz's name.

They had often resulted to signing and not speaking when talking to each other for privacy.

"Maybe I did, he's one of the few with a brain. Plus, he's totally your type. I want to see you turn red."

Sam waved a hand of dismissal at his friend, "He is not my 'type'. I don't have a 'type'. Even if I did, it wouldn't be him. Besides, why Clark? He's one of the dumbest of the bunch."

Becca laughed, "Yes but he's one of the nicer ones. I gave you the ones who I thought wouldn't give you any trouble. Grizz, definitely won't, especially considering he always checks you out."

Sam's eyes went wide, "What are you talking about?"

Becca rolled her eyes at her friends obliviousness, "He's always staring at you, either from across the hall by his locker right there," she pointed out of the hallway to where Grizz's locker was, "Or in the hallways, at school events. He's totally crushing on you. Which, of all the football players to have the hots for you, he's definitely the best one. Not only Is he hot, but he's actually super smart. He's on in NHS, leader of the book club, and attends every school play and musical. I have AP English with him, he's a total nerd. So, exactly your type."

Sam waved her away, "Whatever, you're delusional. lets come up with some interview questions."

***

Friday Night, Homecoming Game, West Ham's Football stadium.

"WEST HAM WINS! Gareth 'Grizz" Visser scores the winning touchdown!"

The stadium was alive with cheers, screams, and applause of joy and celebration at the sight and announcement of West Ham winning the homecoming game. Students faces painted in red and gold face paint, school flags wrapped around peoples shoulders, confetti flying through the air in flakes of red and gold; it basically looked like school spirit had thrown up all over them. But, Sam and Becca ignored the commotion, easier said for Sam, and they made their way through the crowd, down the bleacher steps, and towards the field to conduct their interviews.

Becca turned her nose up at the sight of the sweat soaked air head jocks all body slamming each other, some pouring gatorades over each other's heads, and Luke and Clark had Grizz on their shoulders; Sam couldn't take his eyes off of him in that moment, his long brown hair sticking up in every direction, some of it sticking to his face from sweat. His fist pumping in the air, and sweat pouring down his face, dripping down his angular jaw, and disappearing into his football jersey... Sam was snapped out of his thoughts by Becca roughly elbowing him.

"Snap out of it, you're drooling." Becca signed, a smirk on her face.

Sam rolled his eyes, "Come on, lets get started."

The interviews seemed to go on forever. They had to interview every player, even the ones who didn't make it onto the field. Most of them Becca took the reins, asking their questions while Sam held the voice recorder on her phone for her. Then snapping a picture of them at the end. Player after player, dumber and dumber, and the two were almost happy to finally get to the star players; Luke, Clarke, Jason, and Grizz. Sam suddenly felt anxious about having to speak, but Becca gave him a reassuring smile as she tugged him towards Clark.

Clark was nice enough, but it was obvious his head was full of rocks. Sam had resulted to writing down his simple answers, while Becca interpreted for him what Clark was saying. He didn't take Becca's note to speak slowly. His adrenaline was pumping too fast to do so.

Jason, who looked like a model out of Baywatch, was just as dumb as Clark it seemed, but he always spoke slowly, probably due to pot, so it helped Sam to understand what he was saying better.

Luke, on the other hand, was always kind. His girlfriend, Helena, at his side. While they both were a bit stuck up, they both still had a kindness to them that gave Sam some comfort. Helena bragged on Luke's behalf, unsurprisingly to Becca or Sam, and Becca snapped a picture of the couple before they departed to celebrate.

"Hey, I have to head out soon, mom wants me home. Will you be okay with me snapping a picture of Grizz first then you doing the interview yourself?" Becca asked Sam.

Sam suddenly felt sick to his stomach with nerves, "But I'll have to speak!" He hadn't had to speak once that night, Becca had done it for him.

She gave him a squeeze on his shoulder, "You'll do fine. I've talked to Grizz before, he's nice. Come on, he's over there."

Sam followed Becca as they approached Grizz; he was sat alone now on a bench, drinking water. His jersey and gear tossed aside, clad in only a pair of tights and a tank top. He was soaked in sweat, and Sam felt his mouth water. But he also couldn't help but wonder, why was he alone?

"Hey Grizz, We're from the newspaper. Well, the yearbook too. Mind if I take a picture and Sam here conducts a short interview?" Becca asks Grizz, signing along with her words for Sam to be able to understand.

Grizz perked up suddenly, glancing at Sam. He looked handsome tonight, Grizz thought. A pair of well fitted blue jeans, that hugged his slender legs perfectly. A red t-shirt, and a brown bomber jacket. His ginger hair slicked back slightly, and his eyes caught the fluorescent bright lights of the stadium beautifully.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah that's fine." Grizz stammered out, standing up to have his photo taken.

Becca crouched slightly to capture one picture, and stepped back to get the next. Grizz giving a large faux smile each time.

Becca checked her camera before placing it back in its case. "Perfect! I've gotta fly, but Sam here will be interviewing you for the paper." she turned to Grizz, "Speak slowly and with diction so he can read your lips, and be nice. You've been warned." She then turned to Sam and signed, "Don't nut too soon." Before departing.

Sam felt himself go red, but shook the feeling away as he approached Grizz, siting next to him on the bench. The football players were a few yards away, but were still yelling and whooping loudly, fans and students surrounded them, creating even more noise. It made Grizz's head hurt.

"Why are you not celebrating with them?" Sam asked, signing with his words.

"What?" Grizz asked, unable to hear him over the noise.

Sam sighed, suddenly feeling embarrassed, "Sorry, I don't speak very well. I asked why you weren't celebrating with the rest of the team." Sam spoke, forcing more air into his words to make them louder. Making sure to annunciate with his lips and tongue.

Grizz suddenly felt embarrassed himself, realizing he had insulted Sam unintentionally. "No, no you speak fine!" Grizz reassured, speaking slowly, "It's just really loud over here. To answer your question, I often get really overwhelmed after games, I don't like to involve myself in crowds if I can avoid it."

Sam took in his words, his heart being warmed by Grizz's comment on his speech. His compliment.

Grizz was a nervous wreck, finally talking to the boy he had been pinning after for years.

"We could go somewhere less loud if that will help you." Sam suggested.

Grizz gave a nervous glance towards his teammates. But they were all caught up in their own world.

"Okay."

#sam eliot #sam x grizz #grizzam #grizz #the society #fanfic #one shot #au

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go-redgirl · 4 years

Photo

Top 8 Reasons Trump Already Won Impeachment

Whether the senators put the trial out of its misery this week or drag it on for months, the outcome is a foregone conclusion. Here are the eight big reasons Trump won impeachment.

1. Trump Didn’t Commit An Impeachable Offense

It’s an obvious point, but the most important point.

Impeaching President Trump has been the stated goal of the Resistance since his inauguration. The main effort toward impeachment was through the investigation of a false and dangerous theory of treasonous collusion with Russia to steal the 2016 election.

Even with a limitless special counsel appointed to achieve that end, the Russia collusion hoax ended with not a single American found to have colluded with Russia, not to mention anyone close to Trump, or Trump himself. A mini-effort to get impeachment going — on the special counsel’s murky near-findings that Trump had objected too strenuously to being falsely accused of treason — also fell apart.

Other impeachment efforts for, among other things, mean tweets, went nowhere. With time running out, the Resistance cobbled together what was always a weak theory regarding a phone call with the Ukrainian president.

At first the alleged crime was supposed to be a campaign finance violation, then bribery, then extortion. It ended with two articles of impeachment, neither ofor an actual crime, and one a more or less laughable claim that the president can’t use courts to defend his rights.

The other was a complicated argument regarding abuse of power that required not just hiding all exonerating evidence but the worst possible construction on what remained. It was such a weak argument that not a single Republican in the House fell for it and three Democrats declined to go along with their own party.

The range of opinion outside the Resistance about the phone call between world leaders ranges from it being, in Trump’s words, “perfect” to merely good or fine to not good. Resistance members tried to put forth the claim that the call was none of these things but impeachably bad. Even with the help of a compliant media, there is simply not enough consensus around this extreme viewpoint to justify even censure, much less bipartisan agreement toward impeachment, much less a removal from office.

Trump’s avoidance of a crime or any real break with public trust is the single biggest factor in his acquittal.

2. Terrible Decision-Making By House Democrats

With a histrionic media and political base spending the last few years demanding impeachment, House Democrats surely had hoped that President Trump would do something justifying an impeachment inquiry. They undoubtedly were not pleased when the best they had to work with was Trump asking for help investigating Ukraine’s known 2016 election meddling or investigation into Biden family corruptionin Ukraine.

So they started with a weak hand. But they failed to follow a good process. They didn’t have the House authorize an impeachment inquiry until late in the process. This decision made it unlikely that the many early subpoenas they sought would be deemed valid by a court of law if contested.

They refused to have courts validate their subpoenas, refused to let the GOP call their own witnesses, and suppressed information that was not helpful to their impeachment cause. Of the 78 days of the impeachment proceedings, they denied the president any right to counsel or due process for 71 days of them.

In general, the procedure was rushed and information that could have helped them seem more credible was never sought or acquired.

3. Democrats Failed to Get a Single Republican on Board Their Impeachment Scheme

It is nothing short of amazing that not a single Republican member of Congress joined with Democrats in their impeachment effort. There are plenty of Republican members who either dislike or even loathe the president. But even they didn’t find the impeachment to be credible.

