#I almost envy those who keep finding the energy to get excited about everything new that's released

[merigoldaround]

I miss Jimin. It's been a month without Face era (approximately).

[incorrect-ikevamp-quotes]

YO SEBAS’ ROUTE HAS BEEN ANNOUNCED FOR JP I CANT WAIT!!! Do you have any theories of what could happen in his route?!?

Haha, yes, I saw this morning! For those who haven’t yet seen the announcement, it has been said that Sebastian’s route will be coming to the JPN version of Ikevamp on August 25th! It’s very exciting news, and I can’t wait to get started translating after I finish Dazai’s.

Honestly I’m finding this so many degrees of hilarious because I was like “oh ya I’m curious” at first, but after seeing that character introduction video with the lil forehead kiss and the horny as all HELL biting, I’m SLAMMING the horny button holy shit??? (I have that card CG in the JPN ver of the game on my phone and. lord jesus. That scowl. WILL HE STEP ON ME ONEGAI AKIHIKO)

Putting the rest under a cut bc is long and has some JPN ver spoilers:

That being said, let’s address the second part of the ask, shall we? Theories! If I’m honest I’m not surprised Sebastian was next on the docket, but I do admit I’m thoroughly surprised by the CG of him biting MC in earnest--he visibly draws blood on her neck and shoulder. This raises so many questions that are likely to be reiterated endlessly until his rt comes out in full, the most pressing of which is: does Sebastian turn into a vampire? Or is he just really into sadistic foreplay?

If I’m honest I sincerely don’t know if he’s fully turned, only because I’m trying to sort out the information we do have. Why turn into a vampire if the goal is to be with MC, who is also human? If we follow this course of thought, it doesn’t seem to make much sense, does it?

But then our boi Sebas is different in terms of his internalized conflict when compared to the vampires. Granted I may turn out to be wrong about this, but I think the two focal points of his route will be as follows: insecurity and the pursuit of knowledge. Remember that the reason Sebastian (our dearest Akihiko Sato) agrees to Comte’s proposal at all is his insatiable curiosity. I mean just think about it. If Comte told all that stuff about the mansion to someone in modern times, they would probably just figure he was a crazy person and go on with their day. But Sebas, the absolute madlad, agreed; he wanted to see if it was true, and to learn everything he could about people who exhibit extraordinary talent. 

I foresee that this, however, may become a double-edged sword. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say. What I mean to say is that it could be very possible he might turn or undergo something similar to the changing process in order to experience what it’s like firsthand (whether to prove he can handle it or because he wants to understand the residents better/gather info). Furthermore, while Sebastian is curious--with no malicious intent at all--this doesn’t mean that envy is impossible in this kind of scenario, either. Admiration and envy are like two sides of a coin; depending on how one interprets information, they can skew to self-consciousness or inspiration. Given the content I’ve seen for Sebastian so far (and man has it been limited as all heck) I often get the implication that he truly does feel inadequate in some ways compared to the other men. As soon as MC chooses him a kind of overwhelming awareness of his normalcy begins; the implication that he is the wrong or lesser choice. Knowing this, I truly wouldn’t be surprised if problems arise as a result of this self-effacing.

(Note: I don’t think that about Sebastian at all, personally! I think he’s very mindful of others and really astute--to say nothing of his skill when it comes to the domestic sphere. I don’t think just anybody could do what he does, and he sells himself far too short. I always think of how the men call him the Ninja Butler and praise how capable he is, how they freely admit the place wouldn’t be the same without him. Sometimes I wish Sebas could see that, though I understand his concerns as well ;-; I’m always torn bc I’ll be like “I understand but alSO N O”)

Besides those latent insecurities, time to expand more on the pursuit of knowledge. In one way this drive might feed his self-derision; he might believe that the more he is able to do and understand and study, the more he can be of use/help other people. (Put simply his value as a person = the increasing extent of his knowledge in an almost linear relationship; without it he is nothing). On the other hand, I think he just genuinely enjoys collecting information the way he does! He likes assessing all the different ways people behave and why, and how this contributes to how they think and who they are. More insight offers him more ways to preoccupy his endlessly moving mind, but it also offers proximity with the subject in question. This to me is absolutely key--I think so much of his studying the great men is linked to his admiration, his wish to be like them and/or his wish to be close to them.

I’d like to address a quick reference to the drinking event that recently released in the ENG version of the app, if only to expand on/clarify where this is coming from. It essentially featured Sebastian and Napoleon sharing a drink together at a bar and in it, Sebastian speaks to the way that he encountered Napoleon in his life, and the reason why he grew so fond of him. He speaks to a childhood entirely detached from the people of his own time, roving through the shelves of libraries, reading endlessly to fill that void. It was a quote by Napoleon that caught his eye and inspired him, and ostensibly the words of people long past that gave him the strength to keep moving forward. This information, coupled with his strange excitement in Isaac’s rt introduction about how Isaac used to throw hands with people who mocked him seems to bring to the forefront a few things for me. 

Sebastian is highly, highly individualistic: he doesn’t seem to care much about what is conventional or normal, only in what brings him joy and makes others comfortable/happy. His life is highly internal, but I sense no anti-sociality in this removal from societal expectations. He just lives his own way and tries not to trouble anyone. (This is also highly notable in his acute impatience with Dazai’s shenanigans/ineptitudes now and again; while he doesn’t always scold or explode, he shows a sharp and surprising impatience with willful/harmful/irresponsible behavior.) He’s tactful and measured, but highly excitable under the right circumstances. He also doesn’t seem to think much of his own life re: self-derision. Think Leonardo’s rt ending: he insists that the serial killer focus on him and not on MC, he tells her he has no qualms with dying if it means she’ll make it out alive. MC has to be the one to tell him to think more of his own life. As such I wouldn’t put it past him to have enough nerdy reckless energy to test the waters of being a vampire (all the better if it helps him understand the great men).

Comte once said it in an event story a few months ago, but I think he really hit the nail on the head in some respects. He says something to the effect of “His curiosity is admirable, but please Sebastian--some things are to remain private.” Sebastian doesn’t intend to be intrusive or malicious, he just likes knowing things for the sake of knowing. It’s about the cones answering his nerdy desire to piece things together, not stepping on people’s toes. (It’s nice too because Comte seems to understand this and doesn’t see it as a shortcoming/nuisance, he just tries to nudge Sebas in a different direction if he starts prying too close to people’s personal business ;-; pls pardon the Comte love I just can’t help myself)

Enter Johann Georg Faust.

Now then we know very little about the reserved priest doctor, but there are tidbits of information that we can work with (or at the very least, stand out to me a lot). The one I would like to focus on for this explanation is the little blurb that appears when you open the Ikevamp app and it’s loading, providing something like trivia facts for each character. In the ENG app we got those early, but we don’t have the ones for our antagonists. Iirc, Faust’s reads something to the effect of “will often sneak substances into their (as in the castle residents Vlad and Charles’) food to test the effect of his concoctions on vampires.” There have been hints that Faust is to be our mad scientist of sorts; that he is experimenting under Vlad’s orders to find a reliable way to transform a human being into an immortal equivalent to that of a pureblood. But I have mentioned on more than one occasion that I really don’t think Faust is only doing all of this for Vlad. He has his own curiosity that is seeking to be alleviated, perhaps he is satisfied with having another puzzle dumped in his lap--a means to distract himself and exhaust his faculties. 

(One has to wonder if Vlad turned them under the same principle of desperation, and if that were the case, what Faust and Charles might desire more than anything else...Is Faust operating on a kind of necessity to atone? Has he simply given up hope that scientific advancement can happen without someone getting hurt, and so he does his best to balance the good and bad wrought by his explorations? Is he trying to bring someone back himself, is he trying to stall Vlad’s efforts in his own way? I really can’t be sure; there are just too many unanswered questions when it comes to Faust...)

This is where Sebastian and Faust begin to overlap. The pursuit of knowledge, an insatiable curiosity, a capacity to overreach the bounds of appropriate civility/decorum to get the information they want. It could potentially serve as a temptation for Sebas; become a vampire by Vlad’s hand and you can watch history over the span of generations. Assist in the development of an immortal, and you won’t even need someone like Comte to walk you through the different eras of time--you could explore yourself. While Sebas seems to be motivated more by service to other people, there can be no doubt that this could cause a great deal of friction. He will have to work to remind himself why he’s doing what he does and what it means to him, and whether or not becoming a vampire is truly what he wants.

But, there is also the issue of Vlad’s telepathic manipulations. Is it possible that an encounter with Faust (and by extension, proximity to Vlad/meeting Vlad head-on) could result in Sebastian being turned/experimented on without his knowledge? I.e. Vlad using his compulsion and sending him home with a word or memory of what happened. Though that’s certainly not the only possible explanation available. The other thing I was thinking about was a mechanic that was introduced in event stories prior to Sebas’ MS announcement. In the event story, MC and her suitor of choice encounter a street merchant that boasts a serum that can turn people into vampires. They, of course, don’t believe him--but the vial is procured and MC either purposefully or accidentally is exposed to it (i.e she knocks it over and it shatters in Leo’s ES). For a brief time, she exhibits vampiric qualities; she feels the thirst for blood as acutely as any of the other vampires in the mansion. I.e. In Napoleon’s ES, Sebas notices something wrong with MC when they’re just pouring vials of Rouge--the usual prepwork--and she runs out of the room looking dazed. Her odd/new instincts are only alleviated when she bites and drinks Napoleon’s blood, but after that single episode she shows no further signs of vampiric qualities. It’s a temporary but acute transformation. While I have no specifics as to how this is possible, I have to wonder if something similar might be done to Sebastian; whether as a means to test him (does he really want this? find out after the commercial break) or a kind of trick/trap laid by the antagonists. I remain unsure, but these are the two most likely explanations that come to mind if he hasn’t been fully turned.

As to whether or not his vampirism will be permanent, I’ve genuinely been oscillating on that one. I think it’s certainly possible given his intrigue (I never see much fear in him) with vampirism and his probable enjoyment with the prospect of an endless life learning about things (I can literally hear Leonardo screaming internally and I’m ngl it’s sad and funny). But there’s also something about the bite CG that speaks to strain/alarm, to surprise--that he wasn’t at all aware of the changes within himself--and I have to wonder if it might put him off of the prospect (like that he lost control/hurt MC)...Essentially I think it will just really boil down to how the symptoms come about (temporary or permanent), and how much his affections for MC might deter that curiosity/possible wish (if temporary, he might not touch the prospect again--if permanent, THAT WOULD BE SO FUCKING SEXY BECAUSE I’d wager the rest of the route might be MC trying to help him adjust/recover IN A SEXY WAY).

(Note post-translation: I fucking HATE IT HERE. The bite CG text says smth to the effect of “The bloodlust is unbearable--stay away from me; I don’t think I’ll be able to keep from attacking you.”) In light of this information, I am this 👌 close to launching myself straight into the sun. OFC his route is gonna be sweet as all shit and then it’s just gonna go downhill from there with angst. WHYYYYYYYYYY AKIHIKO (at least his voice is mega sexy and heals my wounds OTL) It also says something about “a fate that is greatly moved” so that does suggest a more permanent change than the temporary alternatives I mentioned (though we all know how Cybird loves to jerk us around so I’m leaving that up for debate)...this shit better be hurt/comfort or i s2g im throwing hands

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THE ANTICIPATION IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!

Here’s hoping he’ll make for a delightful surprise! I’m looking forward to it c: 

[imagine-darksiders]

Part 1: Imagine there being a baby born in the Maker Tree. Strife can't bring himself to be near the huddled group of humans all cooing over newborn, he feels that it isn't his place to be with them. One of the humans notices that Jones is sitting so far away from the group, and walks over to ask him if he's okay. When Jones brushes him off saying that he shouldn't be up there, they assume it's because he's mourning the loss of his own child. They offer to simply sit with Jones and keep him

Your lips stretch into a knowing smile and you tip your head to one side, casting a curious eye over Jones’s hunched shoulders and the dusty, orange hood that’s pulled down low enough to cover most of his rugged features, yet not low enough to keep him from observing the peaceful scene playing out on the other side of Ulthane’s latest piece of stonemasonry. 

“What’s the matter? Don’t like kids?” 

Jones gives a start at the unexpected intrusion of a voice in his ear and he swiftly braces his hands on the ground, ready to push himself to his feet. A second later however, he looks up and finds a familiar face smiling down at him. 

“Y/n? What-?” he blurts out, letting his shoulders go slack once more as his body recognises that you aren’t a threat. 

Your lips stretch even further whilst you turn and lean against the tree wall, sliding yourself down the wood to sit beside this strange but friendly man. In a flash, Jones is getting up to lend you a hand, though you’re quick to wave him away, eventually settling down next to him and letting out a puff. “I asked what the matter was,” you say again.

Jones leans back and twists his head to regard you curiously. “What d’you mean?” He always did wonder how some humans have the innate ability to just....know when one of their own nearby is troubled. 

Then again...He isn’t exactly one of their own, is he? 

You spare the man an amused glance before jutting your chin at a group of humans gathered in a small circle on the opposite side of the tree. “Well for starters, you’ve been staring at Ingrid and her baby for like, twenty minutes.” 

Jones opens his mouth to argue, only to let it snap shut again once he realises you have a point, and it irks him that he hadn’t even noticed he was being observed. Swallowing down his pride, he turns his attention back to the gaggle of humans. A few of them have made ample room for Elanya to squeeze herself in among them where she sits cross-legged with her elbows resting across both knees, a luminous beam plastered on her face. 

A small part of Jones envies her that wide-eyed wonder. He still remembers how he’d been the very same that first time he laid eyes on a human newborn. 

His smile that had blossomed at the memory fades as he takes in the group. 

A young woman - Ingrid - sits among a throng of other humans, each of whom are marvelling over the tiny bundle she’s cradling in her arms. The baby had been born just last night, and its arrival sent the entire tree into an excited frenzy. 

Jones himself had even been caught up in the giddy energy, so much so that he’d actually forgotten that he wasn’t one of them, even if it was only for a few minutes. Soon enough however, he remembered himself, what he is and what he’d done to this species. Like the flip of a switch, he grew uncharacteristically quiet and withdrew from Ingrid’s bedside while the humans who had all piled inside to offer her help and congratulations were herded out by Ulthane, with a gruff order that the new mother be given time to rest. 

Everyone was so busy over the course of the following day that nobody noticed the lonely figure observing them from the back of the tree. Nobody, that is, except you.

“Not a big baby fan, are you?” you murmur suddenly and cause Jones to flinch yet again. He hardly seemed to notice you’d been next to him whilst he was busy drifting off. Gathering himself, he glances at you. “What? Oh, no, no. It’s not that. It’s.......” He trails off, working his mouth silently around words that had almost come out. Eventually, he drops his head and sighs. “It’s...something else.”

“Cryptic,” you chuckle but once he’s turned away, the smirk falls from your face and a crease appears between your eyebrows. There’s such a look of despondency plaguing Jones’s features that you find yourself wondering what he’d really meant by ‘something else.’ It suddenly occurs to you that there might be a very unhappy reason as to why he seems to be avoiding the baby. Everyone in this tree has lost somebody, mothers, fathers, siblings, friends....children. Perhaps Jones belongs in the latter group. 'Shit,' you think, pressing your lips together, 'No wonder he's so upset.' You imagine you'd be upset too if you'd lost a child and had to watch somebody else love theirs, knowing that just holding their baby is something you'll never be able to do again.

A sudden weight lands on Jones's shoulder, solid and firm but uninhibiting, he can easily shrug out of it if he wants to. 

He doesn't. 

Slowly, he swivels his eyes around to look at your hand where it rests in the space between his metal pauldrons and the collar of his coat. And then he looks up and meets your pleasantly guileless gaze. For a split second, you look as if you know, and he nearly balks at the horror of somebody finding out about his past.

But how could you know? How could you possibly know that half of Jones’s head is here in the tree whilst his other half is going over events of the past. The group of humans in front of him are......Well, they remind him of another group - now long since dead - but only because they’re entirely the antithesis of one another, polar opposites in human form, and it both throws and makes him proud to see how much the species has grown and overcome the effects of the Animus and learned to manage their anger, fear and everything else Lucifer had unleashed upon them....

....Everything Strife had helped to unleash....

The hand on his shoulder gives a comforting squeeze. “It wasn't your fault, Jones,” you whisper.

Creator, he nearly comes undone then and there. You're guessing, of course, caught under the impression that he's most likely blaming himself for the loss of a child. In a cruel way, he almost is. How many humans had died because of him, children among them?

Jones clenches his jaw and taps a finger restlessly against his bent knee. He doesn't say anything back to you, just turns away and watches as Ingrid passes her baby off to another human, who appears nervous, yet delighted at the same time, if their mile-wide grin is anything to go by. In seconds, those nerves are gone, and they’re gazing down at the baby in their arms with as much adoration as the mother herself is. In fact, all of the humans gathered are changed somehow. The worry shadowing their eyelids has lifted, their lips turn up at the corners instead of down and they all have an air of serenity about them that even Strife can’t understand.  Memories of the hatred he'd once seen all those years ago is being slowly replaced by faces filled with love and compassion. He had watched humans tear each other apart, spilling the blood of friends and of family members without remorse, be they grown adult or small child. It had been a massacre.

Now, he's seeing that very same species stand together without a shred of animosity between them. Just love. Nothing but love.

And the trust-!

As if she'd read his mind, Ingrid turns abruptly towards Elyana, asking, “Would you like to hold her?”

Jones has to stifle a laugh at how quickly the maker's face can go from joyous to downright terrified.

“You know, kid?” he murmurs, feeling your hand slip off his shoulder and pretending he doesn't miss the gentle touch, “You didn't have to come and check up on me. You ought to be over there -” He nods at the others. “-with them.”

You follow his gaze, idly watching as the baby is placed in Elanya's trembling hands. Even from here, you can see the maker's throat bob and her fingers slowly curl around the precious lifeform, her eyes wide as saucers. After you allow several seconds for a flutter of warmth to come and go at the sight, you reply, “Oh, I've already said my hellos, and besides, they all have each other as company for the time being.” Carefully, you cast a sidelong glance at Jones. “But you? You were out here all by yourself. And....and I don't know. I was worried about you.”

Jones stares at you like you've grown another head. Before he can stop it, a question slips from his tongue and comes out sounding far more perplexed than it was meant to. “Why?”

You huff out a laugh and shoot him an incredulous grin.

In response, he merely continues to stare and raises a brow, wondering why his question had been so amusing for you.

After a while, you lose your smile when the realisation hits you that he's being serious.

He doesn't have any idea why you'd worry about him.

“Well....Why not?”

It's such a simple reply, one that has a thousand answers but none that he can voice aloud because his throat is suddenly clogged up and he finds that air isn't getting down as easily as it once had. 'Why not?' Those two words hold a revelation for an aspect of humanity that Jones hasn't ever considered before. You worry by default. Care comes as naturally as breathing. It's just....automatic. Like a reflex.

“It's not just me who's worried, you know,” you tell him matter-of-factly, “Ingrid noticed you weren't your usual self, and Jack, and Ollie...They mentioned it and I realised I wasn’t imagining things, so I came to make sure you’re okay.”

Crossing your arms behind your head, you gaze out over the tree and thusly miss the way Jones's brows are knitted together and he's looking down in a daze, mouth slightly agape. He avoided them, didn’t seek to be part of their group and they....cared? They noticed that a member of the tree wasn’t among them and they found a wrongness in it, enough that they’d send someone over to ensure he’s alright. He - in spite of his own feelings - is a part of their group, at least so far as they’re concerned. 

One of Jones’s hands flies up to his chest and he presses the palm flat against it, feeling around desperately for the odd yet familiar thudding that’s suddenly gone off with a fervour underneath his skin. You continue to ramble on, your voice drowned out by the pounding in your companion’s ears. ‘What’s happening to me?’ he asks himself. 