The Resistance was also failed by its NeverTrump wing. That wing had pushed Justin Amash to dramatically leave the Republican Party earlier last year. He published his op-ed as to why and promptly lost any sway with anyone other than the tiny NeverTrump movement.

NeverTrump has long demonstrated trouble with strategic thinking and impulse control, so following their advice and leaving the party in a snit was an unforced error. Had Amash stayed with the party, the Resistance in the media and Democratic Party would have been able to make much more use of him.

4. Inexplicable 1-Month Delay In Sending Impeachment to the Senate

A main argument in favor of impeaching President Trump was that the situation, whatever it was supposed to be that day, was so dire that it required his immediate removal from office. The House Democrats couldn’t afford to wait a matter of months until a new election would be held and Americans could decide whether the “perfect” phone call was in fact so bad that it required the first removal from office of an American president in history.

Impeachment and removal had to happen immediately, they claimed. But then after voting to impeach the president, perhaps sensing the problems caused by a weak case and hoping for more information to come to light, Speaker of the House Nancy Pelosi inexplicably sat on the articles for a month. It killed whatever momentum the Resistance had and made a mockery of the whole process.

5. The Defense Team Was Amazing

Instead of turning things over to the effective Republicans who had handled the impeachment process so well on the House side, President Trump instead opted to put together a powerhouse collection of attorneys uniquely suited to address an audience of senators and the American people.

Even among their class of politicians, senators have an extremely high view of themselves and their office. Every senator’s ego must be stroked. They don’t want to feel upstaged, spoken down to, or lectured.

Patrick Philbin, Trump’s deputy general counsel, exemplified the defense team’s deliberate choice to put in front of senators someone who had encyclopedic knowledge of the law and this particular case, someone not there to make a name for himself. Philbin’s humble and bookish demeanor was neither bombastic nor flamboyant as he calmly explained the facts of the case and their significance. The other members of the team were also well chosen to argue their points.

6. Grating and Juvenile House Managers

By contrast, House Democrats picked impeachment managers who seemed perfectly calibrated to annoy and grate on those handful of senators whose votes were up for grabs. Reps. Adam Schiff and Jerry Nadler were the leaders of a group that repeated their highly partisan talking points and used hyperbolic and loaded language. The media loved it, but it went over like a lead balloon with the non-Resistance senators.

The House Democrats accused senators of being cowards who were complicit in a cover-up. They suggested that the senators were unable to vote properly because President Trump would put their heads on pikes if they didn’t vote to acquit. They refused to answer specific and direct questions about whether the whistleblower worked for Biden, was involved in any decisions regarding Burisma, or about his interaction with Schiff’s staff. Even the Washington Post — even the Washington Post — gave Schiff four Pinocchios for lying about his staff’s secret collusion with the whistleblower.

At some point, the difference between the competent and highly skilled attorneys on the White House team and the bumbling and somewhat mediocre team of House managers was so pronounced it was almost embarrassing. It was as if one side belonged in front of the Supreme Court and the other failed to make the finals at a middle school debate tournament.

7. Kavanaugh Smear Operations No Longer Work

Along with the delay of the articles of impeachment, the House managers deployed a slow drip of supposedly damaging information. First they put Lev Parnas out as a “bombshell” witness who would bring Trump down. Parnas is indicted for various crimes and is something of a hustler and influence peddler who worked his way through Washington and supposedly had some type of negative information about Trump.

While the argument that Rudy Guiliani shouldn’t have been working with him in any way has merit, it’s a difficult argument to make while walking hand-in-hand with the same individual. Senate Minority Leader went so far as to invite Parnas to be his guest at the trial, which made the scene look more like a circus than a deliberative effort.

Late this week, House Foreign Affairs Chairman Eliot Engel issued a press release saying that he had been given information from a disgruntled former employee of Trump’s in mid-September to look into the firing of Ambassador Marie Yovanovitch, suggesting additional witnesses needed to be called. A good time to release this information — if it needed to be released, that is — would have been four months ago or during the House’s impeachment proceedings.

These tactics of deploying information late to create “bombshell” news stories are losing their effectiveness post-Kavanaugh. Republican senators — perhaps with the exception of Mitt Romney, who didn’t even learn this lesson after he was called a racist, hair-raping woman murderer during his presidential bid — are finally wising up to the operation played by the media and Democrats.

8. Media Malfeasance

The media always owned this impeachment process. Pelosi did her best to avoid impeachment but the media all but forced her into it. They championed it every step of the way and provided help, including the blocking of arguments against it.

For instance, although it’s fairly standard to name whistleblowers and to do journalism figuring out who key players are, many in the media decided to help Democrats keep from having to answer questions about his role with the whistleblower. They steadfastly avoided looking into him and his motivations or how that might have affected the entire proceedings.

Each day provided evidence that the media didn’t just want Trump impeached and removed from office, but desperately wanted that. There are videos of scrums of reporters fighting with Republicans over their case, but none of them fighting with Democrats. Republican senators are hounded by reporters to pressure them to change their vote, but Democratic senators don’t receive the same treatment.

It didn’t help that in the midst of the circus, a CNN host and his panel were openly yukking it up about how Republicans are all stupid.

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leverage-ot3 · 4 years

Text

notable moments from The Miracle Job

leverage 1.04

Eliot: That was the worst night of my life.

Parker: Come on, man, you've been in worse situations.

[Flashback]

(money is thrown on the table while a man loads one bullet in a gun and spins the barrel. He points it at Eliot’s head and pulls the trigger. Eliot flinches, but the gun does not go off)

[Leverage Kitchen]

Eliot: No. no, that was the worst.

what a dramatic little bitch

,,, also I’m always down for wacky eliot flashbacks

- - - - -

Parker: That’s St. Nicholas?

Hardison: Yes.

Parker: Santa Claus has a church?

Eliot: He’s not Santa Claus.

and the saga of parker loving christmas beGINS

- - - - -

Hardison: You think that we just gonna walk into some random tunnel and find some cholos just all yoked up? You know?

Eliot: Hardison—

(gang bangers follow Eliot and Hardison into the tunnel)

Hardison: "Yo, holmes, let me fix my do rag..."

Eliot: Dude, quiet. Listen. (turns around) Boys. We don't want any trouble. All right? We just want some answers.

Gang Leader: How's this answer?

(the Gang Leader holds his shirt aside to show the gun tucked in his waistband. Eliot reaches out and puts his hand on the gun, cocking it)

eliot’s bde move? how the fuck do you even RECOVER from that???

(another gang member pulls a gun and points it in Eliot’s face)

Eliot: You seeing this, Hardison?

Hardison: Yeah, the--the situation has my attention, yes.

Eliot: You see that's why I don't like guns. They have a specific range of efficacy. See, most guys make one mistake. They get too close.

(Eliot grabs the gun and head butts the gang member, emptying the gun and dropping it on the ground)

eliot hates guns and I love him for that

Eliot: Who rolled... a priest?

Gang Leader: We didn't beat up no priest. We are not monsters.

(Hardison notices a third gang member moving restlessly. He hits the man in the shoulder, and the man goes down in pain. Eliot grabs the gun from the Gang Leader’s waistband)

Hardison: Dislocated shoulder's a biatch. Priest gave him that.

Gang Leader: You beat up a priest? (looks at Eliot) Do you mind?

Eliot (hands him the gun): Be my guest.

Gang Leader: (points gun at gang member) You got a long penance ahead of you. Start by answering the man's questions. Now!

Eliot: Who hired you?

Gang Member: I don't know. I got a call on my cell with an offer, and I called him back after the job was done. He paid me. That's all I know. I swear.

Hardison: You got a number?

(Gang Member pulls a piece of paper from his pocket and hands it to Hardison)

Eliot: Can you do something with that?

Hardison: Seven digits. I could find you on Mars.

Eliot: Gentlemen, we'll leave you to your internal affairs. Come on.

(they walk away, out of the tunnel)

Hardison: How 'bout that? Man, you-you see me?

Eliot: He was injured.

Hardison: Well, somebody got to fight the injured. Shoot, that's my niche

me too hardison

also LMFAO eliot is so done with you you’re lucky he already has imprinted in you

- - - - -

Sophie: What is that you just took?

Grant: Xanax.

[Construction Site]

Grant: For my nerves.

Parker: Actually, caffeine. With a dash of dextroamphetamine.

(Hardison looks at Parker in surprise)

Eliot: You gave him speed?

Hardison: He beat up a priest.

hardison and eliot went from scandalized to mmm, seems fair REAL QUICK

- - - - -

Eliot: How do you know all this stuff?

Nate: I went to school with father Paul. to, uh...seminary school.

(they enter Nate’s office. Eliot hands Sophie a cup of coffee)

Eliot: So you dropped out of priest school to become a -- an insurance cop? And now you're the leader of a band of thieves. Nice.

I love eliot

- - - - -

Hardison: Y-you-you’re a catholic who wants to fake a miracle. I’m pretty sure that puts us in moral-sin territory.

Eliot: So now you're religious, too?

Hardison: No, no, I’m not denominational. It’s just, I never do anything my nana said "don't do." This, what we doin', it just don't seem right.

additionally, the hardison loving his nana saga begins

- - - - -

Nate: Give Hardison anything he needs.

Hardison: As long as I don't have to do anything immoral.