“Jones?” 

His head snaps up and finds you’ve ventured closer, leaning around to peer into his face. 

“You sure you’re okay? Now you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” 

“Oh, I’m fine,” he shoots back with that cocksure grin firmly in place. “Uh, just...wandering what the kid’s name is.”

“Oh, you haven’t heard it yet?” You give him a meaningful look. “Ingrid’s decided to call her Hope.” 

Jones releases a breathless laugh, his chest squeezing. “It’s perfect.”

Nodding your agreement, you fall silent for a time, content to exist simply basking in the tree’s warm atmosphere. Then...

“Do you want to go meet her?” At the question, Jones stiffens, so you add, “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

However, he surprises you by shaking his head and saying, “No, I - I do want to, I just...” One of his knees begins to bounce rapidly in place. “I just don’t know if I should.” 

“Well of course you should,” you exclaim, “You’re one of the few humans she’s ever going to meet!” 

“But, what if-?” 

“Jones.” You give his side a nudge with your elbow, cutting him off. “She’s going to love you.” 

He lowers his eyes to the ground, not feeling even half as sure as you sound. At that moment though, you shift at his side and he glances up to see you’ve gotten to your feet. “Listen,” you tell him, “At the end of the day, it’s your decision. You don’t have to go anywhere near that baby if you don’t want to. But just know that whatever you’re....going through, you don’t have to go through it alone. We’re all here for you.” 

And without another word, you spin on your heel and meander over towards the new mother and child. 

It only takes a few seconds of hesitation before Jones gets up and follows you.

[randomoranges]

sometimes my life is an actual sitcom. i wish i could say i made this stuff up, but now, i legit met a guy while selling a shoe rack who came back to chat me up post sale bcs he thought i was pretty. he then proceeded to tell me a million times in one hr and has since been very over the top about being into me. as much as it’s nice to have attention u also gotta pace yourself. hes so over the top it’s ridiculous and also getting more annoying.

also never fucking send ppl semi nude photos unprompted wtf is wrong with yall.

anyways i live vicariously through teacher au and use real life shit to put the characters through the same thing. today i vibed with edward. 

this takes place before he and étienne are together

this is a blurb. i just needed to get a thought out of my system

edwards answers are legit what i wrote

the gag of all of edwards exes having names that start with c continues XD

Unsolicited

 Edward knows he technically shouldn’t, but he’s bored at work and for once, the kids are actually quietly doing their own thing. He decides against his better judgement to open Facebook and scroll aimlessly for a moment or two, while time goes on. It’ll give him a chance to see what exciting lives the rest of his friends are living and envy those who aren’t stuck at work.

 He quickly notices a red little number up on the top right corner to signal that he has one unopened conversation and for a moment, he wonders which of his friends would have messaged him. There hadn’t really been any ongoing chats at the moment, so he’s pleasantly surprised and looking forward to hearing from his friends.

 He’s only a little disappointed when he sees that it’s not from any of his friends, but instead from a guy he’d met just last Friday in the most strangest of ways. (His friend had hosted a garage sale and had asked for help. Edward had gone. He’d brought along some of his own stuff. This one man – Charles – had bought his old wooden shoe rack. Charles had chatted Edward up. They’d exchanged contact information and had more or less chatted since then. It was a strange way to meet someone – but, not the strangest.)

 Charles is – cute and they had a pleasant chat. Edward certainly hadn’t minded the attention, even if it had come from out of nowhere. He’d been looking forward to meeting up with him again, but as the days had gone on and their conversations had progressed, he’d found himself slowly losing a bit of interest over Charles’ over-eagerness.

 There were just so many times Charles could say he thought Edward was attractive in an hour before it got redundant and annoying.

 Edward was flattered Charles was interested in him, but Edward didn’t want to rush this either. He’d just gotten out of a serious relationship and with the end of the school year looming close, he had other things to deal with. Once summer break arrived, he would have more time and more energy. In the meantime, however, he didn’t need this stranger he barely knew to wax poetics and tell him he wished to wake up beside him to see how he woke up – or whatever garbage he’d been told. Edward was willing to give this a go, but he wasn’t looking to settle down and get married with Charles after knowing him for three days and it quite honestly felt as though Charles had already booked their venue at times.

 He was – over the top and intense. Edward had appreciated the fact that Charles had told him he’d found him attractive when he’d first seen him and he liked that he had actually returned to chat him up. It had been a little weird when Charles had called him his beloved and stranger still when he’d apologised from taking up his time and keeping him away from his friends when they’d talked that first time, but Edward had let it slide and had almost found it charming – in its own bizarre way.

 Now, it feels as though Charles is trying too hard, when really he doesn’t have to. Edward thought he was attractive, had even told him so and was more than willing to see where this would lead. but if However, if Charles doesn’t slow down, Edward will back out and move on. (Which reminds him – there’d been that whole other conversation where Charles had told him that he looked forward to living their lives together and that he didn’t want to lose him. To which Edward had politely told him that it would be best to get to know each other first.)

 Edward wants some fun – not some intense long-term lovey-dovey besotted nonsense. At least – not after three days of talking with the man.

 Still, he opens the conversation, curiosity, and boredom getting the best of him, and at first, it’s nice, until Charles asks him if he could have a photo. Edward lets out a long-suffering sigh and is glad his students are too busy with their work to notice.

 Charles has asked to send him a photo right now, of all things.

 Edward is so not in the mood for any of this.

 “No. I’m in class teaching. My students are taking a test.” He writes out. He doesn’t care if he comes across as annoyed, but this man is being irksome in his own infatuated way and it’s – pathetic. He likes the attention, to a degree, he enjoys feeling wanted, but Charles needs to calm down his ardours.

 He leaves it at that and doesn’t bother with Charles for the rest of the day.

 By the time Edward’s done, he heads to his car and figures he’ll check again to see if he’s gotten a new message. There is still part of him that is curious about this whole ordeal and so he’s a little bit pleased when he sees that Charles has sent him a few messages after their last chat.

 He’s less enthused when he gets to the last one.

 The first was in regards to the whole photo debacle, saying maybe next time. The second mentioned that he was going for a jog. And the last message – the kicker really, was a photo Charles had sent of himself, shirtless and thankfully from the waist up.

 And to think Edward had nearly sent him a post-work exhausted face selfie for the fun of it.

 He grumbles, puts his phone away, and figures he’ll deal with it when he gets home.

 It’s not that he necessarily minded the photo – he did find the guy attractive to a point, but – it had been unprompted. Unsolicited. He hadn’t asked for a photo. He hadn’t been expecting a shirtless photo. He wasn’t in the current mood to receive such a photo. He could have been at school on break and gotten this photo.

 He’s angry and annoyed by the time he gets home.

 Edward putters around and leaves Charles on read. It’s one thing going after sex and expecting these photos and it’s another to get them out of the blues. He lets his friends know of this debacle and relishes in their reactions. He’s glad someone gets it.

 Finally, after making dinner, playing a few rounds of video games, taking a shower, getting his lunch ready for the following day, and having a nice chat with his friends, he decides to answer Charles.

 “Even if a photo of a woman, man, or person shirtless may be nice to receive, it’s always better to send it with consent and with fair warning. Especially when you’re not expecting one and that with my work, there are often children nearby.”

 He doesn’t expect an answer so quickly, especially since it’s been five hours since the photo was sent, but Charles, true to form, answers. Edward laughs out loud when he reads how very sorry Charles is and how he genuinely thought Edward would appreciate it. Edward sighs again and groans, passing a hand through his hair.

 He tries to find a polite way of trying to get this man to understand and he’s only a little surprised by how easily the words come to him, “There’s a time and place for everything. You don’t send these types of photos willy-nilly whenever you feel like it. There’s context, time, mood, etc. Consent and fair-warning. Imagine you were sitting with your family, friends, or kids and you received such a photo without warning. You can’t assume that the person on the other side is in an appropriate setting to receive these types of messages and images without checking beforehand.”

 It’s at times like these he wishes men could be less – like this. He likes a good shirtless photo just like anyone else who’s into men, but he hates that this seems to be a norm. And at least this was only a shirtless photo! He doesn’t want to think of the number of times when he was having a nice conversation about literally anything unrelated to the human body, only to find himself with a photo of a man’s junk, completely unprompted.

 Sometimes, he almost wishes he were into women just to be spared this.

 Edward figures he’s given Charles enough etiquette lessons for the night and puts his phone away. He pulls up something decent to watch on television and does his best to forget about the incident for now. If anything, he reminds himself, he doesn’t need to commit to anything with this besotted Romeo.

 FIN

[haveanotherkpopblog]

The Nutcracker Suite

Part 2: The Mouse King

Pairing: Koo Junhoe x You

Genre: Angst, Ballet!AU, Fluff, Regency!AU

Word Count: 2K

Warnings: None

Masterlist || <<Previous | Next>>

Y/N saw him. A mouse dressed in regal clothing stepped from the hole. He had on a gold crown and held a gold scepter in his paw. Y/N stared at him curiously. He did look rather cute dressed like a little king. The mouse waved the scepter around before pointing it at Y/N. She watched the mouse curiously. The nutcracker called out to her, but it was too late. A red energy beam shot out from the scepter, hitting Y/N square in the chest.

All around her, her environment began changing--growing. No, it wasn’t growing. She was shrinking! Not only was she shrinking, but her clothes weren’t. Soon she was the size of a mouse, drowning in a sea of fabric. The mouse king advanced towards Y/N. She struggled to move away from her dress to somewhere safe. Where that was though, she didn’t know.

Once she freed herself from her dress, she ran to the fireplace where the fire was slowly winding down. Out in the middle of the parlor, the nutcracker had returned to battling the mice soldiers. His sword clashed with the other swords. Y/N watched uselessly.

The mouse king was advancing on the nutcracker. The mice soldiers backed away from the nutcracker. The nutcracker turned around, pointing his sword at the mouse king. The mouse king circled around him, watching him carefully. The nutcracker never took his eyes off the mouse king.

“You must come with me," the mouse king said. Y/N blinked. Had the mouse just spoken? Surely not. Mice didn’t speak. Then again, they also didn’t wear crowns and have a magic staff. “It’s for your safety.”

“Traitor! Why would I believe a word you say?” the nutcracker challenged. The mouse king sighed, lifting his scepter. Panicking, Y/N looked around for some way to help. As the mouse king waved his scepter around, Y/N took her slipper off. As hard as she could, she threw it at the mouse king. It hit him square in the back of the head, sending him flying forwards.

The mice soldiers ran to their king’s aid, ignoring the nutcracker. They lifted their unconscious king from the ground and dragged him back into the hole from whence they came. Y/N and the nutcracker watched as they scurried away.

Y/N climbed down from the fireplace, rushing to the nutcracker’s aid. He seemed to be okay, his wood needed a paint job, but otherwise he seemed to be okay. He turned to look at Y/N with big, round, unblinking, brown eyes.

“You saved me,” he said. His voice was kind of deep, and soft. Y/N smiled, bowing her head.

“It was nothing. Really,” she said. She looked over to where the hole still was. “Who was that?”

“The Mouse King. A corrupt, power-hungry sorcerer whose mission is to take over my home,” the nutcracker explained. “He turned me into a nutcracker and sent me to… Where am I exactly?”

“My house, here in London,” Y/N said. The nutcracker nodded. Y/N looked around her parlor. Everything was huge, even her old doll house that sat tucked away in the corner for her young cousins. “I must be dreaming.”

“I’m afraid this is all too real,” the nutcracker said. He went to the hole, peeking into the black abyss beyond it.

“Before you leave,” Y/N called. The nutcracker looked at her. “Can you change me back? To my original size?” The nutcracker stared at her. “Remember? I used to be taller.”

“I’m sorry, but I do not possess those powers,” he said. Y/N frowned. “Only the Mouse King or the Sugar Plum Fairy can help.”

“The Sugar Plum Fairy?”

“A magical fairy, much like the Mouse King. She lives on an island, just beyond the Eternal Spring Valley and over the Uncrossable Seas. Only her and the Mouse King have the power to turn you back. I’m sorry.” Y/N contemplated for a few moments, looking between the parlor, the nutcracker, and the mouse hole.

“How long would it take to travel to the Island of the Sugar Plum Fairy?” Y/N asked. The nutcracker tilted his head the best a nutcracker could. “I can’t very well stay this size. What would Mama and Papa think? And how am I to travel the world when I can’t even open a door? I will join you and find this Sugar Plum Fairy. Surely she’ll change me back.” The nutcracker laughed, nodding his head.

“You might want to change. It’s going to be cold where we’re going,” the nutcracker said. Y/N looked down before letting out a yelp. She is in nothing more than her undergarments. The nutcracker laughed at her flushed face.

“Turn around!” she said, using her arms to cover her body. Sure she was still covered, but how improper to look at a lady whilst she’s in her undergarments. “Turn around at once!” The nutcracker obeyed, still cackling.

Looking around, Y/N spotted her old dollhouse. Quickly she ran to it. Surely something in there would fit her. She found a blue dress that was simple enough and would most likely keep her warm. Just to be safe, she grabbed a black fur coat, buttoning herself up.

The nutcracker was still at the hole, his back turned to her. Y/N noticed he was no longer wearing the bandage Uncle Drosselmeyer had given him. Oh Uncle Drosselmeyer. Did he know that the nutcracker had come to life? Certainly not. None of his other toys came to life. So why had this one?

“I’m ready,” Y/N called, pushing her thoughts aside. She needed to focus on finding the Sugar Plum Fairy. The nutcracker turned around, staring at Y/N. She smoothed out the skirt of the dress before moving to stand next to the nutcracker. “So, where does this go?”

On cue, a gust of freezing cold wind blew from the hole, almost knocking Y/N down. The nutcracker caught her before she fell, pulling her into his wooden chest. Besides her family members of course, Y/N had never been this close to another man. Her eyes widened staring up at the wooden man. He let her go, coughing awkwardly into his hand. She stepped back, eyes wide and cheeks burning.

“We should head in,” the nutcracker said. Y/N nodded, following the nutcracker into the mouse hole. It was completely dark in the hole-- dark and cold. There wasn’t any sign of light from either side of the tunnel. All that could be heard was the crunch of their footsteps. She was careful in her steps, trying to keep pace with the nutcracker and not wander too far ahead or fall too far back.

After what seemed like hours of walking, Y/N noticed a faint dot up ahead. The closer they went, the bigger it seemed. Y/N recognized it as daylight. Doing her best to contain her excitement and not stray too far from the nutcracker, she rushed to the opening.

Once they were at the other end of the tunnel, a gasp escaped Y/N. Snow covered the ground for miles and miles. The trees stretched towards the bluest sky she’d ever seen. She stared at it in wonder. There certainly wasn’t anything like this back in London.

“Beautiful isn’t it,” the nutcracker said.

“Beautiful doesn’t even begin to describe it! I’ve never seen a place like this,” Y/N breathed, taking everything in.

“Do they not have forests in London?” he inquired. Y/N laughed.

“If only. There isn’t much to see in London. Just boring shops selling the same things.” The nutcracker clasped his wooden hands behind his back, moving to stand next to Y/N.

“Sounds boring.” Y/N nodded. The nutcracker stared at Y/N. There was a twinkle in her eye as she stared at everything with wonder. “Here. There’s something I want to show you.” He held his arm out for her. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, allowing him to pull her along into the forest. Woodland creatures fluttered about, watching the pair curiously.

“Where’re we going?” Y/N inquired as the nutcracker led her further and further into the woods.

“We’re almost there,” he assured her. She puckered her lips, staring around at the forest. Tall evergreens covered in snow towered over like giants. One could hardly see the sun with the density of the trees. She caught fleeting glances of the animals that resided here in the forest. “Up ahead. Here!”

Y/N snapped her gaze back to the nutcracker. He was pointing up ahead to one of the trees. Only, this tree wasn’t like the rest. Tiny blue orbs flitted around and inside the tree. Her jaw fell open as she stared at the tree. The blue orbs danced around the tree. Hesitantly Y/N took a step forward.

“What are they?” she asked.

“Snow fairies. Guardians of the Wintry Forest.” Y/N took a step closer. Then another. And then another. She took careful and slow steps until she was only a few steps away from the tree. Up close, she could see the blue orbs were fairies and they were, in fact, dancing. Y/N couldn’t hear any music playing, but the fairies didn’t seem to mind. Y/N watched them dance gracefully, like they were in a ballet. “What’s on your mind?” came the nutcracker’s voice.

“They’re dancing ballet. My parents once took me to a ballet, upon my aunt’s insistence. I absolutely loved it. I always wanted to learn.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“A lady shouldn’t twiddle away her time dancing,” Y/N said with an eye roll. “A silly notion if you ask me. Why would it be me twiddling my time away when we paid to see the ballet? I could have traveled the world by now. Have you ever traveled the world?”

“Something like that,” he replied with a nod. Y/N sighed, watching the fairies twirl about.

“For that, I envy you.”

“I am a nutcracker.”

“A nutcracker who has seen the world. I would give anything to see it. To meet new people and do something exciting. Instead I am to sit in my house until I am married off. Then I shall sit in my husband’s house and play the part of a lady.”

“Sounds like a droll existence.” Y/N nodded. “If that is the case, then why come here and ask the Sugar Plum Fairy to change you back?”

“Well I certainly can’t stay this height forever. Besides, Mother and Father would worry.” Y/N sighed, turning to the nutcracker. “So, how do we get to the Sugar Plum Fairy?”

“We’ll first need to go through the Gingerbread Village for supplies. Then it’s through the Valley of Eternal Spring and over the Uncrossable Sea.” Y/N nodded.

The Nutcracker led her through the Wintry Forest. Fairies fluttered around them, dancing on the cold breeze. She watched them with a grin. Yesterday, she had thought herself too old to dabble in notions of fairies and far off lands. Now, she was walking through a forest that smelled of peppermints while holding the arm of a nutcracker. If only her parents could see her now. What would they think? What about Chanwoo? Who would keep him out of trouble?

Through the Wintry Forest they traveled. They walked until the trees began to thin out before disappearing behind them. The further they walked, the darker the world seemed to grow. No longer was the sky a vibrant blue with puffy white clouds. Instead, the sky grew grey with dark storm clouds that hid the sun from the world.

“Why did the Mouse King turn you into a nutcracker?” Y/N asked. The nutcracker sighed, looking around at the darkening sky.

“Why does he do anything,” he finally said. Y/N pouted. That didn’t answer her question, but she decided not to press further. “It shouldn’t be too much further now. The Gingerbread Village is just beyond this hill.” Once they were on top of the hill, they froze.

“Oh my.”

[femmereddie]

strong as the steel we carry (we rise like the sun) [3/6]

pairing: adora/catra fandom: she-ra and the princesses of power rating: general summary: A collection of drabbles from canon moments over the course of She-Ra, Catra/Adora related. This post contains all my drabbles from season four. read on ao3

S04E03 Flutterina

What did you do to me?

Why did you do it?

Catra woke up from her nightmare, startled and drenched in sweat. She didn’t even have time to process her dream before she heard a noise. She turned her head and found Emily, Entrapta’s robot, hovering over her.

Catra leaped out of bed, completely freaked out. It was almost like Emily knew what she dreamt about. “Stay away from me!” Catra screamed, scratching the robot with her claws.

Catra watched Emily hobble away. When she was finally alone, she sighed in relief and slumped back in her bed. Catra knew she would have to get up eventually, especially since she had to introduce Hordak to Double Trouble. She needed to initiate the next part of her plan, but Catra needed a few extra minutes to herself to process her dream.

Catra couldn’t unsee Entrapta and Adora’s angry faces, staring her down. Catra remembered how vulnerable and terrified she felt, and those emotions lingered once she woke up. No matter how much time passes, Catra still has trouble pushing her feelings away. They somehow come barreling back all because of a stupid dream. A dream that painfully reminded her of her reality.