Nate: Ah, absolutely not. No, I just need you to figure out, you know, how to fake a miracle.

(Eliot laughs)

Hardison: We all going to hell

eliot being a little shit to hardison? always iconic

- - - - -

Grant (entering room): Yes, ma’am, thank you for your opinion. (hangs up) Ok, I just received a threatening phone call -- from a nun!

G O O D

- - - - -

I love the shots where the ot3 walks together they cute as hell

- - - - -

Hardison: Hell fire, damnation, et cetera. You know what? I’m gonna step over here, so when the good lord throws down on all of y'all, I don't get hit by the lightning.

Parker: Wasn’t Zeus the one with the lightning?

hardison having a freak out meanwhile parker’s just trying her best

+ bonus: another hidden talent of parker’s is that she knows obscure things like greek gods

- - - - -

BIBLETOPIA

tomas is so fucking done with andy

- - - - -

Hardison: Bibletopia?

Sophie: The man cannot be stopped!

Parker: It’s like everything we throw at him just makes him stronger.

Eliot: Kind of admire him, though. My nephew would like Bibletopia.

Hardison: Oh, no, see? This is what happens when you mess with god. He raises up your enemies with his right hand, and he smites you with his left.

ELIOT META: he has at least one sibling and a nephew fic writers take n o t e

poor hardison is having a Time™ in this episode

- - - - -

Hardison: I hope this is the part where you suggest prayer.

Nate: No, the weeping statue of St. Nicholas is not gonna be stolen. It's gonna miraculously disappear in the middle of tomorrow's mass.

Sophie: I’m sorry?

Nate: In front of the priest, the Vatican, the entire congregation.

Sophie: Have you learned nothing, Nate?

Nate: How much does the statue weigh?

Hardison: About 900 pounds.

Nate: Good.

Hardison: I am so sorry, nana.

let hardison REST

- - - - -

both the boys clipping the gear on parker? thievery hijinks ot3 domesticity

- - - - -

HARDISON AND ELIOT DID THEIR FIRST HANDSHAKE

- - - - -

the little girl calling parker an angel? same

- - - - -

eliot hyping up the crowd lmfao

- - - - -

Grant (to Sophie): Kristi, save me, huh? You can spin this, right? instead of, uh, "felony," maybe soften it to, uh, “controversy" or something.

(cops continue to pull Grant away as press follows)

Sophie: You know, when you say "controversy," I always hear "attention”.

*john mulaney voice* sophie is a bitch and I L O V E H E R

- - - - -

(Nate looks at the candles along one wall and walks over to them. He lights a candle as the rest of the team waits. After a moment he rejoins them and they walk toward the door)

Hardison: Look at that. Saved a church.

Parker: It’s like Christmas. See? I told you St. Nicholas is Santa Claus.

Sophie: No, he's not, Parker.

Parker: Well, who is he, then?

Sophie: St. Nicholas… is the patron saint of thieves.

the team is always there to support each other pass it on

patron saint of thieves? ICONIQUE

#leverage #leverage 1.04 #leverage 1x04 #notable moments #mine #the miracle job #leverage season 1 #season 1

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quentinsquill · 5 years

Text

Fic: “EloQuent” (The Magicians)

EloQuent

By jagged_little_quill (Lexalicious70)

Fandom: The Magicians

Pairing: Eliot/Quentin

Rating: M for graphic depictions of sex

Summary: Eliot explores Quentin’s cacodemon tattoo as they spend some time together on the Muntjac.

A/N: Thanks to @noe-gg, who gave me the inspiration for this on Twitter. I don’t own The Magicians: if I did, season 4 would not have ended that way. This is just for fun. Comments and kudos are magic: enjoy!

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18626458

EloQuent

jagged_little-quill (Lexalious70)

“So, does it hurt?”

Quentin glanced up from the vanity table to see Eliot’s reflection in the mirror. He leaned on the alcove frame, his figure balanced and lithe against the rocking and pitching of the Muntjac as it raced over the waves.

“Does what hurt?” Quentin asked as he continued to hunt the vanity table’s surface for the black elastic band he’d set down earlier before bathing and washing his hair.

“Your cacodemon tattoo. Nothing lives there anymore, or at least I assume not.” Eliot entered the room, admiring the way the room lantern’s light raced along the length of Quentin’s hair each time the ship crested an oncoming wave.

“No, nothing lives there anymore.” Quentin picked up a hairbrush. “I forget it’s there most of the time now.”

“I’m still a bit jealous.” Eliot approached the vanity and took the brush from Quentin’s hand. “It’s really very exotic.” He began to brush through Quentin’s hair, working out a few damp tangles and gathering the tawny tresses in one hand until they gleamed copper, dark russet, and caramel, all mixed together in a combination Eliot had never seen on anyone before. He let the fine locks fall between his fingers until they swung down just above Quentin’s shoulderblades. Quentin sighed.

“I lost my hair tie,” he complained as he stood there in a pair of black linen drawstring pants and nothing else. Eliot shrugged.

“So leave it loose.” He took Quentin’s hand and lead him over to the bed, where long fingers coaxed him to sit with brief touches that were full of the promise of pleasure. Quentin sat—despite the lifetime he’d spent with Eliot and how much he wanted that magic to work in this universe, Eliot’s touch and closeness still felt oddly new to him.

“I wonder how powerful my cacodemon would have been, or if I would have let it go like Alice did. I know it’s a one-shot weapon, but it seems like something that would have come in handy.” He traced a finger along the curve of the inked Q on Quentin’s back, and Quentin swallowed a gasp as the marked skin and what surrounded it seemed to come alive at the touch. Even without magic, Eliot’s fingertips set off a fuse that burned along the ink, leaving tingling sensations in its wake. Eliot pulled his hand away as he felt Quentin twitch. While they’d both agreed that fifty years was no greater proof of concept, he’d be damned if he assumed anything regarding Quentin’s consent.

“Q? Are you all right? I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, you didn’t, I—” Quentin paused to collect himself, even though the sensations hadn’t faded much. “Just—when you touched my tattoo, it felt, uhm . . . unexpected?”

“Unexpected how?” Eliot asked, and Quentin swallowed hard against his skin’s demand for more.

“Like—remember that spell we discovered our second year at the mosaic? The sex spell?”

Eliot raised a dark brow. Apparently, Quentin’s memory was as photographic as ever.

“I remember.”

“It—it was like that. Only we don’t have magic here so I don’t know why . . . “ Quentin trailed off with a frown. Eliot took a moment to consider the finely-inked Q and then lifted a hand.

“May I?”

Quentin nodded, a warm dot of affection marking his heart at the request. Eliot traced his index finger along the outer edge of the Q, following the shape without breaking the pattern, and watched Quentin’s shoulders lift and tense. A soft sound escaped him, almost like a mewl, and Eliot hesitated.

“You still feel it, Q?” He asked, and Quentin shivered.

“Yes . . . God El, it’s like you’re touching under my skin, like—my nerve endings—and it’s . . . ohh.” Quentin bent his head forward as he brushed his hair in front of his right shoulder. Eliot smelled vanilla: Margo had seen to it that the Muntjac was well equipped with soap and shampoo, and he silently thanked her for it now.

“Feels good?” He asked, and Quentin rolled his shoulders in a wordless reply. Eliot placed his index finger at the highest point of the Q and pressed lightly before dragging it down the sweep of the circle, up, then back down to the tail, which he traced. By the time he reached the tail’s end, Quentin was breathing in irregular huffs, making small umm umm sounds on the exhale like he did when he was working toward orgasm and Eliot grinned, delighted. “Let’s try something,” he whispered in Quentin’s ear, eliciting another shiver from him. A few deft movements had Quentin’s pants pulled away, and Eliot shed his satin robe as well.

“El—”

“Get up on your knees, Q,” Eliot said, and Quentin obeyed as Eliot knelt behind him. His own cock was already interested at these proceedings, nearly at full mast, the head wet. He put his hands on Quentin’s shoulders, his long fingers curling around the warm skin there, noting the slight dip on the right shoulder where the centaurs had repaired it, and slid his hard shaft between Quentin’s asscheeks. He rocked it up and down without breaching Quentin’s tight heat, until the warm folds were slick with his fluids, bent Quentin forward, and used the tip of his tongue to trace the Q tattoo, over and over. Quentin gave a quavering wail of pleasure and his shoulders jerked and tensed. Eliot dropped his left hand to Quentin’s erection and it pulsed against his fingers.

“El please, please . . .” Quentin moaned, his nerves seeming to send up flares of pleasure that were more intense than fireworks challenged by a summer thunderstorm. Eliot obliged, reveling in the needy tone of his lover’s voice. He slid around in Quentin’s slick heat as he moved his hand in a firm rhythm, the Muntjac pitching beneath them, as if sensing their pleasure. Eliot traced the Q with the tip of his tongue and then placed his lips in its center to suck on the skin there. Quentin stuttered out Eliot’s name and shuddered, his fingers and toes clenching as his pulsing erection fountained over Eliot’s hand. Eliot thumbed the tip as he rode Quentin’s slick heat, murmuring his name as he felt that delicious coil of tension build in his lower belly.