First, there was Adora, and that was definitely her fault. She didn’t have to go. She could have stayed by Catra’s side, and they could have ruled Etheria together, the way that they had always planned.

It was harder to blame Entrapta, but Catra soothed herself by saying that Entrapta only made bigger messes that Catra always had to clean up. They didn’t need Entrapta. Setting off the portal was the best thing Catra ever did, even if it didn’t work in their favor. Horde Prime would arrive any day now, and Catra was now a leader of the Horde.

Catra had become a master manipulator, skilled at deceiving everyone, including herself. She was so good at it that even Catra believed that she was more vengeful than she was hurt or lonely. But she couldn’t give up now, not when things were going in her favor. So far, anyway.

God, Catra was furious. She was mad at Entrapta and even angrier at Adora. It was easier for Catra to be upset; it always has been. And truthfully, at least on the surface, Catra didn’t feel guilty. She remembered the fight she had with Adora in the alternate reality, and what she had said to her.

Don’t you get it?! I am never going to go with you.

You always have to go and ruin it. Don’t you?

I won’t let you win. I’d rather see the whole world end than let that happen.

It was all true, every last word. If Catra and Adora had to have the same argument all over again, she would just repeat everything she said. Catra would burn everything down to ensure that she got what she wanted, and Adora got nothing. That’s what Adora deserved after leaving Catra with nothing. Let Adora see the losing side for a change. It wasn’t fair that Adora was the one who betrayed Catra, and Catra was the one who stayed faithfully with the Horde. Catra was loyal, yet she was the one who always got stabbed in the back.

Why did her friends keep betraying her? They either left her or stood in her way. They screwed things up to the point of no return. Catra would have lost if she hadn’t sent Entrapta to Beast Island. Sure, everyone came back from the alternate reality, but The Rebellion was in shambles. Catra and Hordak were planning a successful takeover. The prissy princesses didn’t know what was coming, not with the tricks the Horde had up their sleeves.

Catra, look what’s happening! You’re going to destroy everything!

It infuriated Catra that Adora thought that was all she was good for. Destruction. If Adora wanted to know why Catra opened the portal, Catra wouldn’t hesitate. Catra needed everything to go well. If Hordak could successfully bring in the rest of his armies, Catra would finally taste victory. Even if she knew deep down, the only person she was fighting was herself.

Catra’s dream reminded her of one crucial thing. She remembered what it felt like to lose her balance and slip through the blazing red portal. She remembered why it happened—it was because of her so-called friends. Trusting people and putting her faith in them—that’s what always brought Catra down. Her dream was a harsh but necessary wakeup call. She couldn’t afford to have any friends, no matter how much they claimed to be loyal to her and the Horde.

So, that evening, when Scorpia came to check on her like she usually did, Catra was sure to put Scorpia in her place. After all, Catra already had everything she needed. Her plan was in motion, and she was finally going to win.

She didn’t need anybody to lean on. She had herself, and that was always enough.

—

S04E04 Pulse

“And don’t worry, darling, I’ll keep a better eye on Glimmer. Who knew she was so powerful?”

Catra scoffed at Double Trouble’s observation. “Whatever. If she hadn’t used Adora as bait—”

“Oh, yes! How devious. I’d assumed she was all glitter, no grit.”

“Yeah. That… was unexpected. And then she showed up alone. Huh.” The wheels in Catra’s mind began turning faster and faster. “Looks like that friendship might have a few cracks, huh? Would be a shame if someone were there to take advantage of them…”

Double Trouble grinned sinisterly at Catra, and they quickly left after that. Catra watched them go, the excitement of their new strategy thrumming in her veins. She knew that Adora’s friendship with Glimmer wasn’t as perfect as the girls made it out to be. Of course, you could say that Catra was just green with envy. But even when Adora was still with the Horde, she and Catra still had their fair share of problems. Nothing was ever peachy perfect, as it always seemed to be with Adora and Glimmer.

Smiling to herself, Catra walked back inside. New energies took over her body. Confidence. Sureness. Certainty. Now, Glimmer would finally learn the price of being friends with Adora. Their friendship would fall apart, proving that Catra’s failed relationship with Adora was not her fault. Adora and Glimmer would finally know what it’s like to lose trust in the one person you thought you could always count on. And little did they know that it was Flutterina, the Horde’s spy, snipping the thread that held Adora and Glimmer together.

Catra couldn’t wait to watch them fall apart.

—

S04E06 Princess Scorpia

I’m so close. If I can pull this off, everything, everything, will have been worth it.

As Catra stormed away from Scorpia, her own words played in her mind on repeat. Usually, she wouldn’t say something that revealing to anyone, but Catra was in a bigger frenzy than usual. She couldn’t help but think out loud.

It wasn’t like Scorpia would say anything about it. Once Catra made it clear that they were not friends, Scorpia didn’t question her as much. It was a massive relief to Catra, who couldn’t focus on anything but taking down The Rebellion once and for all.

But Catra couldn’t help but ponder on what “everything” meant. Now that she was alone, in a safe spot where people were unlikely to reach her, she could think about it for a few minutes.

“Everything” started with the decisions Catra made since Adora left, starting with choosing to stay with the Horde in the first place. But soon, “everything” spiraled out of control. Catra stopped making excuses for her actions. After all, what was the point? Every time she told herself that this would be the last time she did something awful, another opportunity would come around. Next thing Catra knew, she was electrocuting Entrapta and shipping her off to Beast Island.

Not that Catra regretted that choice. She didn’t. She couldn’t, because regretting her actions meant acknowledging that they were mistakes. However, if Catra managed to succeed, then nothing would matter. Enabling Shadow Weaver’s torture of Glimmer, destroying civilian villages, abusing Scorpia, Entrapta, even Hordak, for heaven’s sake. It would have all been worth it.

Sure, Catra was emotionally reckless—she set off an entire alternate reality, and their world almost collapsed so that she could win. But no one else understood—winning was everything to Catra. It was all she had left. Everyone had left her in one form another.

Catra stopped reasoning with herself after everyone returned from the portal. She did whatever she felt was necessary to get what she wanted. No more justification, no more excuses. Catra was done being a pathetic excuse for a person. So, she secretly infiltrated The Rebellion, thanks to Double Trouble. She treated everyone worse than dirt, an incredible feat for her considering she already wasn’t treating her peers very well. Catra would cause ample destruction, and everything would blow up in The Rebellion’s face—in Adora’s face.

As usual, it all came back to Adora. Every choice Catra made since Adora left the Horde was to prove to her former best friend that she made the wrong decision when she chose the princesses over their relationship. It was the ultimate payback. Once the Horde finally succeeded in taking over Etheria, Adora would see that her fatal mistake was leaving and underestimating Catra.

Everything would be worth it, Catra reassured herself. All the pain, destruction, manipulation—everything Catra had caused would be worth it. It had to be because if it wasn’t, Catra lost everything she ever loved for nothing.

* * *

“You’re a bad friend.”

Catra stared in shock as Scorpia walked away. For the first time ever, Scorpia didn’t even hesitate to look back. She kept walking, becoming smaller and smaller until she turned the corner and disappeared completely. Catra didn’t know what to expect from Scorpia after yelling at her, but it certainly wasn’t that.

It was a few hours after Catra sent Scorpia to find Entrapta’s recordings, and while Scorpia did find them, she “accidentally” broke them. Now, Catra didn’t have a choice but to take whatever contraption Scorpia gave her and bring it to Hordak. But Catra swore to herself that no matter what his reaction would be, this wouldn’t get in the way of the plan’s execution. The Horde would conquer Etheria, the Rebellion would fall, and when Horde Prime finally showed up, Catra would be praised and placed in high rank among the Horde’s soldiers. Maybe she’ll even earn a position higher than Hordak.

So, maybe Scorpia’s words made Catra’s heart twinge just a little bit, but it was probably out of surprise, more than anything. Besides, Catra wasn’t heartbroken. She didn’t care if Scorpia thought she was a lousy friend. Scorpia would get over Catra’s outburst like she always did, and then everything would go back to normal. And how could Catra be a bad friend if she didn’t have any, to begin with?

Catra picked up the recording she threw a few minutes before. She stared at it for a few moments, collecting herself before going to meet with Hordak. Screw Scorpia. Catra never needed anyone, and certainly not some clumsy, happy-go-lucky scorpion who just sat around singing cheesy campfire songs. Catra was always better off alone; she knew that by now. Besides, Scorpia was still a princess. She would always be one, even if her parents swore loyalty to the Horde. Of course, Scorpia was useless; it was in her blood. So, Catra smoothed out her hair and went to see Hordak in his lab.

When Catra walked in, Hordak immediately perked up. “The recordings!” He desperately cried.

Catra had a split second to make a decision, and she did. She hid the tech behind her back. “Entrapta must have taken them with her before leaving.” She turned to look at Hordak. “There’s nothing.”

Hordak screamed in frustration, throwing pieces of debris in the air. “I gave you an order,” he grunted.

“Get. Over. It. You don’t need Entrapta, you never did. You don’t need a princess in your life telling you what to do. Look at what you’ve done without her! You built an army. An empire. You and me… we don’t need anyone. Forget them all! No one matters; nothing matters but this mission! You want to prove yourself? Prove your worth? Then do it. You and I are going to conquer Etheria and then, and then, they’ll all see!” Catra finished her rant, breathing heavily, rage bubbling under her skin.

“Oh, of course! Yes. We will prevail. Give me another day, and I will be ready.”

“Does that mean… I can give the command?” Catra asked, cautiously.

“It is time.”

Catra grinned at Hordak, satisfied with their conversation. They were on the brink of victory. By this time next week, Catra would be sitting on Bright Moon’s throne, ruling Etheria. Maybe even Horde Prime will have landed on their planet by then. And she’ll have done it all, without Entrapta, without Scorpia, and definitely without Adora.

So, just like every heartache before, Scorpia faded to background music in her mind.

—

S04E08 Boys Night Out

Catra needed a break from winning.

That’s something she never thought she’d say, but everything changed once the tide started turning toward the Horde. Catra knew there was only one person who she wanted to talk to at that moment.

“Force Captain Scorpia, come in. Aw man, even when he’s winning, Hordak is annoying. Now, he suddenly loves fighting, and I’m getting stuck with whatever he deems necessary. Ugh. Never thought I’d miss shut-in Hordak. Meet me at the sea gate; I wanna take a break anyway.”

Catra turned off her radio and began making her way towards the sea gate. Now that Etheria finally belonged to the Horde, maybe she’d use the sea gate as her comfort zone, a place where she could feel safe.

Once Catra reached the gate, she climbed its walls until she was reasonably close to the top and sat down. She waited a bit, but after several minutes of radio silence, Catra reached out to Scorpia again. “Hey, Scorpia, where are you? It’s not like you to be late.”

Again, a few beats of silence passed. Catra curled herself into a sitting fetal position. Maybe, for once in her life, she should try being honest. “Listen, I’ll kill you if you tell anyone this, but… I thought winning would be… different. Or at least, more… I don’t know, fun?”

Catra heard nothing but static coming through her communication piece. She was starting to get annoyed. “Come on; you’re not still mad about before, are you? Stop being so sensitive, get over it, and talk to me, Scorpia! Scorpia?  Scorpia?!”

Okay, now, Catra was officially worried. It was so unlike Scorpia to ignore her, especially considering that Catra was her commander. Didn’t Scorpia have any respect?! Catra didn’t have to tell her anything she just said, but she did, anyway.

Catra leaped from the top of the sea gate and hurried back to Horde headquarters, desperately praying that Scorpia had just turned off her means of communication and was alone in her room.

Catra was out of breath by the time she made it back to Scorpia’s room in the Fright Zone. “Scorpia!” She exclaimed but was shocked to see a painstakingly neat place. Almost like… nobody was there. “Scorpia?” Catra asked, more hesitantly, afraid of what she would find.

Suddenly, she heard her own voice talking back to her. Catra looked down to find Scorpia’s ripped armor with her radio signal going off. Catra also noticed a folded piece of paper that sat on top of the machinery. She picked up the paper and unfolded it, finding a letter from Scorpia.

As Catra read, she gasped, not daring to believe Scorpia… left. It never occurred to Catra that Scorpia would ever do something like that, especially behind her back. How dare she?! Especially after Scorpia knew how much Adora’s desertion hurt Catra. It wasn’t like Scorpia to pull something like this.

Just then, it occurred to Catra that when she said that winning wasn’t what she thought it would be, she was talking to the empty air. She admitted a piece of information she refused to acknowledge—ruling Etheria meant nothing to her if she had nobody to share it with. Catra always imagined it would be Adora, and she knew that Scorpia would never be Adora, but Catra wouldn’t be alone, at least.

And that’s when it hit Catra—she always claimed she didn’t want friends, didn’t need friends, and that she was just better off without anyone. But now that Catra finally won, all she wanted was a friend. Adora was long gone, but Scorpia was always there for her, no matter how mean Catra could be.

Well, even Scorpia had her limits.

Now everyone was gone. Scorpia left, just like Adora did, just like anyone Catra ever cared about did. And as usual, Catra was alone, vulnerable, and in the hands of the Horde. Everything she held clutter to the floor as she stared at the ground, feeling utterly numb inside.

—

S04E10 Fractures

Shift screen. Shift screen.

That was all Catra has been doing for the last few days, desperately searching for Scorpia through the Horde’s camera system, hoping to spot her so Catra could bring her back. But so far, it proved to be useless.

Suddenly, she heard a laugh in the distance. Catra didn’t think and knocked down a layer of the defense walls she built around her heart. “Scorpia? I knew you’d come.”

Once she realized that she was just talking to open space, Catra groaned in frustration. She approached the window and looked down to find scattered Horde soldiers talking amongst themselves. In another lifetime, she probably would have been down there with Adora. Possibly with Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio, too. But Catra wasn’t because she was their commander, so all of these soldiers were probably just standing around and laughing at her soul chipping away, turning into debris.

Just then, the Horde trio re-entered the outpost. Catra immediately went to confront them. She hissed her way past random soldiers, determined to make her presence known.

“Okay, no. There’s no way we’re working a fourth—”

But Catra wasn’t interested. She grabbed Lonnie’s arm and yanked her away from the group, dragging her to the communications room.

Catra finally released her grip on Lonnie, throwing her against a panel. “What are they saying?!”

“What? Who?”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t know. Are they laughing at me?!”

Lonnie gave Catra a curious look, and Catra was sure Lonnie thought that she had officially lost her mind. Well, maybe she had. “Mostly, people are just tired. I think if you let them sleep, everything will be fine.”

Catra had begun walking away from Lonnie but stopped once Lonnie suggested that things could turn around and be okay. “Everything isn’t fine! Scorpia would be here if everything was fine!”

As soon as she said that, Catra realized she had just put herself in a vulnerable position. She immediately turned back to face Lonnie and growled at her. Lonnie gasped in fear, which made Catra realize how utterly ridiculous this all was. Confessing how much she missed Scorpia to Lonnie of all people? Was Lonnie all Catra had left? Did everything come down to this? Catra couldn’t help but burst into laughter. Everything about this situation was just so bizarre, and she was so worn down and so broken that she couldn’t react in any other way. “Just leave. Like everybody else.”

Lonnie stared at Catra, bewildered by her behavior. Catra couldn’t take being around anyone else, for the time being, so she screamed. “GO!”

Once Lonnie was gone, she picked up a communication tablet and tried to reach Double Trouble. However, Catra was in an extremely volatile state, so before Double Trouble could even answer the signal, Catra accidentally crushed the communicator. She threw the tablet to the ground, watching it shatter to pieces.

Double Trouble was Catra’s absolute last resort. With them not answering, Catra was truly alone now.

* * *

Later that evening, Catra’s erratic condition hadn’t changed. She hadn’t slept in days. Scorpia was nowhere to be found. The Horde kept gaining ground in Etheria. Life continued to move, but Catra was unable to.

Eventually, it was time to check in with Hordak. Once she got on the line with him, he immediately began updating her on the newly gained territory. “I’ve taken the last of the coastal towns. What is the status in the Woods?”

Without missing a beat, Catra replied. “Our raiding parties have crushed the villages near our current outpost. Tomorrow, we move farther inland. Everything is under control.” God, she sounded so rehearsed, it was as if she had practiced for hours for some petty recital. But Catra was already used to it. Pretending wasn’t hard anymore; it was second nature for her. Truthfully, Catra died the day Adora left, and whoever was left was simply a shadow of the person she used to be.

“Excellent. Etheria will be ours yet.”

Hordak hung up, and Catra let her headpiece clatter to the ground. Any moment now, the dam inside her would break. She was alone in her surroundings. Nobody was communicating with her. If Catra needed a good cry, just to see if it would make her feel even a little better, now was the time.

So that’s what she did. Catra slid to her knees and burst into tears, opening the emotional floodgates inside of her. There was so much she was crying for by that point; it was practically a week’s worth laundry list. Adora. Scorpia. Entrapta. Adora. Shadow Weaver. Sparkles, Glimmer, whatever her name was. And Adora, Adora, Adora.

Catra had finally won; she had gotten everything she wanted. And yet, she had never felt emptier than she did at that moment. How could she feel anything inside when she was still alone, despite being at the top? Here Catra was, having reached the peak of the mountain she’s been climbing for the last couple of years, but it was nothing like she imagined it would be. Truthfully, a part of her knew that it could never measure up to what she wanted—ruling Etheria with Adora. But if she were given a chance to love Adora, and to be loved in return, could she give it all up?

Catra knew the answer to that question. And so, she continued to sob, finally letting her most vulnerable emotions slip through the cracks of her hollow soul.

—

S04E12 Destiny Part 1

Catra splashed water on her face and took a few moments to collect herself. Today was a brand new day. Scorpia was gone, and Double Trouble wasn’t around, but everything was fine. Okay, maybe she had a hysterical breakdown the other day, but so far, pretending like it never happened was working for her. Today was going to be a good day; she’d make sure of that.

Catra looked in the mirror and smoothed down her hair. She turned and began walking away from the sink, but stopped when she saw Scorpia’s abandoned locker.

Catra gasped. She forgot that almost everywhere she went, there were traces of Scorpia. Of course, Catra had stopped looking for Scorpia, but seeing her locker entirely intact, with doodles of the Super Pal Trio, just really hurt. Catra bowed her head, darkness overwhelming her once again.

Just then, Catra heard laughter, and the Horde Trio walked in the locker room. “Sorry, we didn’t know you were in here. We’ll just come back later.”

“Wait!” Catra exclaimed. Now that she had their attention, she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t have anything to say to people she’s known her whole life but seemed like strangers to her. So instead, she asked, “What’s the report from the field?”

“We just got back from conquering another rebel town. The third one this week! So, you’re welcome.”

“Aw, you should have seen us! I was all…” Kyle began animatedly explaining what happened, so Catra tuned out his voice. She wasn’t interested. But then, Kyle kicked Scorpia’s locker, ripping the corner from one of Scorpia’s doodles.

“Watch it!”

Kyle ran in fear behind Lonnie and Rogelio. Lonnie spoke up. “Calm down, Catra! It’s not like Scorpia needs it anymore.”

“You… don’t get to talk to me like that. I’m your commander! Got it?”

“What is wrong with you? We’re winning! Even you should be happy.”

How dare Lonnie speak to her like that! Catra may have been on the brink of insanity, but nobody had the right to imply that she wasn’t okay. “Happy?” Catra slammed Lonnie into the locker, seething with hot rage. “I’ll be happy when The Rebellion and She-Ra are gone for good. But that’s never going to happen with the three of you goofing off all the time. You are pathetic!”

In a way, Catra didn’t lie. She didn’t want Adora to die, but Adora discovering her She-Ra persona only jeopardized their friendship, effectively putting an end to it. Without She-Ra, Adora and Catra might still be best friends, taking on the world together. Like it was always meant to be.