“My sweet Q, that’s it, let go, you’re safe with me, always safe, I love you—” the last word caught on pleasure sharper than a razor as Eliot’s muscles released their tension and he came, his hot load splattering up onto Quentin’s back. Quentin gave a helpless noise as some spattered across his tattoo and his dark eyes rolled as his cock gave another pulse and he came again, a sound like the joyous roaring of the sea in his ears. His nerves registered a near-total overload before the intensity lost its edge and began to cycle down into after spasms that twitched and fluttered through his cock. He became aware of Eliot’s weight leaving the mattress and a whispered “hang on,” before it returned and a cool, soft cloth cleaned him up with gentle strokes—ohh, bliss—before he was gathered up in Eliot’s arms. Quentin drifted, letting the Muntjac rock them as he buried his nose in Eliot’s chest hair.

“Magic where magic isn’t,” Eliot said after a moment, one big, elegant hand stroking through Quentin’s hair. The younger magician smiled.

“Dean Fogg told us the letters of our names are connected to who a magician is, and what he becomes. So maybe it wasn’t magic like we understand it.”

“No?” Eliot asked, looking down to meet Quentin’s gaze. His lover shook his head.

“I just think my Q knew its El finally came home.”

Fin

#The Magicians #Queliot #the smut queen strikes again

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high-queen-margo · 5 years

Text

Just to Bring You Home

Summary: After Margo is attacked in Fillory, Fen convinces her to hire a personal bodyguard. She chooses someone from a world she's been trying to forget. Prompt fill for @mintealesbian on @themagiciansprompts Pairing: Margo/Kady Length: 5,183

Read on AO3

Kady ambled through the halls of Castle Whitespire, popping her head into each room she passed. It seemed awfully empty for an active royal castle, but she’d come as soon as she got the bunny’s message—well, as soon as Julia had relayed it to her after the hungover dead sleep she’d been in.

“Hey,” she called to a man walking the opposite direction down the hall, “do you know where Margo is? She’s not in the throne room. She asked me to come.”

“Oh dear,” the man said. “You haven’t heard? She was attacked early this morning. I’ll escort you to her bedroom.”

“Attacked?” Kady’s heart lurched. There’d been no mention of any danger in the bunny’s message. Maybe she should have taken it more urgently. “Is she okay?”

“Yes,” the man said. “The assassination attempt was unsuccessful and the attacker has been detained. The High King is simply recovering.” He stopped at a large, elaborate set of doors with two guards stationed outside. “Here you are, ma’am.”

“Thanks,” Kady said. She pushed the door open to find Margo asleep in bed, the rest of the room empty. Somehow, she hadn’t expected to see this. She’d expected to find Margo bitching about the situation, setting up measures to fortify the castle, figuring out a plan of action while she was undoubtedly unable to perform some of her duties, not…sleeping and vulnerable. Kady didn’t think she’d ever actually seen Margo asleep before.

She didn’t know what to do. Margo had called for her, so maybe she should wake her up, but it had taken her a while to get there. Margo probably needed what rest she could get, anyway.

She sat down on a chair left beside the bed to wait. Margo really did look more peaceful as she slept; her eyebrows had softened, her muscles relaxed, her eyes flitting gently beneath their lids. She could see now why Eliot called her Bambi.

Margo started when she finally opened her eyes and noticed Kady so close to her bed. “Jesus,” she said, “if I’d have known you wanted to give me a heart attack I wouldn’t have asked you to come.”

“Sorry,” Kady said, “I didn’t want to wake you up. Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

Margo pulled herself up to sit against her pillows. “You can only send so many words with messenger bunnies,” she said. “It’s not like I’m dying. I just have a favor to ask.”

“Okay?”

“Fen is insisting I need a personal guard.” Margo paused. “I know battle magic is your thing, and magic is kind of unreliable right now, but I’ve seen you fight hand-to-hand. You’re strong, you’re skilled, and I know you well enough to trust you won’t try to murder me. I know it’s a big ask, but—”

“I’ll do it,” Kady said.

Margo narrowed her eyes. “That was way too easy. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” Kady said. “I need to get away from Earth for a while, and here I can do something I’m good at.”

“Perfect,” Margo said. “I’d say you can wait until I’m back on my feet, but Fen’s overbearing ass wants someone with me 24/7 starting yesterday. It’s gonna be pretty boring for a little while, so sorry about that.”

“I don’t really care,” Kady said. “So, what exactly happened today? How did someone manage to pull one over on you?”

“About that,” Margo said. “I won the election in a landslide, but I failed to consider the fact that most of the people who voted against me were…well, humans, who can throw knives with their hands. Sneaky bastard took me by surprise on my way to a summit and caught me twice before I could block it.”

Kady hesitated, then said, “Can I see?” She almost regretted asking—it was a strange request and she had no real reason to want to see the wound—but she was curious.

Margo gave her an odd look, but gingerly pulled her loose nightshirt up to reveal the sutured gashes along her abdomen. Kady impulsively reached out to run her fingers along the unmarked skin beside one of the wounds as she leaned closer to get a better look.

“Damn,” she said, “these look bad.”

“You should have seen them when they were hemorrhaging,” Margo said, tugging her shirt back down. “Totally ruined my dress.”

“This isn’t funny,” Kady said. “I’ve seen people die from wounds like this.”

“Relax,” Margo said, “they took care of all the bleeding before magic ran out. Why is this freaking you out so bad?”

Kady shook her head. Why did it freak her out to think that Margo could have died? It was all hypothetical; she was here, healing, and the threat was gone, and by all accounts she had nothing to worry about even if they were close, and they weren’t. They never had been, and Kady was always just fine with that.

“I don’t know,” she said eventually. “I’m just glad you’re okay, I guess.”

Margo hummed. “Thanks, I guess. Now, it’s late, and I don’t normally share a bed with people I’m not sleeping with, but it’s big enough for both of us if you want to get some rest.”

“Is that a good idea?” Kady said, gesturing toward Margo’s wounds. She wasn’t sure she even needed sleep, but it was as good a way to pass time as any. If she’d be working as a bodyguard, she should probably get on a normal sleep schedule anyway.

Margo shrugged. “I’ve seen you passed out in the Cottage lounge enough to know you sleep like a rock. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Kady said. “If you’re sure.”

“I truly couldn’t give less of a shit,” Margo said, but Kady thought she saw a small smile when she stood up to get in on the other side of the bed.

***

Kady woke up before Margo, and the first thing she noticed was the light thrumming in the air she’d become accustomed to detecting since magic came into short supply. She slipped out of the room, asked the guards to tell Margo where she went if she woke up, and began searching the halls for someone she knew. She’d really have to learn the layout of the castle soon if she wanted to stay there.

Fen was in the great hall talking to someone Kady didn’t recognize, and when she saw Kady come in, she waved them away.

“Kady, right?” Fen said. “Margo asked you to guard her?”

“Yeah,” Kady said. “And I am. I just thought I’d let you know some of the magic is back, so your healers can finish working on her when she wakes up.”

“Oh, good,” Fen said. “Thank you for telling me. I’ll send them in shortly.”

“No problem,” Kady said. “And, Fen? Thank you for looking out for her. I’ve lost people I cared about before and I don’t want to lose another.”

“I didn’t know you were so close,” Fen said. “She needs someone like that after Eliot. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m kind of afraid…”

“What?”

“Margo is smart,” Fen said. “She’s resourceful, and she knows how to defend herself. It just…crossed my mind yesterday that she may have been so unconcerned about getting hurt because she doesn’t care anymore.”

“Because Eliot is gone.” Kady sighed. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

“Please just make sure she’s safe,” Fen said. “I care about her, but…there’s not a lot I can do to protect her.”

“I will,” Kady said. “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you’re ready to try another summit?”

Kady snuck a glance in the mirror as Margo changed into one of her elaborate dresses. The scars on her stomach looked years old after the magical healing, though it had only been a month since the attack.

“I’ve been stuck within the castle grounds for way too long and if I have to stay here another minute without getting some goddamn change of scenery I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”

Kady raised her hands in mock surrender. “It was just a question,” she said. “I’m not stopping you.”

“Not to mention,” Margo continued, gathering a sack of scrolls she’d been studying through the week, “if the Lorians and Fairies don’t settle this little dick-measuring contest of theirs, we’ll be trapped in the middle, and that’s gonna be a huge load of shit I’ll need to clean up myself.”

“Yeah, that would suck,” Kady said.

“Can you go make sure the horses are ready?” Margo said. “The regular ones. We don’t ride the ones who can talk—not on business, anyway.”

“Riding?” Kady said. “As in, out in the open, where you got attacked last time?”

“You’re my bodyguard, not my mother,” Margo said. “Do your job and it should be fine, right?”

Kady sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Then we’re taking a different route than you did before.”

“Whatever. There are a billion of them,” Margo said. She drew one of the scrolls out of the sack and handed it to Kady. “Here’s a map. Take your pick.”

Kady unrolled the map and studied it while Margo fastened a plain black cloak over her dress. It was hard to tell which paths would be best, but she settled on one arcing in the opposite direction from the main road.

Margo’s horse, which Kady didn’t even know she had, was a dapple gray Andalusian mare with an impossibly long mane and tail. She swung up into the saddle with surprisingly practiced ease, and it struck Kady how comfortable Margo was in this world. It was no longer the fantasy world of a children’s book; it was Margo’s world, literally, and it was no wonder she came back here after her best friend died. Kady wondered how long she would have to live here before she considered it home, too.

Kady mounted the black gelding the stable hand had picked out for her and they set off at a brisk trot through the Fillorian backwoods.