Lonnie pushed Catra away, refusing to take any more of her bullshit. Catra only responded with the threat of her claws. She was ready to strike, but suddenly, Kyle jumped in the way.

“Stay away from her! We used to be your friends. Why are you treating us like this?”

Catra didn’t know what to say to that. Sure, they were friends once, a long time ago, but things have changed now. The last time they were friends, Adora was there. The last time they were friends, Catra undoubtedly loved Adora. But Catra didn’t have any friends for a long time. Scorpia was there, but Catra didn’t consider her a friend until it was too late.

For a moment, Catra let her guard down, as the only thing she could think of was the fact that the last time she was friends with Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio was when Adora was there, too. When Catra and Adora were on the same side. But those days were long gone, and despite what she had realized when she sobbed her guts out the other day, Catra was still desperate to pretend like it never happened.

Catra’s face hardened. “Get out!” She panted heavily, refusing to move from her spot until the Horde Trio were safely gone. Then, she turned back to Scorpia’s old locker, ripping the drawings away and leaning her head against it. After acknowledging everything she had in the last few days, and after almost blowing her cover in front of Lonnie, Kyle, and Rogelio, she was too exhausted to do anything else.

—

S04E13 Destiny Part 2

“You know, it took me a while, but I finally figured out your character.”

Catra was still reeling from Double Trouble pretending to be Adora. She couldn’t register what they were saying, so she remained frozen, allowing Double Trouble to continue talking.

“You try so hard to play the big, bad villain. But your heart’s never been in it, has it?”

Catra couldn’t believe what they were saying. For Double Trouble to decode Catra was one thing, but to do it while pretending to be her? Catra was pretty sure her brain had just stopped working altogether. “What…? What are you? Stop! Stop it!”

Catra tried to scratch at Double Trouble, but it was no use. Both of them were in the same body. Double Trouble ducked out of the way and grabbed Catra’s arm, forcing her to look at them. “People have hurt you, haven’t they? They didn’t believe in you. They didn’t trust you. Didn’t need you. Left you.”

Double Trouble shapeshifted into Adora and used Catra’s hand to cradle their face. Catra was so stunned by everything that was happening. It was all too much for her, and she felt so helpless in their grip.

Double Trouble pushed Catra to the ground. “But did you ever stop to think, maybe they’re not the problem? It’s you. You drive them away, wildcat.”

Double Trouble shifted into Scorpia, and Catra had never felt so small in her life. She looked up at them, wishing more than anything that she was looking at Scorpia, but Catra knew it wasn’t her.  “Why are you doing this?”

“It’s for your own good, darling. We both know this was never what you really wanted. But, it was also a good distraction. Your army was ambushed on their way to defenseless Bright Moon. Your face right now is almost better than applause. Almost.”

Each new reveal hit Catra more personally than the last one did. She never expected Double Trouble of all people to leave her for The Rebellion. “You… betrayed me.”

“It’s not personal, darling, you knew how this worked. The best way to survive is always choose the winning side. The Rebels have some kind of ancient superweapon. Any minute now they’re going to use it, and when they do… everything you’ve worked for will be destroyed.”

Catra stared in disbelief. Double Trouble just didn’t stop talking. They kept hitting Catra, where it hurt the most. “I’d really better be going before that happens! And… scene.”

Double Trouble finally left Catra among the wreckage of the Fright Zone. She stared at their receding figure, completely shattered. Everything was for nothing. The only thing that happened was Double Trouble betrayed her for the princesses, and they exposed the deepest, darkest parts of herself that she had barely acknowledged. Even thinking of Double Trouble’s words managed to crush her heart even more.

The worst part was, it was all true. That’s why Catra felt the way she did. Everything led up to this moment—the inevitability that she was always the problem. No wonder they all left. Double Trouble, Scorpia, Shadow Weaver. Even Adora left, and how could she not?

We both know this was never what you really wanted. Double Trouble’s words echoed in Catra’s mind as she fully accepted them. Catra knew what she really wanted, but it was always impossible. How could anybody even love Catra? Even if Adora hadn’t left, it was ridiculous of Catra to even think for a split second that her former best friend would ever love her back. And now, Catra was far beyond redemption. She was too broken to be fixed. Her plan with Hordak completely backfired, so there was nothing left for her now.

She lost. And as always, she was alone.

Catra sat there for ages, waiting for something to happen. Whether this ancient superweapon would destroy her, or maybe Adora would do it herself, Catra didn’t know. She just knew it was inevitable.

Suddenly, Glimmer teleported into the destroyed Fright Zone. Catra had been quietly crying for the last several minutes, but once Glimmer arrived, the princess immediately heard her. Glimmer turned to Catra and pointed a magical weapon. “Guess you wanted all my attention for yourself. Your troops are gone. You’re all alone, you’ve lost.”

Please, tell Catra something that she didn’t know for once. “What are you waiting for? Do it.”

Glimmer was wholly taken aback by Catra’s reaction. It was so unlike her to just give up and not fight back, but Glimmer didn’t know that Catra had already fought back as hard as possible. You could only fight for so long before you’re bruised and beaten down to the point of paralyzation. And now, Catra sat there, unable to move.

We both know this was never what you really wanted. Catra heard Double Trouble’s words once more.

“Looks like we’re both alone, Sparkles.”

[jadewritings]

Love Letters To My Professor - The Day We Met

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x reader

WORD COUNT: 2k

WARNINGS: Language, dirty thoughts

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This has been in the works for a while and I'm really proud of what I have so far! But I want you all to head the warnings, things will get dark. The summary and everything may make it seem like it's all happy and innocent but I'm a sucker for angst so I'm letting you know it will be dark and there will be warnings for each chapter. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!

You sighed. It was the first day of actual college. You'd prepared so much over the break and yet, it seemed as though you weren't prepared at all. Of course, it was a bit easier now that you didn't have to worry about paying tuition fees. Your last year of high school guaranteed that with a full ride scholarship from your athletic team.

For the past 5 years you found a love for soccer. It gave you a way to release your energy and also stay healthy. You weren't a confident person by far but soccer helped with it. Switching from high school soccer to college soccer was definitely new. The game was the same but the people, the coaches, everything else.

You made your way to the first class of the day, finding it easy after a nice girl named Genevieve showed you around. It was her second year in college so she was still fairly new to the feeling of being lost and confused on such a huge campus. You showed her your schedule and she lead you to your classes. First class of the day, mythology. It wasn't a class you had to take but it was one you were interested in so you said why not and chose it as one of your extracurriculars.

The huge whiteboard at the front of the room had the words Mr. Winchester scrawled on it in cursive handwriting. Hm. Not bad. You grabbed your bag and searched for your notebook when the professor finally arrived.

"Good morning students!" His voice was loud and cheerful, like he liked what he did for a living. Even though it was the beginning of the year, all you could hear was a grumble of hello's and "sup"s from the students. Guess you were the only one who may have been excited about learning anything from this class.

"Aw come on y'all can do better than that! I'm here to make this class fun, not as boring as you think it'll be." He smiled, scanning the room, looking at the gloomy faces of his students. Until he caught your face in the crowd. Not too excited but interested enough not to seem like you didn't want to be there.

You noticed his gaze stopped on you and he stopped speaking. Your eyes widened slightly and your face began to burn as it heated up, no doubt, the blood rushing to your head. You cast your gaze down at your notebook when you heard him clear his throat and continue.

"Since it's only the first day I'll give you the syllabus for the class. I'd like you to take a look over it to get familiar with what will be going on  throughout the first semester." As he said this he walked to the left side of his desk, taking out a big stack of yellow paper. He brought it over to one side of the room and let the student take one and pass it on.

You took one when it reached you, passing it on to the next person and scanned over the black letters. The first few weeks would be notes about different creatures and a few assignments to research them.  At the end of the semester, there would be a group project and the groups had to be at least 4 or more people.

It didn't sound too bad. You actually liked taking notes especially on stuff like this. You were one of those who had different colored pens or markers for each section. Organized and easy to follow.

Your gaze returned to the professor, he was reading from the syllabus making sure everyone knew what his rules were and explains in more detail what was expected from this semester.

You weren't listening though. You were too busy scanning his body and features. His brown locks fell to his shoulders. You had a feeling he didn't want to cut his hair any shorter. You imagined what it would feel like to run your hands through it. Soft probably. He looked like he took better care of his hair than most girls you've met.

He didn't dress like most of the teachers here though. Most would be in a suit or something but he wore layers. Button up green flannel on top of a black t-shirt that gripped all the right muscles underneath and a pair of baggy jeans that fell just above his ankles. Too short the long ness of his legs. He was quite tall, he practically would tower over you.

You were mesmerized by the pale pink of his lips as he spoke. His tongue darted out along his bottom lip, giving a renewed moisture to the dryness. It made you subconsciously lick your own lips. Man what he could do with that tongue—

Wait, no Y/N! Stop that, he's your teacher! Teacher and student relationships were probably frowned upon. But who cared? You weren't underage and certainly weren't too innocent to consider it.

The bell, signaling the end of the class, caught you off guard. You scrambled to put away your notebook and shoved the syllabus inside it before you tossed it in your bag.

All of the other students were already out of the door so you were the last person in the room other than him. You were about to exit before you stopped at the sound of your name.

"Miss Y/L/N. Would you come here please? I'd like a moment to speak to you." He said, his voice was low and gruff and it sent shivers to your core.

You turned, slight fear that he would yell at you for not really listening during class. Instead, daydreaming. On the first day no less. You walked over to where he sat at his desk, playing nervously with the strap of your bag that hung on your shoulder.

"Y-Yes, Mr. Winchester?" You stuttered. You cursed yourself for being so shy like this. He was just your teacher. A very gorgeous, hunk of a teacher. But that was besides the point.

"Please, call me Sam. After all, you and I will be spending a lot more time together." He smirked and you blushed.

"W-We are?" You asked, trying to hide your face by looking at your shoes. This was very forward of him. You'd only just met why was he coming on to you so suddenly?

"Of course. You play on the soccer team. I'm the head coach." He smiles and your heart sank, a tad disappointed. But why? You'd only just met the guy. "I'm very impressed. I looked at your transcripts and saw that you got a full ride scholarship because of your work on your high school soccer team."

You looked up into his hazel eyes. There were specks of brown and green scattered around the blue. They lulled you in and you took in a sharp breath at the intensity that they held.

"Oh." You said but it was more of a release of air. "I didn't realize you were the head coach."

"Yeah. I was just about to head out to the field. We can go together since you have that next." He said, gathering his keys he'd set on his desk and stuffed his phone in his pocket.

"How do you know that's what I had next?" You eyed him suspiciously.

He turned to look at you, noticing your expression, he laughed. "I know all of my players schedules. I also keep up with their grades to make sure they are able to stay on the team. Nothing weird, I promise."

You nodded your head, suddenly embarrassed that you had practically accused him of being a stalker. Of course the coach knew his players schedules. It made sense. You'd only have mythology class and history class today but you were supposed to go set up things with the team in between before lunch.

He started out of the door and you rushed to meet up with him. His long legs took larger steps than your short ones could. He noticed your struggle to keep up and slowed his pace.

"So... you're the coach and a teacher. Anything else you might want to add to your resume?" You asked, trying to make small talk on the walk to the field.

He chuckled, "Nope. Just those two. Probably couldn't handle much more between all the practices and games and grading papers."

You nodded silently, not sure what to say next. The conversation had gone stalemate. But luckily the field wasn't too far and you already saw a group of girls crowding around what you assumed was the assistant coach.

He was just as much of a hunk as Sam was. He smiled at each of the girls, his emerald eyes sending flirtatious looks at the ones he deemed a fun time. Weird, he kind of looked like Sam. His dirty blond, almost brown hair stood in short spikes, completely different from Sam's.

His eyes landed on you just as Sam had called out to him. He looked you up and down before licking his lips. Man, what is with this guy?

"Dean, this is Y/N. She's another player on the team. Y/N, this is my brother, Dean. The assistant coach for the team." Sam introduced you.

"Ah. The full ride kid. It's a pleasure." His smile changed to a genuine one, no hint of flirty ness. His hand reached out and you took it, giving it a firm grip. Your father had once said that a firm handshake meant you meant business.

His hand held on for a lingering second. You snatched your hand away but slow enough to not seem like you were uncomfortable. He was cute, you couldn't lie. And if he wasn't your coach then you may have invited him back to your dorm but that wasn't the case. You didn't come to college to get laid, you came to get a degree and make it in the sports world. You weren't about to ruin that with a frowned upon hook up. From either of your coaches.

"Pleasures all mine." You said lowly. You turned to the group of girls. Some of them were staring. You weren't sure if it was out of envy at the attention from both the hot coaches or jealousy. You heard a shriek and then fell to the ground, someone on top of you.

The air rushed out of your lungs and you grunted hitting the ground. You looked up shocked and on edge but then you saw the familiar long brown curly locks of hair and brown eyes. Genevieve.

"Damn girl. I didn't realize you were on the team." You huffed out as she stood and held a hand out to help you up.

She smirked, "You never asked."

You both chuckled, "This just means we get to spend more time together." She stated matter of factly.

A clear of their throat turned your attention back to your two coaches. Shock evident in their expressions but it quickly turned to getting down to business.

You and Gen walked over to the rest of the girls and waiting for them to speak.

Sam spoke first, "Alright ladies. Today we are just going to get to know each other and get uniforms situated, along with lockers and such. This is going to be a wild season and I have a feeling we'll do the best we can."

You didn't know how good the other girls were but one thing was for sure, you were going to work your ass off to be the best.

-Part 2-

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[embcldens]

。· . ˙ ☀ ⌈ addison rae + cis female + she/her ⌋ yo , have you meet that POGUE , finley bauer , yet ? — no ? well , to give you a little heads up before you do , they’re a TWENTY year old , ZOOLOGY COLLEGE STUDENT & N.E.S.T VOLUNTEER , and have been living in coston for EIGHT YEARS . since i’ve known them , they’ve reminded me of FRECKLES DUSTED ACROSS THE BRIDGE OF YOUR SUNKISSED NOSE , TOUSLED SEA SALT HAIR , A BRIGHT SMILE ETCHED ACROSS YOUR LIPS THAT COULD GIVE THE SUN A RUN FOR ITS MONEY , BEFRIENDING EVERY ANIMAL YOU COME ACROSS , NIGHTS SPENT UNDERNEATH THE CLEAR STAR FILLED SKY & THE SUNS WARMTH AGAINST YOUR SKIN . usually they’re quite EFFLUGENT & DRIVEN but just make sure you keep an eye out for them around town because i heard can be quite CRITICAL & FERVID as well so here’s hoping they aren’t the ones to undo this whole peace pact they have going on this summer . but just between you & me , i kinda hope it all falls apart . the rivalry keeps this whole boring town interesting .

hello , hello , hello !! i’m bronny ( the admin ) , i’m 23 , i’m from new zealand & to say that i’m excited about opening this place back up again & being able to write my lil sunshine girl finley again would be an UNDERSTATMENT !!!  i won’t ramble on about me though bc this intro turned out far longer than i meant it to ( is anyone surprise ? no ... just like finley i too ramble on forever for 0 reason ) so without further ado ... here is finley raegan bauer !!

LINKS

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about / stats

BACKGROUND

from the moment finley bauer was born , animals have been at the epicentre of her life . you see , finley bauer was born on march 25th 2000 in durban , south africa to charlotte and ragnar bauer . both of who have dedicated their lives to researching , rehabilitating & preserving the wildlife of africa . charlotte bauer worked for a rehabilitation centre for turtles & ragnar bauer worked as a ranger in kruger national park . so it was no surprise that finley followed in both of their footsteps when it came to their love of animals . animals to finley , no matter how big or small , were ( and still are ) the most special and precious creatures in the world and should be looked after no matter what . it was the first thing she ever really understood and the first thing her parents taught her .

throughout her childhood , finley lived a life many may have envied for one reason or another . for the most part , she had lived with her mother in st lucia where she spent the majority of her free time with her mother at the turtle sanctuary she worked at learning and helping in any way she could . but once the school holidays rolled around … finley traveled the 5 hour journey up to kruger national park to spend the weeks with her father . those , if she was being honest , were her favourite moments of all time . she was only quite young but her father allowed her to not only go on tour after tour with him but she was even allowed to witness some of the most heart warming scenes of the rehabilitation of many animals that had been injured by poachers . it was moments like that , that really cemented in her from an early age about what she wanted to do in life . all she wanted was to be able to help animals in the way her parents did and there was nothing that was going to stop her and becoming a wildlife vet was exactly how she was going to do it .

but at the age of twelve , finley’s life was moved half way across the world due to her mother getting a new job — one in her home town of coston , north carolina . if finley had it her way , she would have stayed with her dad . moving from sous africa , her home , was the last thing she wanted to do but both her parents agreed that kruger national park wasn’t the best place to raise a child so finley swapped her life in south africa for one in coston , north carolina in the united states .

it was an adjustment to say the least . moving to a new town was hard enough to begin with but throw in a small town where everybody knows everybody & a slightly odd pre-teen with a different accent and it makes it even harder . but finley tried to make the best out of a not so great situation , after all if there was one thing that finley bauer was it was adaptable . her parents always thought she was one of the most laidback energetic kids they’d ever known . she had that seemed to last for hours on end and was open to just about anything in the world — something of which they said was a blessing and a curse because adaptable may be something finley is but trouble would have to be the word that describes her perfectly . no matter what , trouble seemed to find her and she seemed to find trouble . which may have been one reason why it wasn’t all that long before finley fell in step with the pogues like she’d been there from the beginning . south africa may always be home to finley but coston quickly became one of her favourite places in the world once she started to settle in .

not much changed throughout her teen years . she was still getting up to mischief , still exploring the world around her and most importantly , still working towards becoming a wildlife vet . not once did the promise she made to her father when she was only 6 years old waiver . it was just about the only thing she took deadly serious in her life . between studying and signing herself up for beach cleans , volunteering for N.E.S.T every year when it came to laying and hatching season , advocating for not only animal rights but human rights as well , it was any wonder that she did find time to be dragged into pogue shenanigans . but somehow she did because the pogues quickly became like a second family to her . she would do anything for any one of them .

which was why once college came around finley found it so hard to leave . she’d thought leaving south africa was hard , but leaving coston and the pogues behind for college ? she had never remembered crying so hard . all she could do was remind herself that this was what she wanted . she wanted to go to college . she wanted to study zoology so she could get into veterinary school . because without it , her dream of helping save wildlife would never come true . plus , it wasn’t like she’d never see them again . she’d only applied for a college on the main land that had an outstanding reputation in science fields , which meant her friends and mum were only a ferry ride away from her if she ever got homesick . it was almost like she’d never left .