“I didn’t know you even knew how to ride,” Kady said.

“I learned after I got here,” Margo said. “The castle staff said a proper queen should know how, so they taught me. It’s faster than a carriage, anyway.” She paused. “When did you learn? You don’t seem the type.”

Kady snorted. “I’m not,” she said. “I had rich kid friends upstate in middle school and they forced me into it every time I came over.”

“Sounds tragic,” Margo said. “That’s not sarcasm, by the way. Little rich kids are the worst. I would know; I was one of them.”

“Somehow I’m not surprised.”

Kady didn’t miss the little smirk Margo gave at the comment before changing the subject.

“I like the route you picked,” Margo said. “We’ll be crossing this bridge over a section of the Burnt River. It’s got a great view; there’s nothing like it on Earth.”

“The Burnt River?” Kady said. “It doesn’t sound that great.”

“It’s a misnomer,” Margo said. “Like Iceland. It sounds ugly, but, well…you’ll see.”

Kady could hear the river long before she could see it. She thought by the volume of the rushing water it had to be right around the corner, but the sound grew louder until she could barely hear Margo’s voice, and only then did the bridge come into view.

While the river itself stretched far below the arched wooden bridge, swathes of land on the opposite cliff hung over the side, coated in vibrant green-orange mosses, water pouring down them in an unbroken glass sheet for as far as Kady could see in either direction. The bridge disappeared into a tunnel carved through the cliff face, where dim light shone from its distant exit.

Margo rode ahead of her onto the bridge and turned around. “See?” she called. “What did I tell you?”

“I mean, I don’t usually care much about the outdoors, but…yeah, this is really something.” Kady’s eyes fell from the waterfall to Margo, whose hair was beginning to collect crystalline drops of water from the spray.

“It’s too bad we can’t stop and take in all the natural beauty or whatever,” Margo said, pulling the hood of her cloak over her head. “There’s always shit to do.” She waited a moment, then said, “Well, are you coming or not?”

Kady blinked and tamped down the uncomfortable fullness in her chest as she kicked her horse back into motion. She followed Margo under the waterfall and through the tunnel until they emerged into the open grasslands on the other side.

“Just about another hour before we get there,” Margo said. “By the way, I have no idea how long this meeting will last, so we might have to stay overnight at the encampment. They’ll have food and tents, so we won’t have to deal with hunting ourselves, but it’s not very comfortable. Just a heads up.”

“Will it be safe if other people are staying there?”

“I don’t see why not,” Margo said. “We’re allies. They don’t have any reason to come after me, and they’d never get away with it if they tried.” They rode in silence for a few moments, then she continued, “You know I don’t have angry mobs clamoring to kill me all the time, right? It never happened before last month. I doubt it’ll happen again anytime soon.”

Kady sighed and picked at a bit of flaking leather from her saddle horn. “Look,” she said, “I don’t know much about this place. I don’t even know you as well as I’d like to. I just know you almost died and when I found out, I felt…I don’t know.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I was scared.”

Margo halted her horse in front of Kady. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Kady said. “What happened to being in a hurry?”

“Don’t avoid the question. Why were you scared? You’re supposed to be the fearless one.” Margo sat tall in her saddle, staring Kady down with an expression she couldn’t read. She clearly wouldn’t be moving until Kady gave in.

“You’re kidding.” Fearless—sure, it was a mask she tried to wear as often as possible, but she was far from it. She’d been living in fear for as long as she could remember. “You know what?” she said. “I do know. I thought of never seeing you again, and that scared me. I know we barely said a word to each other before I came here, but the moment I found out what happened, I just…couldn’t stand it. Our fucked up little group has been through so much together and I care about you, okay? Maybe more than I thought I did.”

Margo didn’t move; Kady could tell she hadn’t been anticipating that kind of response. Kady herself trembled slightly, gripping the reins in her hands tightly enough that her horse shifted nervously beneath her.

“Kady—”

“We should get going,” Kady said, her voice steeled and distant. She turned her horse back onto the path and kicked him into a canter before Margo could get another word out.

***

The voices of the summit leaders carried through the canvas tent walls, where Kady sat shielded from the glare of the setting sun, whittling a tree branch down to a point. She should have brought something to do; she didn’t have a watch, but the meeting must have been going for hours already. It was hard to hold out hope that they’d make it back to the castle tonight when there was so little daylight left—not that Kady was mentally prepared for the three-hour ride back. Neither of them had spoken much the remainder of the trip there, and she didn’t know how to dissipate the awkwardness.

Kady threw the branch onto a pile of other makeshift spears and ducked out of the tent. The leaders sat around a small table as they talked about delegation and resources, their people milling about the encampment doing God-knows-what. Kady strode toward the table and grabbed a random bottle off of it before returning to the tent.

“Excuse me—”

“Chill,” Margo’s quiet voice said. “It’s fine.”

Kady took a swig from the bottle and grimaced; she wasn’t sure, but she thought it was supposed to be some kind of whiskey, though the flavor was awful. Apparently, Fillorians just didn’t care enough about alcohol to make it taste good, but it would do the trick.

By the time the meeting concluded, night had fallen and the encampment was lit only by oil lamps and candles. Kady’s tent was dark; she lay in her bedroll, unable to fall asleep but unwilling to join the friendly gathering outside after a successful summit. Her head spun from the shitty alcohol, and she didn’t realize anyone had come into the tent until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“Kady?” Margo said. “Are you awake?”

Kady almost responded, but she stayed still on her side, her eyes closed. She didn’t want to deal with conversation at the moment; whatever it was Margo wanted, it could wait until morning if it wasn’t urgent.

“Okay,” Margo murmured, “good. I’m sorry I forced you to talk earlier. The truth is, I don’t know how to deal with people caring about me. I thought…I thought Eliot was the only one, maybe Fen, but it’s easy to assume she only cares because I’m the king or because I was Eliot’s friend.” She sighed. “I know it’s kind of fucked up I can only admit this now, but maybe if I do it’ll be easier to say it to your face later. So thank you. For caring about me. And I care about you too.”

Margo squeezed her shoulder once, and then she was gone.

***

Kady didn’t bring up what she’d heard the previous night. She saddled her horse silently, searching her admittedly small repertoire of conversation starters for something she could use to pretend yesterday never happened. She had to scrape the bottom of the barrel as she followed Margo out of the encampment.

“So the summit went well, right?” Kady said.

Margo glanced at her out of the corner of her eye before staring ahead at the path. “If you can call six hours of negotiations that ultimately ended up with an agreement for the exact terms we had before ‘well,’ then yeah,” she said. “It’s fine, though; at least tensions are down. Shouldn’t be any problems between the other nations for a while.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Margo said. “So, um…that was fairy whiskey you took last night. How are you feeling?”

“Not great,” Kady said. “The fuck did they put in it?”

“They’ve got different grains in their world. Fucked me up the first time I tried it too, not that it tastes remotely okay to humans anyway.”

“Yeah,” Kady said, “I, uh…probably should have stopped sooner than I did, but. Old habits.”

“For future reference, I can’t defend you every time you take something out from under a fairy’s nose,” Margo said. “Everyone here has a temper out the ass, and that’s coming from me, so be careful.”

“Right,” Kady said. “You’re right. You have enough on your plate; you shouldn’t have to worry about me doing stupid things.”

“It’s whatever,” Margo said. “I’ve just been trapped in a fairy deal I didn’t want before, and if you piss them off they could do a lot worse than give you an impossible choice to make.”

“What deal?” Kady knew Margo had lost her eye to a fairy, but she’d been so busy on the Earth side of things for so long that she never really knew what all had been happening in Fillory.

Margo shook her head. “I got an attitude with the fairies’ ambassador and he lost his damn mind on me. The only way he’d guarantee Eliot’s safety was to agree to something just…awful. And I did it. I’m not proud of it, and it’s one of the worst things I’ve ever done, but it was my choice and I have to live with that.” Her voice shook almost imperceptibly and she turned away from Kady. “It didn’t even buy him that much time.”

“Well, whatever it was, I wouldn’t blame you for it,” Kady said. “I’d probably do the same thing. I know how close you were with Eliot; I can’t even imagine what you’ve gone through.”

“It’s hard,” Margo said. “God, it’s so hard. I keep thinking he’ll come back somehow, because he always did before, but…I know he won’t this time.”

“I thought we’d be able to get Penny back, too. Our Penny.” Kady sighed. “Sometimes I think magic gives us too much hope.”

Margo snorted and wiped her eyes. “Yeah, you might be on to something.”

“I just can’t bring myself to hate it, though,” Kady said. “It’s the reason Penny is gone, but it’s also the reason I met him. The reason I met Julia. You. If I—”

Kady broke herself off. She searched the woods with her periphery, trying not to turn her head too much.

“If you what?”

“Shh.”

Kady caught another flash of movement to their right. She threw up a shield charm just as an arrow whipped through the trees, then followed it with a carefully aimed magic missile. She held her stance for a moment, waiting for any signs of the attacker, before dismounting her horse and creeping toward the trees. The hollow in the undergrowth where the archer had been waiting was empty, even underneath the small window of a revelation charm.

“Margo,” Kady said. “Go.”

“What? No,” Margo said, sliding out of her saddle. “No way. You’re not staying here alone.”

“Now’s not the time to argue,” Kady murmured, but she didn’t repeat herself. If Margo didn’t want to run, there was no way to make her. She held her hands ready to fire another missile and scanned the trees. “Surrender now if you want to stay alive,” she called.

Another arrow came from the other side of the path in response, and Margo conjured a shield while Kady released the magic missile. This time, she heard the crash of the body hitting tree branches under the force of the spell, but she still found no trace of them when she looked.

“This is bad,” she said. “Watch your back. I think we might be dealing with a traveler.”

Just as the words left her mouth, a man appeared directly in front of Margo, a dagger in his hand. She scarcely managed to conjure another shield before he struck, and his blow glanced off of the magical barrier. Kady felt it then, the magic in the air dwindling to nothing, and Margo’s shield fizzled out.

She’d never moved so fast in her life. She threw herself against Margo, pushing her out of the way, with only her raised arm to block herself from the dagger. She gritted her teeth as the blade carved into her skin and she gathered all of her strength to land a blow of her own to his jaw. He went down, finally, and she stood over his prone body. It wouldn’t be long before he regained consciousness, and then he wouldn’t allow himself to be so easily caught.

Kady knelt down and gripped his head in both hands, then jerked it around until she felt his neck break.

“Jesus Christ.”

“I had to,” Kady said. “When he woke up he’d travel away and then he’d just come back.”

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit about him,” Margo said. “Are you okay?”

“It’s fine,” Kady said. “It’s just my arm.” But with the threat gone, pain flooded through her arm and all along her left side, blood coating her hand and dripping into the dirt.

Margo pulled her cloak off and ripped one of the sleeves off of her dress at the seams. “Here,” she said, “hold your arm out.” Kady did, and Margo pressed the fabric against the wound. “How bad is it?” she said. “Can you tell?”

Kady shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I can move my fingers, so that’s probably a good sign.”

“Okay,” Margo said, “can you ride? Maybe I should find a bunny and call for a carriage.”

“It’s fine,” Kady said again. “If that’s not the same guy who attacked you before, we need to keep moving. They’re obviously working in a group.”

She winced as she gripped her horse’s mane in her hand, the pain shooting more forcefully through her, but she pushed it aside to try to pull herself into the saddle. Her strength failed halfway up and she let her right leg fall back to the ground.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Margo said.

“I’ll just get up on the other side,” Kady said breathlessly, but she stumbled taking her foot out of the stirrup, and she suddenly felt too weak to walk. She held herself up with her arm over the horse’s back and leaned her forehead against his flank.

“Kady, seriously,” came Margo’s voice again, her voice tinged with concern. “Something’s not right.”

No, Kady thought, it’s not. She felt warmth under her nose, and when she wiped it, her hand came away red.

An arm wrapped around Kady’s waist as Margo took on some of her weight and led her away from the horse.

“Come on,” she said, “you can ride with me. Whitespire’s far enough away there should be magic there and we’ll find out what’s wrong. We just have to get there.”

Margo unbuckled the saddle from her horse and dropped it to the ground before boosting Kady up and climbing on in front of her.

“You can hold on to me, right?”

“Yeah,” Kady said, and wrapped her arms around Margo’s waist. She couldn’t get a grip with her wounded arm, but Margo held the reins in one hand and held Kady’s arms against her with the other as she urged the horse forward.

They fell into a gallop within minutes, and each beat of the horse’s hooves jostled more air out of Kady’s body. Her chest felt thick and heavy, as if she were breathing water, and her head swam with the feeling. Maybe she was drowning, but she could still feel Margo in her arms, so she couldn’t be.

“Kady, are you still okay back there?”

Margo’s voice sounded distant, and Kady wanted to say yes, but she couldn’t gather enough breath for it.

“Kady?”

I’m here, Kady thought.

She leaned against Margo’s back, and she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer.

***

Kady woke with a new kind of weight on her chest. She felt okay, really. Her arm stung, but it didn’t radiate through her like before. Her head was clear, if achy. She could breathe. The only thing out of the ordinary was the light pressure above her heart.

Her eyes blurred when she opened them and the room gradually came into focus as she blinked the uncomfortable dryness away. Margo’s room. She recognized the latticed windows and cross-vaulted ceiling, and the scent of Margo’s perfume was almost overpowering.

Margo herself lay curled up into Kady’s side, her head resting on her chest and her arm slung over her stomach. Kady supposed she was asleep. She didn’t know why she did it, but she lifted her hand to run her fingers through Margo’s hair, gently combing and stroking it until Margo shifted under her touch.

Kady had only seen Margo look like this once before: her eyes puffy and red, dried tears on her cheeks. It looked like she’d tried to take her makeup off, but remnants of wet mascara shadowed her eyelids.

“Kady,” Margo breathed. “Thank God.” She gathered Kady into her arms and hugged her as best she could lying down. “Thank God.”

Kady hugged Margo back, and she could feel the smaller girl trembling in her embrace. “What happened?”

Margo sat up and wiped fresh tears out of her eyes. “The blade was poisoned,” she said. “You…you weren’t breathing when we got here. The healers removed the poison but they weren’t sure you would wake up.”

Kady sighed and rubbed her temple. “Poison,” she said. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“I should have run,” Margo said. “I should have gone when you told me to. This wouldn’t have happened.”

“No,” Kady said, “I’m glad you didn’t. He would have traveled after you and I wouldn’t have been able to block you when the magic failed.”

“You died!” Margo’s lip quivered. “You died, Kady. I was terrified. I’d rather—”

“Hey…” Kady took Margo’s hand and squeezed it comfortingly. “It’s okay. This is what I signed on for when I agreed to be your guard.”

Margo sighed. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said. “Listen, I’m not good with the whole…you know…feelings thing, but…” She scoffed and shook her head. “God, this is so stupid.”

“I know,” Kady said. “I’m not good at it either. But, you know…” She took a deep breath. “If this is about last night—the things you said to me last night—I was awake. You don’t have to say it again.”

Margo gave a short laugh. “You think I didn’t know you were awake?”

Kady blinked. “What? But you said—”

“I hoped you were asleep, but I figured you probably weren’t,” Margo said. “Nobody sleeps very well after drinking fairy whiskey. It was just easier to say those things when I knew you wouldn’t say anything back.” She looked down and toyed with a loose thread in the comforter. “No, that’s not what I wanted to tell you. There’s something else I didn’t mention last night.”

“What is it?” Kady asked. She hated the ‘butterflies’ expression, but all she could think was that they were in her chest, and they desperately wanted out.

“I love you.”

Kady froze. She’d never expected those words to come out of Margo’s mouth, not directed toward her. Her first instinct was to deflect—after all, that was all she ever did whenever somebody got close—but she couldn’t. She didn’t want to push this away.

Instead, she sat up and cupped Margo’s cheek in her hand, wiped her tears with her thumb, and kissed her. Margo hesitated for a moment, and then Kady felt her kiss back, pulling her closer with one hand on her neck and one in her hair until their bodies pressed together so firmly that Kady could feel Margo’s heart beat against her chest. Margo bowed her head when they broke apart, and Kady pressed her lips to her forehead.

“So are you really gonna make me say it and not say it back?” Margo said.

Kady laughed and leaned back to look Margo in the eye. A month. She could never have said it to someone after a month before, but maybe she was getting better. Maybe it was something about Margo that made her feel sure enough of herself not to hide.

“I love you, too.”

#the magicians #the magicians fic #margo hanson #kady orloff diaz #battleking #my writing

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cloudparadox · 5 years

Text

Remnants || Chapter 2 - Robin

Summary: AU in which Tim can see things others can’t. (Aka Ghosts)

Tim learns pretending makes things a lot easier. Especially when you watch as one Robin leaves and the other dies and you have to make sure that Batman doesn't go off the deep end.

Tim knew he wouldn't ever be Robin, not like his predecessors, but he'd damn well try, if only for other people's sake and not his own.

Words: 1855

Warnings: Angst, death, ghosts, mental health issues, bad parenting

Pairing: Tim Drake x Jason Todd (eventually)

Notes: So this chapter also kind of just happened?

I really like how this is going so far. There might be a few more typos seeing as I'm posting this from my phone so sorry in advance.

Taglist: @sweeetsummerchiild

Chapters: one,

As Tim grew older, he learned to pretend. Pretending almost came naturally to him. He had days where he didn't feel comfortable in his own skin and so, he wore someone else's. He borrowed the best parts from those around him, and carefully crafted a new version of himself.

As such, he also started getting better at acting as if he was normal. What defined as normal was beyond his reach, but most times, normal was living up to his parent's ideals and expectations. With each passing year though, Tim realized there was more to it than that. Still, he now was somewhat capable in sending spirits away, looking away, acting oblivious to their presence unless his attention was specifically demanded by a spirit in dire need.

He was too soft, as father told him a lot. Mother had expressed the same worry. One night, now long ago, when she'd tucked him into his bed, she'd brushed a hand through his messy hair and smiled. "You're too good for this world, Timothy." Back then he hadn't quite understood what she meant, but now he was sure it was a mix of admiration, love even and a warning. To be stronger, not to leave yourself so vulnerable and trusting.

Tim tried. He really did. But some of them, he just couldn't ignore. So he helped in subtle ways, did research and discovered things that sometimes weren't things meant to be seen by a child. But he was good at that. Knowing stuff and learning more and more each day. So he did just that.