PERSONALITY & EXTRAS

a pogue but could also cross over into kook territory if she REALLY wanted to , but this just in : she doesn’t want to . she , her mum and her mum’s boyfriend who’s been living with them for the past 6 years all live on the outskirts of town in a nice little comfortable 2 story home . the bauer family is nowhere near struggling but they’re nowhere near able to live in figure 8 .

a literal ball of energy . has a hard time keeping still . you’ll catch her leg bouncing if she sits for longer than 5 minutes but it’s fine !! give her a little prod and she’ll give you a lil sheepish smile before quitting it …… until about 3 seconds later

v bubbly v friendly . will talk to just about anyone if they don’t give off dodgy vibes . basically just a lil ray of sunshine .

one of the most laidback people you’ll meet . planning isn’t really her thing , she’s a go with the flow kinda gal !! has been caught saying , it’ll be right far too many times in her life even when things have in fact not been right in the end .

will give just about anything a go . believes that an oops is better than a what if . which is exactly why she’s gotten in trouble more times than anyone can count .

loyal to a fault !! will have the back of anyone she loves till she dies . once you have finley on your side , there’s no getting rid of her . she’d kill for the people she loved .

i say she’d kill for the people she loved …. but she really is more on the pacifistic side of things . but at the end of the day , she would fight someone if that was the only thing left to do . she’s kind up to a point . she’s friendly up to a point . she’s helpful up to a point . she’s no doormat that people can walk over .

not that one may ever think that finley bauer was a doormat . because she ? she can be loud ! she can make her opinion heard ! if she doesn’t like something , she’ll say it outright . she can have a real mouth on her .

you’d think she’d be vegan but …. no . the only thing she doesn’t eat is red meat but everything else ? she calls it her personal downfall . but she does try to keep her meat intake down to a minimum . she just has a weakness for seafood okay , no one is more sorry than her . she’ll only eat it if it’s sustainably sourced though so that’s 1 thing

wears a necklace 24/7 that has an elephant pendant that she got from her father for her 10th birthday .

has a big cats paw print ribcage tattoo on her left side ( this position but ... a paw print )

judges people on how they treat animals and how animals react to them . she will immediately distrust you if you don’t like animals .

has an australian shepherd called rafi aka rafiki  ( originally was named scout but she wasn’t having that ) when he was only 2 and she 15

wants to eventually specialise in big cats ( lions , cheetahs , etc. ) or elephants but she has MANY years to figure that out

will watch every nature / wildlife documentary in the world even though she knows they’ll make her cry like a little baby 

is fluent in afrikaans but since limited people in the world actually speak it she .... only sometimes speaks it with her family  

has a south african accent ( example )

CONNECTIONS

to keep this from being any longer , you can find my wanted connections page here & my wanted connections tag here !!

alrighty , that’s it !! if you made it all the way through that ... you’re a real one bc PHEW it got long . i cannot wait to get to plotting with you all so pls , if anything catches your eye and you wanna plot ? just hit that lil heart & i’ll come crawling otherwise just slide on into my dms on here or on discord ( which i kind prefer if we’re being honest here ) !!

[bisexualstokes-archive]

Innocence is Gone (1/?)

Chapter (1/?): Twilight Visions Rating: Teen+ (For: Language, Graphics Depictions of Violence) Pairings: Nick Stokes/Greg Sanders (also gen friendship with rest of the team) Summary: When Greg is abducted at a club by a group of vengeful youth who were part of the group that beat him up in Fannysmackin', it's a race against the clock to find Greg before the final blow is struck on him, and Nick admits some feelings he had tried to keep a secret, but some things can't stay underneath the surface. Nick/Greg, set in late season 7. Chapter Notes: oh boy...here we go, lads. My first whump fic in which Nick isn't the victim (but don't worry, he's not without his own suffering in this fic) (tw for a slur thrown at the end of ch. 1, by some ignorant youth.)

Read it on A03

Dusk was always Greg’s favorite time of day. While the bright, yellow sun against the clear blue sky brought a certain warmth and joy, there was a certain comfort, in the twilight hues that filled the sky as the stars began to appear on the multi-colored canvas. There was an awe-inspiring beauty, one that can only be found in this small time window, during a time of day in which he’s normally getting ready for work.

He’s grateful, for a night like tonight, in which he doesn’t have to go into work. A night all to himself, to do whatever he pleased, to fully experience this short window of time that he normally doesn’t get to look at.

“Something on your mind, G? You’re never this quiet.”

And what pleased him the most, was spending time with Nick Stokes.

“Nana Olaf called me this morning,” Greg said, staring at the vast desert landscape as they drove down the never-ending road. A crumpled paper was on his lap, the only direction they had on their excursion on this day.

“Oh yeah? How’s she doing?”

“Told me she had a terrible dream--well, not just a dream, a vision. Said it was about me.”

“Really? What’d she see?”

The corners of Greg’s mouth twisted up, he lowered his head. He knew Nick wouldn’t believe it--didn’t believe in that sort of stuff, or at least, he didn’t think so. But Nick seemed to have become a bit more open-minded since Greg’s met him, all those years ago. He knew it was stupid, to think telling Nick about something like this would be so...embarrassing, or maybe to think that Nick was just humoring him, instead of actually caring. He knew Nick cared about him, and the things he had to say, even when he was rambling about nothing in particular.

Greg let out a short, nervous chuckle.

“She didn’t say, actually...but she did tell me, not to go out tonight.”

Nick’s eyes widened, and then his eyebrows narrowed downwards, before a smile spread across his face.

“Maybe she foresaw us gettin’ lost on our way to this new club,” Nick snickered. “You sure you know where we’re going?”

Greg’s heart fell, just slightly. He had almost expected Nick to grow concerned, to take this bad omen for what it was, to suggest that they just go back to Nick’s house, or Greg’s apartment, and spend the rest of the night in each other’s arms.

Because he did know what Nana Olaf saw--or at least, a vague description of it. According to her, she couldn’t distinctly see Greg, but saw bloodied hands, a metal chair, blood drooling from his lips. He hoped it was just a nightmare, that perhaps she was seeing a crime scene that he would be investigating--it did happen before, after all. A week before Nick’s abduction, she had called him, to tell him that she saw Greg, surrounded by dirt, and glass, and white foam, frozen in fear.

“Yeah, ‘course I know where we’re going,” Greg muttered. He squinted down at the paper, wishing his friend had better handwriting. “You’re gonna be taking a left after we get past the city limits sign.”

“Where’d you hear about this place, again?”

“My friend, Trixie. She’s never steered me wrong before.”

“Trixie, huh? Isn’t that the same chick who told you to put bleach in your hair in your senior year of college?”

“Aw, shucks, you remembered!”

Nick shot him one of his looks that he gave Greg when he was semi-annoyed, but the smile still remained on his face.

“Besides, you saw those pictures, I was H-O-T hot with that blonde hair.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Nick murmured under his breath, fiddling with the zipper on his leather jacket. He moved the zipper up and down. An anxious tick. He knew Nick was still a little uneasy about going out, in public, with him.

“You should keep it halfway down. Looks hotter that way,” Greg suggested. He knew Nick wasn’t asking for fashion tips, he had to admit that his friend typically had a good sense of style--when it came to his clothing, at least.

Nick cleared his throat as he did what Greg suggested. Greg noticed that Nick wasn’t wearing a shirt under his jacket. He contemplated telling Nick to pull over, make some excuse to get them out of the car…

“Greg! Which way am I going?”

Greg snapped out of his mind, his voice squeaked as read the instructions to Nick. The sun had finally set, and they were left driving in near darkness. Although they were far from the neon playground in the middle of the desert, the stars in the cloudless sky shined bright enough to give them more light than the beams coming from Nick’s SUV.

“And then...the instructions end. Guess it means we should be seeing it soon.”

“I don’t know, man, it looks like there’s nothing but desert out here. We’re not even on the road anymore.”

“Wait--you see that? Up there?”

Among the vast landscape littered with bushes and boulders, Greg spotted a crowd of cars, all parked haphazardly together, surrounding a small, square building.

“That’s gotta be it.”

They parked off to the side, Greg ran his fingers through the curls of his hair, patted his shirt straight, popped up the collar on his jacket. The slight chill of the night air send a shiver down Greg’s spine as he took a deep breath. The thrill of the night was spreading through his veins. He bounced a little, with a big smile on his face, excited for whatever lay beyond the large steel door, guarded by a large man in a suit. Nick stood opposite him, staring at the door with a frown.

Greg ran a hand through Nick’s hair, in an effort to get his hair to stick up with a slightly messy style. He was grateful that Nick’s hair had grown back, his fingers lingered as he lifted the individual strands upward.  Nick didn’t quite realize it, but with that look, he had become one of the most attractive men Greg had ever seen, and was sure to be the envy of the club that night.

“What’s wrong?” Greg asked, fiddling with the zipper on his partner’s leather jacket. He immediately realized why Nick hesitated before he even finished the question. He knew this wasn’t just nerves over going out in public with another man, this was nerves over the fact that this building, on the outside, was way too small to hold all the occupants of the dozens of parked cars.

“Nothing, G. Let’s go,” Nick gulped. His throat was dry, he was biting his lower lip. He cleared his throat again and started towards the door.

“We don’t have to--”

“It’s fine--”

“Nick, I didn’t know--”

“It’s fine, Greg,” Nick growled, and stopped walking. He sighed and turned towards Greg, his expression was a half smile, but Greg didn’t buy it until his hands were sandwiched between Nick’s.

“As long as I’m with you...everything’s fine.”

He planted a small kiss on Greg’s cheek, Greg’s mouth spread into a smile. Nick gave him a satisfied smirk and guided them towards the door. The bouncer nodded at them as he opened the door for them, the soft buzz of music vibrated through their bodies.

The stairway was steep, narrow, only allowed for one occupant at a time. Greg’s hand was held out in front of him as Nick’s arm bent backwards to keep hold of Greg. He grimaced at the tightness of Nick’s grip on his hand, which hand caused Greg’s fingers to stretch out between Nick’s whitened knuckles.

The previously muffled music grew louder and clearer as they made their descent. Once they made it down the stairs and Nick let out a slow, deep exhale. Greg cupped his face in his hand, looked him in the eyes. He asked a nonverbal question, to which Nick nodded in an answer.

“C’mon, let’s get a drink,” Nick shouted over the loud music.

They waded through the crowd of people huddled in the large room, the bar was on the opposite side of the entrance. The room felt smaller than it was, due to the amount of people inhabiting it. Tables and chairs were strewn around the edges of the room, most of the chairs were empty, the tables littered with empty glasses and bottles. In a high-energy environment such as this, there wasn't time for sitting, only dancing. Flashes of white light came from flashing strobe lights in the ceiling, which were the bulls-eyes to black light spirals surrounding the bulbs. A thin layer of smoke hung in the air at waist length, it gave the room an almost dreamy look. Though it was difficult to distinguish facial features from one another in the dim light, a sea of smiles was rising, falling, twirling, colliding. It was the ultimate party.

Greg beamed as he felt a sense of comfort, among people who took this time to forget all their troubles, to expend that last bit of energy pent up inside of them from their long workdays. Night owls, living their life to the fullest.

They made it to the bar, Nick ordered a pair of drinks, he had nearly finished his by the time he handed Greg his own. A flutter of concern floated up Greg’s chest, but was quickly dispelled as he caught up to Nick. The flutter settled down, and Nick’s teeth became the brightest thing in the room.

“Wanna dance?” Nick shouted to him as he finished a second drink--When did he even order a second drink? Greg thought to himself.

“Thought you’d never ask!”

Nick led them towards the crowd, the loud bass from the tall, large speakers aligned with Greg’s heartbeat. They settled into a small gap, Greg bopped his head up and down until he felt his body begin to sway to the beat of the music. He watched Nick similarly warm himself up, settling into a groove that was both ridiculously goofy, and ridiculously hot. He moved his body closer to Nick’s, felt something lift up in his crotch area--he noticed a bulge in Nick’s, too. They grinded their clothed bodies against each other, Greg felt his fingers grab hold of the zipper on Nick’s jacket, thrusting it down to the floor with such speed and force that Nick clenched his jaw as he grabbed the back of Greg’s head, his fingers twisting the curls of Greg’s hair.

Nick leaned his head in, Greg could feel the warmth of Nick’s breath on his neck, his nostrils tingled from the smell of Nick’s alcohol tainted breath. He felt wet lips do their own dance all over his neck, his cheeks, his ears, his nose, until they finally found Greg’s lips. Both pairs of lips merged into one, the world fell beneath them, and Greg floated in the air...before crashing back down as Nick quickly pulled away.

The music had changed, intensified, into a louder and faster song. The strobe lights became more intense. Multiple flashes, in short succession, before it froze for half of a minute. Greg saw Nick’s eyes widen as he stared up at the blinding light, his tongue licked his quivering lips before they were plunged into darkness altogether.

The darkness lingered, for at least a minute, the music stopped. The crowd screamed, playing along with the pseudo horror before the music and lights resumed.

Greg pulled Nick close, wrapping his arms around the man--he was shaking.

“Are you o--” Greg whispered into Nick’s ear, but Nick pushed himself away.

“I’m gonna go get another drink!” He shouted at Greg, before becoming part of the crowd, who were completely unaware at the minor bout of drama between the two men.

Greg’s heart sank as Nick walked away, but a stunning brunette woman walked up to him, and Greg let himself fall into a trance, as he became acquainted with this new angel.

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

The lights went off, the masks went on. Their contacts were already in, their eyes still glowed in the absence of light. Now the party could really begin.

They shook with laughter as the crowd screamed, some of the screams having started from the discovery of these masked maniacs--who, they had not realized, were there the whole time, lurking, waiting for a moment like this.

The lights came back on, and the crowd forgot its hysteria, and resumed their own laughter and cheers.

“Get a load of those fags!”

One of them gestured to two men, wrapped in an embrace. One of the men looked like he had just pissed his pants, the other was trying to console him. Were they that afraid of the dark? Of the big bad wolves, disguised as human beings? They hoped that the men were afraid, because if they weren’t, they would be--very, very soon.

“Hey...isn’t that the Sanders guy? The one that hit Demetrius?”

The group nodded to each other, snapped a picture, sent it to their leader, who was offsite at the time. They watched as the man Sanders was with broke apart from him, left him alone.

Easy prey.

Their phones buzzed, a message, from the ultimate Big Bad himself.

“Let’s fuck with him.”

[thegizka]

Warm Enough (fic)

Shikamaru does not love the snow, but he does love Mirai, which means he’ll willingly freeze his fingers and toes to see her smile.

Written for Shikamaru Week 2019 Day 1:  Winter.

Read it on Ao3.

Shikamaru exhaled smoke, watching it swirl as the warmth of his breath fogged in the winter air. He had been doing a lot of thinking lately--more than usual, anyway--and too much thinking made him want to smoke more. He wondered if that’s what had driven Asuma to smoke so much.

Winter snowfalls came to Konoha like a maelstrom, tearing through the city and dumping piles of snow everywhere. They were few and short-lived as the usually mild weather quickly melted whatever fell. Those that hated the winter were glad it was over so fast, while those that loved it embraced it with the frenzied energy of an obsession. It was a messy time of year.

Shikamaru was not a fan of the snow. It was cold and inconvenient, and he was usually too lazy to hunt down his winter gear. By the time he tired of cold fingers and soaked socks, he only used his winter stuff for a few days before everything melted and it was once again too warm to bother with scarves and hats.

Mirai, however, loved the snow. She thought it was something magical. If she caught sight of snowflakes, she would beg her mom to go outside and try to catch them. If that wasn’t an option, she would settle for sitting by the window for hours watching them fall. She barely had the patience to get all bundled up before she was let loose on the winter wonderland, giggling as she stomped spider web paths through the drifts. Her joy almost made him like the snow, almost kept away his exasperation at having to find warmer socks so he could trek around after her. He loved to see her happy.

A snowstorm had dumped a foot of cold, fluffy snow on Konoha two days ago, and he had promised Mirai he would come play with her. Luckily activity in the Hokage’s office was relatively slow. Things were prospering, and the Five Great Nations were experiencing a period of unprecedented cooperation. He had been easily arranged a half day of work so he could spend the afternoon helping Kurenai and keeping good on his promise to her daughter.

He took a final drag on his cigarette before snuffing it out on the ashtray he kept balanced on the porch railing. He tried to keep his bad habit out of Mirai’s sight in deference to Kurenai and Asuma’s intention to quit. Temari liked to make pointed comments whenever she caught him smoking, but she hadn’t put any real pressure on him to quit, so he hadn’t bothered putting in the effort to do so.

That was another reason to dislike the winter; Temari rarely dropped by for a visit.

He pulled his scarf over his nose as he set out to Kurenai’s, partially to fend off the cold but also to hide the grin he couldn’t suppress when he thought of the Suna blonde. It was common knowledge in both villages that they were an item, but they had been taking things slow. Dating was complicated, and the fact that he was the Hokage’s advisor and she was the Kazekage’s sister and ambassador added another layer of complications to consider. Neither of them were in the habit of rushing into things without first giving thorough consideration to all options, but the more moments they stole together during diplomatic visits, the harder it was to part ways and wait until next time. He had started asking himself how he could arrange things so that they could stay together all the time, but he hadn’t been able to come up with anything viable yet.

The snow meant he would have to wait longer to see her again. She wasn’t likely to accept any missions to Konoha now that winter had settled in. Temari was too proud to admit it, but she hadn’t quite figured out how to handle the snow. Though she was usually equipped to keep warm thanks to her experience with cold desert nights, the biting winter wind and sloppiness of the snow were new and frustrating. He had taken her out one night shortly after a snow dump last year. She had ended the evening shivering and grumpy and had refused to leave his residence the rest of her trip unless it was for official business. That had been perfectly fine with him, of course.

He was sure Temari would eventually learn to handle the snow, just as he had learned to handle the sands and winds of Suna. He suspected Mirai would be able to thaw her dislike with her joy and excitement, if only he could convince Temari to give Konoha winters a second chance.

Mirai was a force to be reckoned with, disarmingly cute and--he suspected--just smart enough to begin manipulating her many adopted aunts and uncles. He always had to stay on his toes around that toddler to make sure he didn’t spoil her, but also so that he wouldn’t miss anything. She seemed to grow and learn in leaps and bounds, and he did his best to take it all in, every tantrum and triumph, so he could tell Asuma all about it later.

There were moments when the injustice of their situation really struck him. Mirai deserved to have her father here rather than a brother who could only visit her once in a while. Kurenai deserved her partner to lean on and help her figure out all of the little emergencies that came with parenthood, not a kid who was still learning how to take care of himself. The next generation of Leaf ninja deserved the chance to learn from Asuma’s wisdom. But fate had decided against what was deserved, and they were doing the best they could with the circumstances.

He really had been thinking too much lately. That was the trade-off in times of peace. Without the pressing concerns of war or sticky diplomatic situations, his mind wandered to all manner of thoughts and reflections. He had left behind his true laziness sometime over the past several years. He had too much responsibility now and had experienced too much to totally disconnect. When he could, he still stole moments to lay back and envy the clouds, but his mind was always whirring, always chasing some idea or concern. He had never expected to have so much responsibility while having so much to figure out still. He wished he had his father or Asuma to help him muddle through things.

At least he could find a few moments of relief now and then. Shikamaru pushed his worries aside as he turned onto Kurenai’s block. Time with Mirai always demanded his full attention, which was a welcome change of pace from his normal contemplations.

“Shika-nii!” He was still two houses away when a small figure in a puffy coat hurtled out the front door, her mother just a step behind her. “You’re late!” Mirai shrieked.

“Mirai, is that how you greet someone?” Kurenai sighed. She looked rather worn out, which had him concerned.

“Hello!” Mirai began again before he could ask if she was alright. “You’re late!”

Shikamaru bit back a smile, not wanting to encourage her boldness too much. “I’m sorry Mirai. I was at work, but now that I’m done we can play as much as you want.”

“Yay!” She whooped with joy, grabbing for his hand. “Let’s go!”

“Can I talk to your mom first?”

Her face scrunched into a frown. “But you’re late,” she stressed, pouting just a little bit. If he wasn’t careful, this could devolve into a mini tantrum quickly.

“I promise it won’t take long. Why don’t you think about what you want to play, okay? That way we can start as soon as I’m done.”

The frown didn’t disappear, but she also didn’t whine any further. He had managed to earn a few moments to talk with Kurenai.

“She’s been raring to go since she woke up to the snow yesterday.” The kunoichi smiled affectionately at her daughter. “You’re going to have your hands full today.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he chuckled. “Did you have any trouble with shoveling or ice?”

She shook her head. “Konohamaru and his friends stopped by yesterday to clear us out and play with Mirai a little.”

“Sorry I couldn’t come by sooner.”

“Don’t be. You’re busy with important duties. We’re lucky we get you as often as we do, right Mirai?”