With his parents barely around, it was easy to sneak out and do whatever needed to be done. There were also his nightly adventures as he followed Batman and Robin. Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. It hadn't been hard to figure out, after seeing that move, the puzzles pieces clicking together, one by one until it formed one big, glaringly obvious picture. Tim didn't tell anyone. Wouldn't tell anyone. Especially not after what happened the last time he confided in someone about something so big and important of his life. Fat load of good it did him, the last time.

There were days when the guilt was eating him alive, concerning Dick. He'd promised Mary that he would make sure her son was safe.

She did say 'at home', didn't she?

Tim pushed the voice back towards the deepest parts of his mind. He felt bad, but what exactly was he supposed to do? Tell on Bruce and Dick so they get discovered and Gotham loses what looks to be the city's only hope? No. That wasn't an option. Dick was doing really well anyways. He was smart, strong and just good, perfect for everything Robin stood for. The Drake boy admired him, practically worshipped the very floor he walked on. Yet not once did he dare reach out to him.

'I met you the night your parents died.' or 'Your mother visited me in ghost form and asked me to look after you' weren't exactly great conversation starters. So he just let it be. It was probably better that way.

He was content with following the dynamic duo around at night, snapping picture after picture and filling entire photo albums. It was better than anything else he could've collected. This was his, and his only. Nothing he had to share, nothing he was going to be judged on since no one knew. Not even the big bad Bat himself, nor his Robin.

As all good things come to an end, so did Dick's time as Robin. It saddened Tim incredibly, but another night in Gotham during the particularly hot and humid late summer, Tim learned that the end of something could mean the birth of something new.

One quote stuck out the most as he was reading through a book.

"What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from." - T. S. Eliot

It reminded Tim of a supernova. A star's life comes to an end, and one last time it glows bright, billion times as bright as before. Maybe even brighter than an entire galaxy. And out of that, new things are born. A neutron star, or perhaps even a black hole.

That was a good way to describe how he felt about Jason. He was lured in, and from then on unable to get out. Not like he wanted to. Where Dick was seemingly flawless, a bright and endless supernova that demanded everyone's attention and fascination, Jason was a black hole, something brash, dark and mysterious to the point where Tim wanted to know more, his curiosity and thirst for knowledge dragging him out to the rooftops at night more often than ever.

Black holes are so dark because they don't let any of the light inside them escape. And while Tim had never spoken to Jason before, he knew there was a lot of light in the new Robin. He saw it when Robin took his time to talk to some kids, gave them candy or even walked them home to make sure they were safe. Behind all the anger and frustration he took out on the thugs and criminals of Gotham, there was a good, genuine person.

It didn't take Tim long to fall for that. Trust him to crush on someone he never talked to. He couldn't help it, no matter how much he tried. Jason was just so...perfectly imperfect. He was a mess, but Tim could relate to that in so many ways. Dick had never given him that feeling since he seemed so utterly perfect all the time.

Tim knew that was bullshit. Dick wasn't perfect, after all, no one was. But Jason was different. He was perfect in spite of all of his faults and flaws, at least to Tim. Now more than anything, he wanted to meet Robin and he actually began hoping for it, unlike before. Optimism wasn't exactly his strong suit.

Still, Tim continued to capture snapshots of Batman and his Robin.

Until Robin was gone. Until Tim found out. Jason Todd had died. His parents expressed the obligatory condolences to Bruce and then already forgot about it a few days after.

Tim wished he could've gone to the funeral. Wished he could've done something to save Jason. Wished he had been more confident to actually get to know Jason. They could have been friends. Maybe. He'd never find out. He didn't deserve to be there, anyways. It wasn't his place to have demands.

Regrets and more guilt plagued him, only getting worse when he saw how it began affecting Batman. Someone needed to do something. This couldn't go on. This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Batman needed his Robin. Bruce needed Jason.

Tim felt ashamed for thinking that he needed Jason, but as it was, he couldn't bring himself to feel all that much.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, staring at the grave and feeling his insides clench painfully, invisible hands tugging at his heart until it felt like it was being torn apart. "You deserved so much better, Jason. You could've done so much more-" he choked on a sob, hastily wiping at his face with the sleeve of his thin hoodie. By now it was almost summer again, and it hurt to remember the past summers. It had only been a year since the last one, yet it felt like an eternity, an entire lifetime ago.

He felt the presence before he saw it and whirled around to see a girl standing near him, only a few paces away. She didn't look much older than Tim, maybe a good four years, if at all. Not even an adult yet. Her hair was brown, a warm color that shone under the sunlight. Her green eyes were twinkling with something akin to mischief. The only thing that told him she wasn't alive was the way her presence felt.

"Hey. I noticed you around. I almost believed you couldn't see me. Good acting skills." her voice was both soft and strong.

"It comes from years of practice," he responded dryly.

That made the girl crack a grin at him. "I like you." she gave him an all-over, then looking left and right, eyes raking over the empty graveyard. "I'm really sorry to bother, but this kid's ghost isn't hanging around here."

"I know." Tim had pondered what it meant. Why Jason's ghost wasn't present. He'd come to the conclusion he'd simply moved on right away, though that felt wrong. As if Jason would give up that easily. In the beginning, Tim suspected his weakening powers were the source of confusion but now he had another ghost's knowledge and insight.

The more he concentrated, the more it felt like Jason was neither gone nor here. Tim couldn't explain it and that bothered him.

Once more, he felt utterly useless.

"It sucks, huh? Being stuck like this sucks too, but from what I can see you look like shit, sorry to tell ya."

"S'okay" his voice was raspy from misuse and he cleared his throat. "I didn't even really know him. Still, it feels like I've lost someone close, kind of like a best friend." Tim really hoped no one was seeing him "talking to himself." That was always awkward.

"It's okay to be sad. I am. A lot. It's lonely."

"I get it." And that he did. Loneliness had long since becoming an unswerving companion of his.

Somehow, they ended up talking to each other the whole day. Her name was Maia. It was easy, talking to her. And he did for many more days and nights before she too moved on. It was a tearful goodbye, but Tim knew that he wasn't enough to keep her here. Maia promised him that he was enough, and he was reminded of what Mary Grayson had told him all those years ago. He actually believed her. Both of them. They had meant what they said.

Now only he needed to believe in it, too.

Tim knew he'd have to, especially with his plans to become the new Robin. He'd struggled with the thought for a long time, weighed out the cons and pros and made up dozens of plans when it came to the approach. Then it was all only a question of gathering up enough courage.

Batman needed a Robin. Dick didn't want to be Robin. That really only left Tim as an option. So he steeled himself for the rigorous training, the endless hours of lost sleep and pain that came with it and pulled through. He wouldn't tarnish the symbol that was Robin, couldn't, didn't want to. He fought tooth and nail to achieve what the Robins before him had.

And as he got dressed for his first real patrol together with Batman, he promised he would do his best to make Jason proud.

He might never be more than a pretender, but he was fine with that. Pretending was how he got through life, after all.

#tim drake #jason todd #jaytim #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #red robin #red hood #nightwing #robin #batman #batfam #timjay #tim drake x jason todd #fanfic #original character #fic

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 6 years

Text

Rafael Barba / The Love Song of R. Barba

Prompt: New Years Eve and “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot

For @mrsrafaelbarba, this is for you! The New Years fic you’ve all been waiting for and to no one surprise, it’s angstttt. So I hope you all enjoy!! <3

Honestly, Rafael Barba didn’t know why he had bothered to show up. Ringing in the New Years at work wasn’t the most pleasing prospect, but it’s what he ended up doing almost every other year. But this year, he somehow managed to get shanghaied into stepping out of his office, and whisked downstairs to attend this party. He swirled his drink as he gazed around the room, he spotted his coercer, Carmen, speaking to several other legal assistants and attorneys in one corner. She had brought him down here and yet, abandoned him at a moment’s notice. A gathering of individuals he had seen mostly in passing, many of which he was well acquainted, but most of whom he didn’t have the slightest interest in. Of course, he was sure they were good and nice people in their own right, but he couldn’t exactly say the same about himself. He wasn’t sure if he’d be good company for anyone right now. This was his first New Years without his grandmother, after all.

His abuela. He had turned down his mother’s request to visit her gravesite, he just wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. He was such a mess when she passed, he didn’t know how he had managed to get out of bed at all, but life moved on. And so he did too. He managed to messily stitch up those wounds, tucking them underneath his neat three piece suits and high end suspenders. And he just wasn’t quite ready to reopen them. Not yet.

However, the reason Carmen had persuaded him to come down here, seemingly hadn’t arrived, or perhaps you wouldn’t come at all. Maybe you had better plans than a stuffy workplace party in a too small conference room with a barely HD television mounted to one wall. Your arms might as well be wrapped around a stranger’s, in some dimly lit bar or restaurant, or maybe, they were at home, your legs sprawled over their lap, watching the ball drop in perfectly beautiful silence. And here he was, hoping you would pity him with an appearance, maybe some mindless small talk, so he could simply enjoy your presence. And maybe if he managed to get enough liquid courage to sear down his throat, perhaps, at midnight, he could work up the courage to…

He felt a familiar tap on his shoulder, “Merry Christmas,” And he caught Carmen’s eye across the room, as she gave him a sly grin. You were in a simple black dress with sheer leggings, your hair tumbling past your shoulders, several strands tucked behind your ear. “Belated Christmas, that is,”

Rafael felt his lips curve upward at your charming attempt at breaking the ice, “Better late than never,” And you raised an expectant eyebrow. “Oh. Merry Christmas to you too,”

You laughed, before adding, “Better late than never,” Just then there was a loud outbreak of laughter from the people next to you, making the two of you flinch, before he offered you a hesitant smile, before gesturing to two chairs in a more secluded corner of the room.