“Shika-nii,” she smiled, tugging on his hand again. “Let’s play!”

“I’m going to run to the store if you don’t mind. I’ve had a head cold the past few days and we’re running low on tissues.”

“I hope it’s nothing serious.”

“Ino had a look and said it’s just one of those annoying winter colds that’s making the rounds in the village. It should clear up soon.”

“Come on Shika-nii,” Mirai insisted, tugging more forcefully on his hand.

“Alright. I’m coming. I’ll keep an eye on things here,” he promised Kurenai.

“Thank you. I promise there will be a cup of cocoa for you later in payment. Be good for Shikamaru, Mirai.”

“Okay!” She was already pulling her captive away into the snow. “Come on Shika-nii!”

“Have you decided what we’re going to play, Mirai?”

“Yes!” she said brightly, leading him to the middle of the yard. It was already strewn with criss-crossing paths and lopsided snow drifts from Konohamaru’s visit yesterday.

“What did you decide?” he prompted as she turned to him. Her eyes sparkled with excitement, and her grin was bright enough to blind someone.

“Snowmans!” she declared, following it with a happy giggle.

“You want to build snowmen?”

“Mhm.”

“Do you remember how to from last time?”

“Yes.”

“Can you help me remember? Where do we start?”

He let her take the lead, prompting her with questions or gently suggesting ways to proceed. He made sure she was wearing her thicker, waterproof gloves before rolling slightly lopsided mounds of snow and trying to stack them so they wouldn’t fall over. They raced to see who could collect sticks and pebbles the fastest, and they raided the box in Kurenai’s entryway closet for old scarves, hats, and gloves. He let Mirai direct him on how to adorn each snowman, respecting her creative decisions. He had read once that positive reinforcement went a long way with kids, though he couldn’t say he remembered caring much when he was little. He did remember his dad asking him lots of questions when he was younger and respecting his answers. It had probably been a ploy to get him to think for himself. He wasn’t sure how much of a difference it had made, but it was the best example of parenting he had. Mirai seemed to be doing fine under whatever influence he had on her, and that’s really what mattered.

“Which scarf do you want for this one?”

“Green. And then your gloves!”

“I need my gloves so my hands don’t get cold,” he reminded her as he wrapped the green scarf around their third snowman. Truth be told, he hadn’t actually bothered to find his waterproof gloves, so while Mirai’s fingers remained dry and toasty, his were wet and frozen. “Do we have similar gloves in the box?”

“No, your gloves,” she insisted, the pre-pout frown returning. She was probably getting tired and cold, and the discomfort exacerbated her delicate balance of emotions.

“Why does it have to be my gloves?”

“Yours,” she repeated. He really had to think of something before she lost it. He dug through the box of discarded winter gear, hoping to find something similar enough to appease her. He found a grey fingerless pair that tickled his memory with familiarity. They smelled vaguely like a dog. They had probably been Kiba’s.

“How about these? Look, they’re almost the same color.”

Mirair studied them, comparing them to his and running through her mental requirements. He couldn’t begin to fathom what her parameters might be, but he hoped his gamble was enough to appease her.

“Okay,” she finally decided, some of the storm leaving her face. The gamble had paid off.

“There, all done,” he declared, sticking the gloves on the sticks they had chosen for this figure’s arms. “Shall we take a break?”

“One more!” Mirai trumpeted, already gathering snow into a mound for the base.

“Aren’t you cold? I’m cold,” he admitted. His fingers were tingling.

“We need one more. Then it will be done.”

“Okay,” he sighed, “but only one. Promise?”

“Promise!”

Shikamaru did his best to ignore his frozen fingers and soaked knees as they set about rolling the last snowman. They were running out of snow, but Mirai insisted on making this one the biggest yet. He wondered if it was secretly an effort to delay their return inside. They must have traversed the entire area of the yard before she was satisfied with its height.

“Alright Mirai, which gloves are we using?”

“These!” she declared, holding up the biggest pair from the box.

“Okay.” He reached for one, but she clutched them against her chest and protested.

“I want to do it!”

“Alright, you can do it.” He could not for the life of him figure out what drove her choices. She was an enigma, a still-forming combination of reason and whimsy. At times he found her more confusing at times than Temari. He kept a close eye on her as she stretched to clothe the snowman, ready to catch her if she lost her balance, but she managed to finish all by herself.

“Are we all done?��� he asked.

Mirai stepped back and scrunched up her face in imitation of someone thinking carefully, clasping her hands in front of her. They had made four snowmen of various sizes, each with its own winter gear, each with carefully constructed expressions. He wondered what she was scrutinizing, what particular decisions she was evaluating. She hummed contemplatively. He wished he could be privy to the wonder of her thoughts.

“Yes!” she shouted suddenly, her face breaking into that megawatt grin that somehow made everything brighter.

“They look good, kiddo.” He patted her hat. “Let’s clean up and go celebrate with some hot cocoa.”

“Yay!” she whooped, already scrambling to collect the winter gear they hadn’t used. He chuckled and piled the leftover sticks and pebbles next to the house.

“I beat you!” Mirai giggled. She had scrambled to the door, the pile of scarves and mittens balanced precariously in her arms.

“You didn’t tell me it was a race.” He gave her his best pained expression, but it had no effect on her high spirits.

“It’s always a race. Now open the door!”

“Mirai, what do you say when you want someone to help you?”

“Please!” she beamed, not at all put off that she hadn’t said it immediately and he had attempted to correct her. He didn’t bother to stress the lesson, too eager to get inside and regain some feeling in his fingers.

“I was wondering when you were going to come in,” Kurenai greeted, helping Mirai put away the gear and peel off her layers of coverings.

“We made snowmans!”

“Snowmen,” she gently corrected. “I can see them from the window. They look great.”

“It’s a family! One for me and one for Mommy and one for Shika-nii and one for Daddy!”

Shikamaru paused in trying to get his frozen fingers to work through his bootlaces. Kurenai gave him a curious look, silently asking where Mirai had gotten that idea. He could only shake his head and shrug, but he felt his chest tighten a little. Without any prompting, she had counted both him and Asuma as part of her family, and she had declared it with the simplicity of a child’s wholehearted belief. She had surprised them both.

“You did a great job, honey,” Kurenai responded, giving her daughter a hug. “Ooh, your cheeks are cold!”

“Are they as cold as my fingers?” Shikamaru asked, pressing his frozen digits against Mirai’s flushed toddler cheeks. She shrieked and pushed him away, giggling.

“We’d better get you some hot chocolate before you freeze,” Kurenai laughed, heading towards the kitchen.

“I don’t know if I’ll survive until then. Mirai, help me warm up!” He reached for her again and tickled her, earning another shriek and more giggles.

“No!” she cried, running away from him. He grinned and chased after her, already feeling warmer.

[words-are-my-existence]

Tea and Coffee

Introduction Part III: Mellifluous

Note: Contains fluff, comedy and angst. There may be mature themes and course language but mainly softness.

~

Time ticked away, the sun slowly making its way to the horizon to sleep. Jai still had not returned, obviously distracted by something adorable Eliza had presumed.

Still it wasn’t terribly busy, only a few patrons had come and gone, the morning hours of the day usually being more of their peak time so a quiet evening was expected. During this time if it was quiet Eliza would sit down and catch up on her reading or art, sitting by the table booth in the corner that caught most of the afternoon sunlight plus had the bookshelves right by it. Jai had outfitted the cafe with them when they had first opened and already they all were packed to the brim with various books and mangas she had collected for the store, Eliza wagered soon they would have to add a few more shelves if they wanted to add more to their collection.

The barista took her normal seat and began reading her current novel, keeping an ear out for the door to make sure she wasn’t startled again as she was earlier in the day. While she did so she kept an eye on the time as well, knowing that soon as it hit four o’clock sweet music would begin to play outside the cafe. And exactly as the hour came around beautifully plucked guitar strings began to sound, the tune gentle and calming like a lullaby made even more so by the deep but light singing voice accompanying the song.

Eliza put her novel away and quickly went back to the counter, making up an iced cappuccino as the musician outside continued to play their soothing melodies. Once she completed the drink she went outside, the busker finishing up their current song and looking up at Eliza with a large goofy smile,

“Hey Liz! Is that what I think it is?” The fluffy haired man asked excitedly as he rested his acoustic guitar down,

“Yup, one fresh iced cap with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles for Mr Chanyeol,” Eliza announced as she handed the drink to him. Park Chanyeol was a regular of sorts, coming to busk outside the cafe fours days each week at exactly four in the afternoon. It was like clockwork each time, the neighbourhood blessed by his music for the hourly periods. Chanyeol was definitely charming, with both his tall muscular figure and soft chocolate eyes, he drew in many passerbyers each time he sang. Which also aided the cafe in bringing in more clientele to. As a thank you for such Eliza would make up Chanyeol’s favourite drink, which he gladly accepted though he would also add that bringing in customers was more of his payment to the ladies for letting him busk in the first place. He was a gentle giant, never failing to brighten Eliza’s and Jai’s day with his presence and music.

As he took a few sips of his coffee Chanyeol glanced around confusedly,

“Huh your partner in crime isn’t with you today?” He questioned noticing Jai’s absence,

“Yeah she’s currently on a stock up run, though mind you she left three hours ago. Something tells me either she’s seen a cute animal, person or both and is completely distracted with that,”

“Hopefully she’s advertising your business while she’s at it,” Chanyeol added with a slight chuckle, Eliza rolling her eyes with a smile,

“She probably is. One good thing that comes out of Jai being side tracked is the fact she brings back plenty of people wanting to chat her up more. It’s funny seeing suitors chase after her though, brutally finding out later on she has zero interest in relationships beyond one night stands or that she just wants to see their pets instead,” Eliza shook her head as she continued,”I almost feel sorry for some but she tends to have her reasons so I stay out of it,”

“She is a quirky one,” Chanyeol noted as he placed his drink down and picked his guitar back up, absentmindedly strumming it as he spoke,”I’m sure that there’s still plenty of customers who come by to talk to you to,”

“What makes you say that?” Eliza asked in reply, the musician quietly focusing his gaze on his instrument,

“Well um, you’re an interesting person to...as well as very kind, beau-“ He had started but cut himself off as several women rushed up to him, each giggling and blushing as they addressed Chanyeol,

“Oh my gosh! We are such massive fans of yours!” One started and politely bowed, her friend batting her eyelashes as she spoke,

“We admire you sooo much! Please can we get a picture! And an autograph to?!”

“I-I um please not to close, uh thank you-“ He nervously stuttered. Chanyeol was a soft spoken person and gentlemanly, so he wasn’t used to these sort of interactions especially with females. Jai was usually here to help sort overly excited fans out but it looked like Eliza would need to step in this time,

“Alright ladies please give him some space, he will get to both your requests if you wait just a moment and calm yourselves,” She sternly spoke up as she moved forward in front of Chanyeol creating a small barrier. One of the girls frowned upon seeing Eliza, her eyes growing green with envy. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by her friend who subtly pinched her arm,

“We’re sorry, we got a bit over excited there. We’ll wait of course,” She apologised, elbowing the noticeably angry friend who mumbled a sorry.

“Thank you, I’ll grab some pens and papers for you both,” Eliza cheerfully said, rushing off to retrieve such items. They calmly waited as Chanyeol signed autographs for them and posed for selfie as well, the two walking away happy and satisfied though the jealous one did throw Eliza several glares which the barrister ignored. There was plenty of people like that these days and Eliza had learnt to take no heed of them, it was a waste of energy and time being envious especially over guys.

Chanyeol let out a heavy sigh of relief,

“Thank you so much, I’m really not comfortable when those sort approach me. They just want so much and expect to get it,” He breathed and looked at Eliza gratefully,

“It’s no big deal, people need to learn about personal space mind you,” She responded shaking her head,”I best head back inside and let you continue your set, just give me a shout if any trouble rises again,”

“Ah wait!” Chanyeol shouted and hastily jumped to his feet, almost knocking his guitar over,”Before when I talking, before those girls I...I um...”

He was trailing off and getting quieter with each word that Eliza couldn’t make out what he was saying at all,

“It’s alright I know I have a few customers who take interest in me as well, I’m not envious of Jai more so happy I’m not bothered constantly by random strangers,” She reassured him as Chanyeol paused. He stared down now at Eliza with a troubled look. He was a good several inches taller then her, flustering the shorter girl slightly,

“Have you ever considered...actually dating any of them?..”

“No, not really. I rather date someone I’ve actually talked to after some time or I myself am actually interested in,” She ruminated, growing curious to why Chanyeol was inquiring on the topic,

“Can I ask why you’re so concerned on this matter?”

She caught him off guard with this question, Chanyeol quickly looking away. Was he blushing?

“I...I...” He tried speaking but seemed to have the words caught in his throat.

Before Eliza could press more the two were suddenly tightly embraced by a third party, a giggling voice perking up,

“Look at you two cuties! Is this one of men Jai spoke about that was crushing on you Lizzy? Man it’s so great seeing you!” The person in question let go and moved back a few steps smiling, Eliza grinning herself in recognition,

“Levi you’re back! How was Japan?” She hugged the puffy black haired girl back, Chanyeol bowing to her in surprise at her appearance,

“It was great as always, Lucy already wants to go again. She can’t get enough of Kyoto and wants to go to Hiroshima next,” Levi explained and bowed to Chanyeol,

“Chanyeol right? Jai has told me heaps about you and the other guys, it’s nice to meet you!”

“Other guys?...” He managed to say as he grew pale, but the ladies didn’t seem to notice as Eliza started to lead Levi in inside,

“Come on you need to tell me everything! Where is Lucy by the way?”

“Oh she’s helping Jai bring back a bunch of coffee beans, I’m assuming she was on a stock run,” Levi guessed while Eliza nodded,

“Yeah. Good thing Lucy is with her, she can keep Jai on track to actually get back her,” She joked, waving to the frozen musician,

“I’ll catch you Friday Chanyeol, we’ll pick up on our convo then. Take care!” She finished as she and Levi went inside, Chanyeol slowly taking his seat again and running a hand through his hair,

“I need to tell her...” He whispered to himself and nodded his head thoughtfully. He resumed busking, filled with a new sense of determination on having decided on a course of action for the next day.

~

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

the one where Trucy accidentally finds out

a fic I wrote start to finish today, based on this conversation yesterday and two very great comments from @anza-redstar and @runningwolf62​

--

It’s ten years, to the day, April 19, when Daddy and Uncle Miles come into the office with a box so big that Trucy has no idea how it fit into Uncle Miles’ sports car. “What is that?” she asks, tucking the book she was reading back onto the shelf so it doesn’t get lost in the mess, and scampering over to look at the box. “A new microwave?”

“No such luck, kiddo,” Daddy says. “We’re using this one until it explodes.”

Uncle Miles glowers, like he expects that the office microwave will indeed someday explode. (It’s not as old as Trucy, but it’s older than her time with Daddy. It’s older than his friendship with Aunt Maya. So is Charley. So are most of the things in the office that aren’t related to magic.) Then he fidgets, awkwardly -- Uncle Miles is a very awkward man, and when he isn’t in a courtroom or on a crime scene, most of his movements are awkward -- and holds his arm like it hurts, because that’s what he does when he’s uncomfortable enough to realize that he is being awkward. “These are items that the police held onto related to… to the case ten years ago. Your grandfather’s death.”

“Oh.”

“It’s mostly papers,” Uncle Miles continues, still awkward, and Trucy does him the favor of looking away from him and prying open the box. Whoever taped the top wasn’t trying very hard. “Anything the police hoped could help enlighten them on the case. Personally, I think it was unnecessary for them to seize all of this, but I was not on the case. I saw your parents’ wedding certificate, in there, for instance.”

“I wonder if this is where your birth certificate went,” Daddy says. “I had to pay a lot for a copy.”

Uncle Miles rolls his eyes. He almost smiles. Then the moment is gone and he is frowning. “Usually this wouldn’t be released for another five years -- the statute of limitations is fifteen years -- but considering that this case is… sort of solved, as best as it will ever be, I pulled a few strings.”

“Thanks for that, Edgeworth.”

There are two more smaller boxes inside the large box. Other papers are piled up haphazardly. It would give Uncle Miles a headache if he tried to sort through it for very long. At the top of the piles there is a small book that Trucy picks up and flips through. It’s handwritten -- a diary -- her grandfather’s handwriting, she recognizes from his book of tricks, the one that he left her father and he left her. She reads a page. Mundane, daily things. She’s glad for that. Life with the whole Troupe is fading from her memory, no matter how she tries to hold onto it. Maybe this will help refresh her memory. She flips through the pages and watches the words go by, until abruptly, the pages are blank. She runs her finger down the torn margin of a page. Something was ripped out, what might have been the last page.

She sets it aside. Daddy looks at it and his eyes widen. He looks a little sick.

“I don’t envy you having to decide what to keep,” Uncle Miles says. “Especially since you’re almost well-known enough to have cases, now.”

“Oh, come on.” Daddy shoves Uncle Miles in the shoulder. “One of these days, you’ve got to stop heckling me like I’m a newbie.”

“Hardly,” Uncle Miles says.

“Once I’ve had my badge again for as long as I did the first time, then you’ll be sorry.”

Trucy leaves them to argue and starts to shove the box out of the way. There’s almost a path clear enough on the floor for her to follow, and there’s space behind Polly’s desk for the box to sit. She picks up a stack of papers at random and plops them on the desk. There’s enough space on his desk and his chair for her to remove most of the loose papers from the box and get down to the other two, and a few folders. The first folder looks like insurance stuff. She gets up and walks over to Daddy’s desk and sets it down there. Hopefully it won’t disappear forever.

The smaller boxes look like they hold loose, non-paper memorabilia. Those will probably be the most fun to look through and so Trucy closes them and grabs some papers. She will save those as a treat for the end.

-

“Is that for a case?” Athena asks, absolute horror frozen on her face, stopped dead on the threshold. She would probably turn and sprint back through the office and out if Daddy weren’t standing right behind her.

He puts a hand on her shoulder to move her forward and aside. “Yep!” he says, cheerily.

Athena’s eyes are wide and she does not blink. She has not blinked for fifteen seconds. “You… you can take this one, Boss,” she says. “I’ve got, uh, another client, definitely -- Trucy looks like she’s got that covered as your co-counsel--”

“Athena. I’m kidding.”

The look she gives him, and then Trucy, is one of pure betrayal.

“It was from a case, a long time ago.” Daddy glances at Trucy, trying to gauge how much she’s okay with Athena knowing. Trucy shrugs. She likes Athena. She doesn’t care if Athena knows. She knows everything about Athena anyway. “When Trucy’s grandfather died, and when I adopted her.”

Died, not was killed, and while the latter is implied by it becoming a trial and a spectacle, Trucy always said died too because she never believed that either her father or Uncle Valant could ever have killed Grandfather. In her heart she knew that. And Daddy told her that was true, that Uncle Valant told him that was true.

Athena tilts her head. She must hear something. Trucy always knows if Daddy is lying but beyond that he is hard to read and that’s why he’s so good at poker. Athena has a better time figuring out what he is feeling. Sometimes Trucy asks her. “You had me scared for a minute there, Boss,” Athena says.

Trucy turns back to her papers, Athena sits down at her desk, and they both work in silence for a little while. Athena isn’t good at sitting still and eventually she is up on her feet, bouncing around the room to burn off some extra energy. “Anything interesting?” she asks.

“I’m looking at the boring stuff first,” Trucy replies. It isn’t boring, actually, not in her opinion. She’s a magician and a businesswoman and she knows now where she got it, her grandfather’s meticulous financial record-keeping. Maybe the police kept it because they thought he owed money to someone and that was why he was shot. There could be lots of reasons.

“Huh.” Athena stoops to examine the inside of the box and reaches in to poke at something. “Oh, boxes within boxes. Fun. That’s -- hey, who’s this?”

Trucy looks up. Athena is holding a small and rectangular page, a photo, examining it curiously. She must have pulled it out of one of the other boxes; Trucy doesn’t remember anything left lying in the bottom. “Let me see,” she says, extending a hand.

She knows the woman in the picture not by memory, but by the old Troupe memorabilia that she keeps carefully framed up on her walls, because she didn’t have photos her family together -- maybe this is where they all went -- and that was the best thing she had to remember all of them at once, Grandfather and Mommy and Daddy and Uncle Valant, because one was gone and then the other three were in quick succession. Athena should probably recognize her as well. She’s seen the old posters. “That’s my mom,” Trucy says.

Thalassa looks young, really young. How old was she when she had Trucy? How old was she when she disappeared? (Not died, because Trucy knows that disappeared can be a euphemism to shelter a little girl, but she also knows otherwise in her heart the way she knew that neither her father nor Uncle Valant killer her grandfather, and the way she knew that her father was only disappeared, not dead, until he was.) In the photo, she is more relaxed, posed naturally, than the posters, without any of the magician’s trappings. She has a smile like the sun, as bright as the bangle bracelets she has.

“Oh,” Athena says. Moms are a fraught subject for so many of them, Trucy (disappeared), Athena (dead), Apollo (gone), Pearl (jailed), Maya (dead).

“I don’t really remember her,” Trucy says. She turns the photo over in her hands looking for a date and finds the back is blank. “She’s been gone most of my life.” She avoids dead again, the way Daddy avoided was killed about her grandfather. “She was a magician. The brooch I have was hers. Blue was her color, too.”

“Oh, really?” Athena sits on the floor. She probably wanted an excuse not to do work and now she has one. “I thought it was blue like Mr Wright.”

“It’s blue for both of them,” Trucy says, because she can’t parse out what came first, looking again at the promotional material with her mother’s face or at the dusty suits in her new daddy’s closet. “You know, it’s funny, now. I’ve lived with Daddy longer than I ever did with my other daddy and the Troupe.”

She’s eighteen. It’s been a full decade. She grew up without any of the Gramaryes. It was why she was so excited to welcome Mr Reus to her performance, because she had dreamed of performing on stage with her family, and he was the closest thing left around. And then that went south, and she got Polly instead.

“Yeah,” Athena says softly, touching her earring. “It’ll be -- another year, year and a half, and then I’ll have lived half my life without my mother.” Her hand remains on her earring. “What was her name?”

“Thalassa.”

-

After a few days, bleary-eyed sorting through pages, more finances and ancient stage diagrams and bookings for performance venues that have been renamed and renovated, she sets the remaining stacks of papers aside and cracks open the box that Athena found the photo in. There are dozens of newspaper clippings of reviews of performances, some old TV Guides that mention the Troupe, and some more photos. There’s a few of the four of them, a few of five of them with Reus, and she quickly sets those aside beneath some papers to figure out what to do with. They’re valuable, important, but she can’t stand to look at his face, can’t stand to see him with them after what he did. She wonders why the police kept these, either -- maybe looking for other suspects. Maybe they just boxed up Magnifi’s life and didn’t bother to think about what might be important for his granddaughter to have.

She and Athena go out and buy frames for every picture of her family, her mother and her parents together and them and Uncle Valant and all of them, happy, smiling, and all of them and little baby Trucy. At the bottom there’s a photo of her mother and baby Trucy, but there’s a date written on the bottom and it’s years before Trucy was born. How did someone get the date so wrong? Was it thoughtlessly added later? There’s another picture of her mother, so young, so young, laughing with a man with brown hair and a guitar. Who is he? Another reject of the Troupe? Some friend outside of it? The Troupe was pretty insular, Trucy knows that much -- they had a lot of practice and performing to do. Of course it was always just them.

The two mysteries go in one of Apollo’s desk drawers.

The other box, at the top, has a certificate of marriage for Thalassa Gramarye and Shadi Enigmar. Trucy stares at it for a long, long time.

Beneath that, her birth certificate. She goes to wave it in her daddy’s face. “Look what was in there!” she announces.

He doesn’t look up. “A magic dove.”

“Daddy!”

He grins and takes the paper from her. “Now we’ve got an extra copy of it. Good to know.” His eyes travel over the mess on his desk. “As long as I don’t lose it here.”

Her grandfather has another diary, even older, some of the pen and pencil scratches starting to fade. She shelves that with the other one, intending to read them but not sure what she’ll find, almost afraid after Reus that there might be something dark in them. Or maybe she’ll learn for sure why he was kicked from the Troupe. What if it isn’t what she’s sure it was, that he didn’t have the attitude for it? What if it is like he thought? She doesn’t have the certainty that she does for other things.

When she comes back to the box, after standing in front of the shelves for a long time and then running off to Eldoon’s with Athena, she thinks for a moment that she for some reason put her parents’ marriage certificate back in. Why would she do that? She can’t afford to be absent-minded. She has a business to run. She has almost tossed it aside in annoyance when the name catches her eye.

It isn’t her father’s.

Her heart sits in her throat. Her mother was married before? No one ever said that. Is there anyone alive who knew that until Trucy found this? The name is Jove Justice. JJ. It’s a name Trucy has never heard before. There’s a wedding photo beneath it that looks like it was taken at a courthouse. The man in the photo is the brown-haired man. Her mother looks still so young. How young was she when she was married the first time? Would it be like if Athena got married now? If Trucy did? She hasn’t removed the photo from the box, just stared at it and stared, and beneath it she sees hints of another certificate, another birth certificate, probably, certainly, and she is ready to yell over to the next room where her daddy and Athena are working on a case, but first, she looks at it. She looks at the names.

That isn’t her father’s name either.

A sibling? An older sibling, going by the date on the marriage certificate, and she is afraid of what she will find next. A death certificate? That would explain why no one ever spoke of this, why she grew up with no one her age around her, why when all the adults were gone she was alone --

She looks at the names again, not just Thalassa Gramarye and Jove Justice, but the baby. Baby boy. Her brother. Baby, her older brother. Her brother --

She’s losing her mind. No, she lost it, completely, finally, and it’s been six months since she’s seen Apollo, she’s only seen him once since May when she was sure he would be a fixture in her life for the rest of it, when she was sure she would always have him around to tease and annoy, and it’s because she misses him that her mind is doing this, is putting that name there, and she touches the words printed on the certificate and wonders when her eyes will refocus and she will actually learn the name of the brother she lost, her half-brother, son of Thalassa Gramarye and Jove --

Jove --

Justice.

Not sure what else to do, not sure how to react -- how did Pearl react when she learned about Iris? She was young then and maybe it made more sense then, maybe this would have made more sense to Trucy when she was little -- she screams.

-

This is, to put it mildly, not the best idea when the two people she shares the office with are two twitchy people who have had loved ones murdered and are still paranoid or traumatized from it, two people who go together to crime scenes and see bodies and piece together murders and are doing that right now and are in the worst mind frame to hear screaming.

Her daddy’s face is bloodless, and Athena has her fists up, and they barrel into the room together and find Trucy sitting on the floor surrounded by loose papers and photos and boxes and holding one in her hands and screaming.

-

Athena does not have the time to parse out what exactly the emotions of the scream are, because that can wait until they are out of danger, so when she finds the danger is apparently the written word, she stops and listens. It isn’t pain, or fear -- there is no fear in Trucy’s scream. If she had Widget analyze this, they would be spinning out of control with shock, not fear. And no anger. Sadness, blue cold sorrow, and joy, too, something red and warm, butting up against each other and drowning together in shock.

“Trucy, what’s wrong?” Mr Wright asks, crouching down to her level. His voice holds pain, of a sympathetic sort, pain and sadness. It’s written on his face, too, plain enough that Athena doesn’t need Apollo to see it. (Mr Wright sort of can notice things like Apollo did, and Trucy a little better, but neither of them are like Apollo.)

“My -- my mom -- my brother my brother -- he’s my half-brother – he’s my brother!”

Mr Wright doesn’t ask. She can’t hear anything when he’s silent. Something Athena can’t name flits across his face.

“Trucy, you don’t have a brother,” Athena says gently, sitting down next to her, moving to put an arm around her shoulders, wondering what words written on a paper could turn bright, composed Trucy into a gibbering mess. Trucy pushes her away and shoves the paper she is holding at her instead.

“My brother!”

It’s a birth certificate, dated twenty-four years ago. Athena starts to read it off. “Born to Thalassa Gramarye” – that’s Trucy’s mother’s name, but this can’t be Trucy – “and Jove…”

Oh, god, she’s heard the name Jove before, and it was in Khura’in, and it was the story of a dead father and a lost child who was never returned to his mother–

“Jove Justice,” she says, her voice finally unsticking, and it trembles, and anyone without her ears could hear her shock. “And – Apollo Justice.”

That’s Apollo, that’s their Apollo, twenty-four years old and a father named Jove but that’s Trucy’s mother, their Trucy, Gramarye, and her mother, Thalassa.

“He’s my brother,” Trucy says softly. “Polly’s my brother – Polly’s my brother and that’s – that’s why – that’s--” She springs up, runs out of the room, comes back a moment later with a photo of her mother. “Bracelets!” she shouts. “Look, look, it’s like – like his!”

Golden bangle bracelets with a thin lined pattern encircling them. Athena’s head is spinning. She looks at Mr Wright, waiting for shock. Surprise. Anything. He has a good poker face but big surprises, he doesn’t quite hide. This, he’s hiding, and he’s still not saying anything, not moving, not reacting, and Athena can’t hear anything. Maybe Apollo could. Maybe Trucy could if she weren’t too torn up by her own shock to concentrate. Hers hasn’t faded; it still permeates her voice, entirely.

“Apollo’s your brother,” Athena says. “Apollo is – Mein Gott, Apollo’s your brother.” She laughs. She doesn’t know what to do but laugh. She looks back down at the names on the paper. They haven’t changed. “He’s not going to believe you when you tell him!”

“Can I see that?” Mr Wright asks, quietly, gesturing at the certificate. Athena hands it to him. “Thanks.” There’s only the barest amount of shock in his voice, buried deep, and there’s some other things, more complicated, a little too complicated for Widget. Some sadness that isn’t quite sad, not sorrow or grief, but something like regret. “Huh.”

He hands it back to her, and she runs for the scanner – it was a gift from Prosecutor Edgeworth that Mr Wright doesn’t know how to or want to use – so she can email proof to Apollo, while Trucy runs for a phone.

-

Apollo wakes to the buzzing of his cell phone beneath his head. It’s dark when he opens his eyes. What time is it, he wonders, knocking his phone to the floor with a thunk before he can manage to pick it up. Three am. Three am, and Trucy is calling. He fell asleep still fully dressed on top of the covers because he and Nahyuta were compiling their evidence for an overly complicated case until midnight, and when he went upstairs to the living quarters – after nearly a year, he still thinks of it as Dhurke’s, not his – and now, for whatever reason, he is being awoken by Trucy, who really should know what a time zone is at this point. “Hello? Trucy, what the hell--”

“Apollo you’re my brother!”

“Trucy, it’s three am.” Apollo sits up and regrets it. “I don’t know what conversations you’re having over there that – adopting people into your family -- but--”

“Apollo! I’m serious! Your mom is my mom! We’re half-siblings, Apollo!”

“What.” Maybe he’s still asleep. Does it really work to pinch yourself? Is that really a thing? “My – my mom--”

He doesn’t actually know what happened to his mother, just that Dhurke never found her. There are a thousand things that could mean in a country in turmoil.

“She’s my mom! Thalassa Gramarye! We’re siblings, Apollo!”

“Check your email!” That’s Athena’s voice, and some squeaks of a squabble. She probably ripped the phone from Trucy’s hands. “We sent you a copy of your birth certificate!”

“My – my birth certificate?” Apollo rolls onto his feet. There’s a little bit of moonlight spilling in through the windows. It had only recently, last year, occurred to him, after seeing Nahyuta again, that his birth certificate, all of his documentation, was forged. Dhurke didn’t even know his father’s first name. None of it could be real. He’s tried not to think about it since he came to Khura’in, about how he’s basically going to be immigrating back to his home country, the country of his birth, because his passport is built on a forged document, because all of it is, and he can’t in good conscience keep using it. He has a Khura’inese passport now. The birth date listed in it is still made up. “You’ve got to be kidding me with all of this -- if this is a joke -- it’s three am-- where’s my laptop?"

It’s downstairs. He isn’t good at taking these stairs in the dark. They’re slightly different heights halfway down.

“Apollo, we would not do this to you,” Athena says. He believes her. She was in the gallery last May as his family history was laid bare for everyone. She should know well what this means to him.

But then that means – and that’s stupid. Right?

He realizes too late that Nahyuta did not return to the palace and instead passed out at his kitchen table, and no matter how low Apollo keeps his voice, he has already woken his brother up. He remembers Nahyuta sleeping like a log when they were children, but there is so much about Nahyuta he remembers from when they were children that no longer applies, because even free of Ga’ran’s chains, the years apart, with the revolution, gave time for his brother to become someone else, someone who can personally help update prison security because he knows the best ways to break out of them, someone who can throw a knife almost as well as Datz. Someone who awakes at the slightest sound, because that might be the regime’s forces come to arrest them all.

Even if he lives in a palace now. Even if he rules the country now.

Apollo grabs his laptop off the couch. Nahyuta’s pale eyes are open. “What is going on?” he asks.

He lowers the phone from his mouth. “I have a sister.”

He says it automatically, even though he has no confirmation; he has only Trucy and Athena’s words at three am.

Nahyuta does not lift his head off his arms. Apollo can’t see his mouth but the skin around his eyes looks like he might be smiling. He definitely sounds like it. “I am glad you have finally accepted that you may call Rayfa such, but why at this time--”

“No, I mean, blood-related.” It can’t be -- she can’t be. But -- but this would be the cruelest joke to play -- and they wouldn’t. They aren’t like that. “A half-sister. My mother.”

Nahyuta raises his head.

“Apollo? You still there?”

He brings his laptop to the table, where Nahyuta has shifted aside crime scene photographs and copies of testimony to clear a space. He gestures at the lamp, giving Apollo enough time to brace himself for the light. “Okay, I’m checking my email now.” Sure enough, there is one from the main office email, with an attachment, and the subject line a keysmash. Either Athena or Trucy could have written that. “It’s loading… slowly…”

He helps Nahyuta reorganize their evidence while he waits. He wonders how long his brother was awake after Apollo went up at midnight. Maybe he wasn’t ever actually asleep. After about a minute, he returns, scanning what does indeed appear to be a birth certificate. And the names – Thalassa Gramarye, yes, Trucy’s mother – and – Jove Justice –

Apollo slumps down in his chair. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. “There’s no way – there’s no fucking way--”

“We found it in a box of my grandfather’s things,” Trucy says, breathlessly, but she isn’t shouting like she was. “With my birth certificate, and my parents’ marriage documentation, and yours – it’s got to be real, Polly, it’s got to be! Your bracelet! Your power! Mine’s like it – like how I taught you what to do – it’s a Gramarye thing – the bracelet is our mother’s! There’s a picture of her – I’ll send that – Athena--”

There are more sounds of distant scrambling. Apollo stares at the screen. Apollo Justice. His name is there, Apollo, and Jove, and Thalassa Gramarye –

Nahyuta leans over his shoulder. “Your birth certificate?” he asks. Apollo pushes him away until his hair isn’t falling in his face. “Yes, your father, Jove Justice” – he’s reading it the other way, right to left, because that is how Khura’inese is written – “and Thalassa…”

“Yeah.” Apollo says. He doesn’t hear anything on the other side of the phone now. They probably dropped it.

“Gramarye,” Nahyuta says. “Gramarye, as in…” He presses his hands over his eyes.

Gramarye, as in the trial where they met for the first time in fifteen years. Gramarye, the trial where Nahyuta tried to get Trucy – Apollo’s sister, his sister – convicted of murder.

“Yeah,” Apollo says.

It’s quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind and the creak of the house settling. Or maybe a rat. Probably a rat.

“Now we know your real birthday,” Nahyuta says quietly. He sits on the table, still leaning over the screen to look at it, like he still can’t believe it either. “We’ll have to tell Datz.”

“Now we have proof that I’m an American citizen,” Apollo says. Now he has a sister. That’s hardest to believe. He said it earlier just fine, but now, with proof, with something real, something with those names, Gramarye and Justice, side by side, his tongue freezes. “And my mother’s name -- I have names for both of them. I have…”

A sister. A sister. He had his sister for two years and then he left to help his brother. When Phoenix told him about Magnifi’s death, that was the death of Apollo’s grandfather. And when he told him about Trucy’s mother being shot -- that was Apollo’s mother’s death, too.

His heart sinks. She’s dead. He can’t meet either of them. He saw the last moments of life of his father by blood; he reunited with his father who raised him in time for him to die; he found his mother to know that she already died without having to look for that information.

A faint noise arises from somewhere to his right and a few seconds later he realizes it’s voices through the phone. “Polly! Polly! Did you just abandon us? Apollo!”

“Sorry,” he says. “I was talking to Nahyuta.”

“Oooh, three am, you sounded so mad like I woke you up, and now you’re like, nah, I was hanging out with my brother instead.”

“We were working on a case, and you did wake me up--”

“Oh! If he’s your brother then is he also my brother?”

“Maybe? You’d have to ask him. He says that his sister is my sister, so I guess it would work backwards…”

Nahyuta is frowning. He probably can piece together what Trucy’s question was by Apollo’s answer, and his expression might either mean that he doesn’t want Trucy as his sister (unlikely) or that he is once again remembering how harsh he was in her trial and grappling with the fact that she is not only his brother’s dear friend, but now his own sister (much more likely).

“Does Mr Wright know this?”

“Yeah, he was around when I found the stuff. He hasn’t really said much. Maybe he’s trying to figure out whether he’s your dad or not, since he’s my dad and I’m your sister so you’re sort of, like -- maybe?”

Apollo wants to say that historically, being his father is something like a curse, but he wouldn’t say it to Trucy, who also has a dead father, or in front of Nahyuta, when that shared wound has not yet closed. (Apollo got the closest thing to closure. Nahyuta’s last conversation with him was while they stood as enemies in the detention center. Rayfa never knew him.) “Maybe,” Apollo says, and his mouth is dry.

A second email pops up, again from the office address. “Just sent you a picture!” Athena chimes in. Apollo can picture her leaning over Trucy’s shoulder to shout into the phone, the same way that Nahyuta is leaning over his shoulder to look at the laptop screen.

“It’s our mom!” Trucy adds. Our. Our mother. Apollo doesn’t know what to do with that phrase.  

The picture that loads is of a woman with braided light brown hair, wearing a white dress. Her hands are visible in the image, and around her wrists, two golden bangle bracelets. Two bracelets just like one that sits on Apollo’s wrist. He tears his eyes from his mother’s face -- his mother, his mother -- and looks at Nahyuta, whose eyes are on Apollo’s bracelet as well. “Oh,” Apollo says. He tabs over to google for an old Troupe Gramarye poster, to compare the face of Magnifi’s daughter there, to the photo with the bracelets. Like he expects to see it’s a different person. Like he expects somewhere, this will fall apart, and it hasn’t. It doesn’t. Trucy is saying something and the words don’t make it from his ears to his brain.

“Trucy,” he says, and she falls silent. “Can you give me… like, an hour to process this, and then I’ll call you back?”

“O-okay.” She doesn’t sound happy. Apollo’s heart sinks further. He hopes she’ll understand that this isn’t anything against her.

“You know we have a trial in the morning,” Nahyuta says.

“Yeah, and our strategy from the start was already just ‘fuck it’.” Apollo uncovers the phone. Trucy and Athena both know that’s always their court strategy, but he doesn’t want them to rag on him some more. “All right. Talk to you in a bit, Trucy.”