“Join me?” And with those two simple words, Rafael had managed to do what he wasn’t able to do throughout the year. Ironically, it was not only the anniversary of the Earth’s orbit around the sun, but the first time he was attracted to you. It was New Years’ Eve, a day not too dissimilar to today, except he had walked onto the eerily quiet street, the freshly fallen snow coating the roads, no treadmarks or footsteps to be seen. No, everyone was either in a bar or at home, but surely in front of a television screen about to watch the ball drop in, oh, about a minute now. And he would be greeting the New Year alone, yet again. And he could hear distant cries of Happy New Year from inside the building at the annual New Years Eve Party, and as he stepped onto the street he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Happy New Years,” You smiled, as you stepped down to stand next to him, looking from him to the snow. “Isn’t the snow gorgeous?”

“Yes, it is,” He said slowly, his gaze fixated on your features, and he assumed his face looked akin to five-year-old struggling with a Rubik’s cube, without much success, until you then calmed his fears.

“You don’t know me, don’t worry,” You assured him, “I just saw you out here, and thought I’d join you,” Rafael frowned at your words, unable to piece together your intentions nor your meaning. “No one should spend the first moments of the New Year alone.” You stepped down, seemingly tired of the “gorgeous” sight or his wordless, mediocre company.

But even, he couldn’t stop his question from spilling forth from his lips: “Why?” You stopped in your tracks at the bottom of the stairs to consider his question, before shrugging. “Because no one really deserves that, I think.”

“Rafael?” Your voice cut through his reverie, your gaze slightly concerned, lips caught in a small frown

“Sorry, I just was…thinking,” He shook his head, waving it off,

“As per usual,” You quipped, your frown fading to a teasing smile, “Is there anytime you aren’t thinking?” And Rafael couldn’t help but return your grin with a roll of his eyes.

“Seldom,” He admitted, he had a penchant for overthinking, and the only profession that seemed to credit that was the field of law. “How about you, Y/N, you also seem to have a proclivity for deep thoughts yourself?” He remarked, causing her face to flush ever so beautifully, sipping at the glass of champagne held delicately between her fingers.

“I suppose you could say that,” You mused, as the flush remained settled on your cheekbones, “But I’ve noticed you Rafael, you don’t really talk to many of the people who work with you, not lately,”

He arched a single eyebrow, “I suppose we skipped past casual conversation, and dived right into my psyche,” He set his glass down a nearby table, turning to you as he tried to maneuver around your loaded question. “Can’t you start with my favorite color? A childhood story?”

You seemed to contemplate, crossing your legs, as your eyes sparkled, “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

He tilted his head, slightly taken aback you let it go so easily, he thought he would have to turn the charm on, at least, a notch or two higher and finagle his way out from under your grip, but you were just full of pleasant surprises, weren’t you? “I wanted to be a writer actually, but law always remained in the back of my mind,”

“What moved it to the forefront?” And he gave a melancholic smile at the thought. The one topic he wanted to avoid this holiday season.

“My grandmother,” He glanced from you to the TV that showed the timer ticking down closer and closer to the New Year. “She always wanted me to become a judge someday. She calls-” He broke off for a moment, before correcting himself, “called me El Juez, all the time, she wanted me so badly to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps,” He shook his head, before shrugging. “Maybe next year,” His eyes remained trained on the television screen, avoiding any pitiful expression you might be giving him at the current moment.

“When did she-?”

“This past year,” He sighed, rubbing his forehead, guilt gnawing at him. What was he really doing here? In a room filled with strangers, booze, and inane conversation, instead of at his mother’s side as she places flowers and looks after his grandmother’s final resting place. “I should be at her grave right now,” He wiped his hand down his face, shaking his head, his question still reverberating throughout his mind, echoing to the point of madness. But why was he here? The countdown had begun, as the room grew louder with anticipation, your reply fading into their shrieks and cries, the volume of the TV growing ever shriller.

TEN. NINE. EIGHT.

He got to his feet with a sigh, as you joined him as well, and your hand touched his accidentally. That is what he thought, until your fingers curled around his own, and pulled his attention from the television screen, gazing into your eyes. Oh yes, you were the reason he was here, in this earsplitting, boisterous room filled with drunk attorneys and servants of the state, you and your pleasant surprises and pointed, overwhelming questions.

SEVEN. SIX. FIVE.

Your other hand cupped his cheek, eyes boring into his own, and he felt your fingers brush a tear away, and he began to blink back his tears; he wasn’t even aware he was crying. But why was he crying? He truly didn’t know. But he knew that your hand was pulling his face ever closer to your own. He could see every beautiful lash, hiding those damn eyes of yours, the ones that had captivated him this evening. It was so unfair. Why was it that everything about you made all the more tempting?

FOUR.THREE. TWO.

But, even so, he couldn’t give into the temptation. He turned his cheek as you leaned in more, his hands squarely on your shoulders to stop you. He couldn’t let you ring in the New Year. Not like this. Not with him.

ONE.

He couldn’t kiss you. He didn’t look back as he stormed out the party, through the double doors, as the office screeched their New Years greetings to one another, several confetti poppers going off as he fled, pushing past the couples assumedly in amorous embrace. He needed to leave. He needed air. He needed to be away from your pointed words and pretty lips. He burst out the doors, stepping down in the crisp air, the clamor of the celebrations now fading into the night. And in that moment, there was time for him to wonder, does he dare? Dare to turn back and ascend the stairs? He had spent his life buried in decisions and revisions, and there was always a moment, a minute to change them. He had known those moments well, measured them against late night evenings, early mornings, and muddled afternoons, against the coffee spoons he stirred his fourth cup of coffee with. But the question remained again: what should he do? And what was he even doing here?

“Rafael? Rafael!” And it seems you couldn’t grant him that either, as you called his name, stopping him in his tracks, as he turned to look at you. Your lips were in a tight-lipped frown, hands in your pockets. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Those damn eyes were wrought with concern, the very same eyes that sent him sprawling, pinned and wriggling against the wall, and left him stuck to watch you tread softly down to bottom of the steps where he stood.

And how should he even begin to explain? “I’m sorry,” He murmured, unable to meet your soft gaze, fear and anxiety welling up from the pit of his stomach. Should he have not even attended the party? Should he have simply stayed in the shadows, listening from his office, leaning against the window, peering out at the happy couples and lonely men in shirt-sleeves, ones just like him. And he turned away. “I just needed to get out of there,”

And her eyes flickered in confusion, her words echoing the same question he had asked exactly a year ago. “Why?”

“Because I think I am the Nobody who deserves to be alone,” And he truly believed in that moment. After all, he was the man who had abandoned his grandmother, he had tried to force her into a home that she didn’t want, her last moments were spent leaving her home against her will, because of his own. And he would never forgive himself for that. And was it worth it? After all the struggles, the pain, the broken home, and so much more, to put his darling abuela through the very thing that finally broke her heart? He didn’t mean to, he’d tell himself, but did that really mean anything in the end?

“You are anyone, but nobody, Rafael Barba,” You said softly, your delicate fingers now on your shoulder, insistent on forcing him to look at you. “You’ve helped so many people, how can you even think that?”

“You said yourself, I overthink,” He shook his head sadly, cutting her off her response. “I’m sorry, I’ve said too much, I should-”

“Will you ever let someone in, Rafael?” Your hand grasped his own, freezing him in place with your touch. “You can’t do it all alone, you’ll end up spiraling inside that head of yours. You need to open up, to someone, anyone!” Your hand was as insistent as your voice now grazing his cheek, just as it was inside. Another minute. A chance for revision.

“To who?” He whispered, as your lips again grew near, drawing close once again. And there seemed to time again, for a hundred visions and revisions, mornings spent sitting across evenings spent lying in bed besides you, and lazy afternoon spent sprawled besides you, for you, and all with you.

And as you pressed your lips to his own, you answered his question, rendering your words redundant with the warmth of your touch and the beauty of your kiss. But still you said: “Me.”

He felt your body rock against his own, one arm wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, the sounds of the party disappearing into the sound of your breathing, until he swallowed it in another breathtaking kiss, this time, your body melting into his own: no questions, no hesitance, and no doubt, just you. He chuckled, as he pulled away for a moment. You stared at him, dumbstruck, seemingly confused by his actions. And honestly, he was too. He couldn’t make sense of his left or right, as he held you in his arms, but all he knew was that he never wanted to let you go. “Happy New Year.” And as he smiled, cupping your cheek to pull you in for another kiss, he whispered against your lips: “Isn’t the snow beautiful?”

Tag List: @rosathawne, @justpastthesecondstar, @anime-music-is-life, @snek-shit, @dreila03, @taylorhogle0510, @serendiptious-esparza, @aya-fay, @mwesterfeld1985, @p-i-n-e-a-p-p-l-e-s, @fleurs-en-ruines, @iworldlywriter, @aspiringyoungwriter, @supermoonpanda, @occamybarnes, @iammostdefinitelyonfire26, @laneygthememequeen, @meganlpie, @sweetsummertime99, @teatimewithtiya

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