“See ya, Polly.”

Apollo pushes the laptop away and rests his forehead on the table. “How can one family have so many secrets?”

“The Gramaryes?” Nahyuta asks. He knows the tangled web woven beneath the surface. He saw it in the trial. Apollo doesn’t know what additional else he knows, how much he researched -- knowing Nahyuta, back when Trucy was on trial, he looked up the transcript of the trial that’s ten years ago now, and the ones three years ago.

“The Gramaryes, and -- our family -- every family I’m a part of, murder and -- secret siblings and -- long-lost siblings, and -- more murder.” Even if Nahyuta read everything on-record, he wouldn’t know how Thalassa died. “I just wanted a normal life, I -- god, I couldn’t have been normal even if my father wasn’t killed, or even if Dhurke found my mother, if I grew up with her family I--”

“Would have been a magician, or a singer, perhaps,” Nahyuta said. “Could, perhaps, have grown up with your younger sister.”

Athena would be able to figure out what he is feeling when he says it, but Apollo doesn’t have much to go on. Nahyuta can keep his voice level too easily. Apollo can guess, though: sorrow, longing, regret.

“I wouldn’t be here now, though,” Apollo says. “Wouldn’t have known you, and Dhurke, and--”

Couldn’t have helped you. Couldn’t have saved you. Nahyuta glances away. He must be thinking the same.

“I wish Dhurke could’ve seen this, at least,” Apollo adds. “That sending me back would, eventually, let me find my family. And that--” He stops. Something has crawled its way back to the front of his memory, something that he blocked out that then disappeared behind more important things. “Oh, god.”

“What?”

He must sound horrified, because Nahyuta looks incredibly concerned. “Dhurke met Trucy, when he -- when he came over with Maya” -- if he phrases it like that it’s easier to not have to relive the moment the truth hit him -- “to get the Founder’s Orb, and -- god, he was like, ‘hey, son, nudge nudge, this girl would be good bride material’ -- eurgh.”

“Ugh.” Nahyuta puts his face in his hands. “Why did he have to be like--”

“Dhurke, why?”

It’s a question Apollo asked a lot -- it’s a question he still asks -- but it usually hurts more than this. Even if he does still sort of want to die.

“By the Holy Mother, there had better be an earthquake at the palace,” Nahyuta says, “from Father deservedly turning over in his tomb.” Nahyuta pauses. “Isn’t she seventeen?”

“Yeah.”

Nahyuta sighs. “Too young for that. And too young to be framed for murder.” He doesn’t say much about that trial, always gets a sick guilty look on his face whenever they skirt close to the topic. “Perhaps he meant she seemed a good kid and would be a welcome addition to our family, which is in itself a new sort of irony, that she already is, no marrying her off to one of us necessary.” He isn’t looking at Apollo, clearly pondering something else too. “You know,” he adds after a minute, “Mother was only nineteen when she had me. Ga’ran… used that against Dhurke, at the trial. She could claim that she was still young and naive and easily-duped, even though Dhurke was only twenty then. And twenty-two at the trial.” His eyes are vacant. “They were too young.”

Apollo hadn’t done the math on that. “She was only twenty-one when her sister tried to kill her.” When he was twenty-one, he was studying for the bar. When Nahyuta was twenty-one, he was already under Ga’ran’s thumb trying to protect his little sister. “I wonder how old my mother was. When she had me, and when -- when she lost her husband.” Too young to have lost so much, without question. “And when she died.”

Nahyuta doesn’t ask how Apollo knows that she’s dead. They sit in silence, looking at her picture. His mother. His half-sister. Sister.

“Apollo Gramarye,” he mutters. He shakes his head. “Doesn’t have quite the same ring.”

Nahyuta doesn’t respond, but after about a minute, he starts laughing. “What?” Apollo asks. Is he finally having the breakdown that probably, honestly, he probably needs to have? Is Apollo the one losing his mind? Did they both lose it?

“That damned murderer -- the magician, Retinz, Reus -- what karmic justice he faced.” Nahyuta shakes his head, still chuckling. “He was convinced that, though his plots were exposed, he had won against the Gramaryes, because he fooled Trucy and she needed you to save her. But you are a Gramarye by blood just as well as she. So he did, ultimately, lose to the Gramaryes.”

“Huh.” Apollo only vaguely remembers Reus saying that. He just remembers how relieved he was that Trucy was safe. He just remembers the sick feeling in his stomach listening to Nahyuta. His sister, and his brother. What a shitshow: the Gramaryes, the Khura’inese royals, and the two families together. “Man, what were the odds? That my law career would start like that, that I’d end up at the right place--”

“The Wright place.”

“It wasn’t a pun, Nahyuta, shut up. -- The place where I just… my sister’s there. I end up working for the man who adopted my sister. What are the odds?”

“I think the Holy Mother puts people where they need to be,” Nahyuta says. “You, to find them -- you, to find us again.”

“She was definitely putting me through some trials, there, at the start.”

“Perhaps this is another sign from Her.” Apollo shrugs when Nahyuta does not immediately elaborate on the thought. “That your sister has discovered this, now. It’s been nearly a year you have been in Khura’in, helping me, has it not? Perhaps this is a sign that you are due to return and spend time again with your other family.”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe it is.

His sister.

“Once you finish your current docket of cases,” Nahyuta adds.

Apollo punches him in the shin.

-

Please leave your message after the tone, and I will return your call.

“Hey, Thalassa, it’s Phoenix. So, funny story about the kids…”

[moonbeatblues]

16. i’ll believe in anything (and you’ll believe in anything)

The ocean is good to Delphine. Always has been.

She went south during college summers, slept with the windows open and the air coming in thick and salty-sweet from the beach and its flowers.

The waters were cold, always steel-grey and lashing up at sand and feet like a dog, held back only by the moon.

Delphine knows the ocean only takes, and spits out shells, but she’s not afraid of the cold. At 20, the pull of the tide was not enough to break the skin, and let it never be said, but she doesn’t mind a little pain.

—

She does not go to the coast of America. There is no salt in her hair when she meets Cosima, and she wonders if Cosima thinks her as hollow and riddled through as she feels.

Cosima is obsidian, Cosima is brilliant and spiraling and sharp, Cosima is searing in short little bursts and cool again, smooth to worry over for a long while.

Cosima burns through Delphine in seconds; she does not leave things unfinished beneath her.

—

It’s not that Delphine has never been loved, no. There were hot summers with boys who lived in the beach towns— they’d meet her down by the pier, mouths earnest and clumsy, and she’d feel warm down to her toes, warm to match the sun and cement. There were doting boyfriends in college, mylar balloons for Valentine’s Day and those tense fights about the future where both parties know it won’t work but aren’t quite done lying about it— there was love to be felt, before Cosima.

Cosima is not the first to love Delphine. But she is the first to really, properly hurt her.

Things before were laid out smooth: years in college and med school, an internship that carried seamlessly into a job. Years spent in the wash make everything a little less exciting, and lo, she does not go to the beach.

She arrives a little too grating for the part Leekie wants played, and has to practice looking like a student again. Not that it’s hard to be confused by the people, but her intrigue is something cold and frictionless, now. There’s an ice in her veins that keeps her from the jitters that would really sell this.

Cosima is not stupid— the look she gives Delphine that first day in the lab is an immediate alarm— she is not expecting Delphine to cry and fold in the arms of a new friend.

And so she doesn’t, really.

The way to really get to Cosima is to show her something new— Delphine might not impress Cosima alone, but her work can.

Or so she thinks.

Delphine frets that Cosima and her non-Newtonian temper won’t go down easy for Leekie, but he only quirks his mouth in that wry smile at her skepticism, in the way that Delphine knows to mean this is on her head.

She feels like she loses a little of Cosima’s fixation, pretending to fawn over her own work the way she does—tries to remember that it doesn’t really matter, that the more naïve Cosima thinks her, the better, but there’s a part of her that doesn’t want Cosima to see her as anything less than interesting.

And so, when Cosima offers to get her high, Delphine doesn’t turn her down. It puts a gleam in her eye, against the glare of patchy snow, that Delphine thinks about for a little too long. She goes home with her mouth tasting like ash and warm from the sides of Cosima’s face.

There’s something compacted down in Delphine, something primordial and previously silent between her ribs, and it stirs itself up again, warm and sleepy in her chest when she sees Cosima’s dorm. More than anything she’s pretending to be fuzzy on the few glasses of wine— a pitiful offering to her French liver— and Cosima’s eyes are dark and flaring heat out at the edges like eclipses.

The foyer seems even smaller than Delphine had initially found it to be, warmth crowding in close like gondola passengers— hasty and red in the cheeks, to match her— and Cosima’s voice has this gravel to it, bass through a neighboring wall, rattling the windowpanes.

There’s this deep-blue shot of fear that drops in Delphine’s stomach at her words, billowing out like watercolor, but then Cosima’s mouth finds hers and everything is that New-Year’s-red again.

And now, now it is easy to be sophomoric and soft, to fold at the knees.

Cosima’s face burns where she touches it, greedy hands in holy water, and she turns tail.

All the way to the car parked several blocks down, her stomach turns like a bed of snakes.

Leekie only echoes the same frenetic chorus in her head— the last bit of her set on upholding a crueler version of herself is enough to gather up and hiss, “She made a pass at me, Aldous,” with all the authority of a child. It feels bitter on its way past her teeth, like spitting coffee grounds, and Delphine is a liar; she starts at the phrase “dig deeper,” and runs in her heels, and thinks, very simply, that Cosima is not an easy person to be away from.

—

Delphine drips slow with honey for her, there’s this dark, warm tug in her belly to see Cosima shed that gauzy shawl for Delphine to slip her hands past. Reticence is slipping from her mind like slick plants down the shoreline, she is quietly, fiercely focused on holding all the fire Cosima is breathing down her throat.

It is very fortunate Cosima does not have a roommate, she thinks, heels loud on the floor as she’s guided backwards. Beyond the obvious— there is something intensely silent about the way that churning in Delphine’s stomach has gone, like an angry god finally sated; she has stumbled upon something finally worth protecting. A small flame setting feeling back into her fingers, a numbness receding that is so old it no longer was, warmth so new it burns even infinitesimal.

And there are benefits to being in a space entirely hers, Delphine thinks— she feel deep in the glittering depths of some hoard, amongst the things Cosima finds sacred, and she is suddenly giddy on the idea that she might be one of those things.

Cosima is the most reassuring partner she’s ever had, and there’s a pleasant hush of tinnitus in Delphine’s skull, like the roll of waves, that peels back to hear her speaking up the length of Delphine’s throat.

“You’re so good,” she says with the reverence reserved for saints, and Delphine breaks apart, head falling to bury in Cosima’s shoulder because she is not, because God knows she’s been waiting to hear that for longer than she can imagine, god knows it makes her jump like a live wire and grind down further, and god knows Cosima takes notice, grins with sleepy adoration and doubles down upon making Delphine feel like she is worth the attention she gives.

She cries when she rolls off that last edge with her face tipped up to the ceiling, and tries to pretend she’s felt that much all at once before.

—

Breaking up has never been this hard, Delphine thinks.

Not for lack of experience— hot summers end, after all— but Cosima is far too many firsts all in one, too close and too hot not to miss.

The look she gives Delphine almost kills her. Like Delphine had broken her in two, not at the heart, but down the center.

Delphine has seen Cosima at her lowest. Cleaned the blood from both of their clothes, gotten tangled in the tubes snaking from her nose, fretted over every catch in her breath when she slept.

But she thinks, now, that Cosima has never looked sadder, never been more pitiful. Like she’s a flower and Delphine, all jaws and teeth and leather, has swallowed the sun. She has the thought— “I’ve hurt her more than DYAD”— and reels so hard she can’t say I love you, much as she feels it.

Cosima says okay with her mouth and eyes wet and open, like she’s speaking from underwater, and Delphine is left to choke and gasp out in the hallway.

She cries, and watches her hair curl up at the ends under the shower, and dreams of herself in Rachel’s stilettos with her toes planted to the small of Cosima’s back. Her bed is far too big to thrash in alone— sweating and coming awake, she keeps expecting to roll off, but never does.

—

It feels almost good, to see her with someone else.

Months and months, the cold winter through Delphine has done nothing but break Cosima. Lure her back in, fill up the cracks with honey-gold and press her thumbs against those same lines, again. It seems right that now should be her turn.

She never really talked to Cosima about how it felt to kiss Sarah, how heavy the scales were when they fell from her weary eyes. Knowing someone, and finding another. It was something beyond disappointment, something low and dark red, and Delphine’s fingers stuttered over her Cosima’s face when she saw her again.

Delphine does not like to think herself possessive, but there’s that same, unavoidable dark red in seeing Shay. Less envy and more the same anger she holds towards herself, at not yet discovering that Cosima’s not something the low and fallible deserve.

It feels good to be broken in kind. Cosima still has that boundless energy for what is new, and this shift in their dynamic has her eyes a darker shade of what Delphine loves; she experiments, she tests the waters, pokes all around at Delphine like she’s a specimen, like she’s seeing her, finally, as that caged lion, emaciated and shaved at the ankles, heavy frame held up by nothing at all and weight carried too low along the spine. Tail in the dust.

Delphine would not be proud to admit it, either, but she enjoys that, too.

There is something intoxicating about capturing someone’s interest, and there is none better to be studied by than Cosima.

—

There is a great deal Cosima will never know about the things Delphine has done for her, and despite all the ways they have gone to soft and rotting rinds of themselves, quiet fermentation in another’s garden, Delphine will not hold it against her.

There was an immediate pride she had at the beginning of all things, before she knew the shifting nature of the sidelines— she was Cosima’s monitor.

There was something to cultivate, something to lose herself in, and in golden afternoon, in a big warm rush, it became someone. She slipped, a few times, but never enough to break. The mythos held, and there was the headiness of falling for someone without knowing them. (Not to say Delphine did not know about Cosima, but there was a great gap between toxicology data and watching Cosima’s pupils dilate, expanding like a cat’s in the dark, blooming like hallucinogenic flowers.)

She learned all too fast, and in all the wrong ways the low, twisted parts of her when her lungs failed, learned that Cosima sleeps sun-drunk in the dusty belly of their lab with cells from her sisters clipped to the microscope stands, found the bounds of her convictions, her foolish little altruistic, calcified streak, by bulling straight for it.

She made Cosima roar by trying to keep her alive, and in that out-of-order way saw the parts of her that still were.

She cried when Cosima seized for the first time, and made damn sure to be around for the rest.

There was a new high to keeping Cosima safe as the difficulty increased— there is something in Delphine that just wants to take care— she knew, from that first night, that she was staking all of herself on this hill with legs too weak to descend.

And so Delphine cannot really regret anything. To love all was something Delphine took up like a plasmid, writing into herself the instructions. She knows she is something beyond herself, now, something preened and serrated, but it was as it would always come to be, in the end.

She pushes back. She fights with closed fists and she wakes up early to straighten her hair because it’s measurable, like wiping down strings, like oiling leather. It’s a mantra beyond maintenance, it’s a reminder, a quota, a promise to no one and to herself.

When she kisses Cosima outside it is like breathing, it is a greeting without fanfare, like coming home in the night to sleep with only the shucking of coat and shoes as unpacking.

Cosima greets her in her catlike fashion, blinking slowly and with a hum; in a moment of grace, Delphine, beginning to cry, chokes and smiles and thumbs at Cosima’s bottom lip, and says goodbye in the way of one pretending to return.

And getting shot is not so much worse than when she was ten and her appendix burst on the way to the family physician— sitting against the cement of the garage, there is some respite to be had, at least for her feet. In Rachel’s heels her legs buckle to sprawl on the ground and slide through the first bit of her blood to spill that far, like a fawn on its belly.

Weary and with eyes welling in pained tears, she thinks, “I am done,” and kicks them off.

—

It is a very long night when Delphine takes up her old habit of bodily trying to keep Cosima from dying.

She knows the procedure for hypothermia, she has been essentially a combat medic these months, but she has never done this herself. Another first.

It really is disconcerting to feel how cold Cosima is this close— Delphine feels feverish, a furnace in comparison, and she pulls one of Cosima’s legs between her own, trying to press closer.

Cosima makes a startled hum; wiggles her eyebrows and things feel better so immediately that she revels in how good Cosima is at leaching the worry from her.

That she only has a scar (which Cosima eagerly slides a cold palm over), that Cosima is alive in the same glorious way she was when they met, that she’s here, wonderful and smelling of snow, with her heavy limbs and her sleepy eyes and her quiet love, so strong it is almost angry— Delphine ends up crying into her already-wet hair and doing a very bad job of keeping Cosima warm on all sides.

But she’s alive, and it’s been so long since she’s seen Cosima’s eyes so close without glasses, and she’s stopped shivering, the rattle gone from her chest. There is time plenty for Delphine to finally, again be told that she has done well.

[peanutbutterjelly-pie]

Nobody’s Fault But Mine

content: Castiel just should have listened. He seriously should have. But instead he found himself hypnotized by those beautiful green eyes and he totally missed the most important thing in the process.

Pairings: Dean/Castiel, minor Sam/Eileen

word count: 6.1k

[AO3]

It's on a cloudy Thursday morning when Castiel realizes that he got himself a serious crush on one of his regular patrons.

The whole thing was completely unplanned, of course. Castiel has about a thousand other things on his mind, with him opening his new bakery in a popular part of the town, being all proud and self-assured after having managed to survive the long months of bank issues and renovations that took way longer than expected, feeling all confident and happy when the first reactions on the opening day turned out be quite positive and people came back the next morning to get themselves a new fix.

It's been a very stressful few months and he's actually got no time for an obnoxious infatuation.

But since the day the green-eyed man walked through the door for the very first time Castiel's interest was piqued. He greeted Castiel with a dazzling smile, his beautiful eyes brimming, and somehow just two minutes later they found themselves in a exhilarating discussion about Vonnegut. Castiel totally forgot about the line getting longer and longer behind the man, so captivated by their interaction that it took one of his employees nudging his shoulder and calling his name quite loudly to train his attention back to the situation at hand.

Castiel flushed fiercely as he noticed the approximately twenty pairs of eyes staring at him and mumbles a hasty apology. The gorgeous man, however, just chuckled amused, winked at him and whispered, “I'll see you around, Castiel.”

Castiel blinked a few times before his gaze flickered to the leather bracelet on the guy's left wrist that said “SAM” in capital letters, rejoicing that destiny was making it easy for a change and was giving him that stunning man's name on a silver platter, before answering, “Until next time, Sam.”

He laughed, the sound so rich and beautiful that Castiel entirely missed what Sam said afterwards as he was waving and walking away.

For the rest of the morning Castiel was unable to concentrate on even the simplest tasks and eventually banned into the back office so he wouldn't destroy any equipment.

It only got worse when Sam showed up the next day.

And the day after that.

He indeed kept true to his words.

Every single morning, right before work, he drops by the bakery, distracting Castiel with his everything to a point of no return. Castiel finds himself knocking over cups and stumbling over his words and blushing more than he has ever blushed before in his entire life combined and it's the best part of his day.

So yes, when he eventually realizes, on that cloudy Thursday morning, that he might be a little bit smitten, he's not really surprised.

The more he learns about this man, the more besotted he becomes.

Sam is at least very keen to share. He always turns toward Castiel when he arrives, no matter who's standing behind the counter, and immediately begins to talk as though he wants to squeeze as much information (and learn even more) in their daily two-minute encounters.

He rambles about his job as a high school teacher, obviously highly fond of his kids although he tries to sound exasperated, about his friends and their weird hobbies (Castiel never knew what LARPing meant until now) and about anything else that comes to his mind. He's definitely a very interesting person to talk with – one week they're overly engrossed with J.K. Rowling and the political issues in her works before switching right back to Sam attempting to convince Castiel to share the recipe of his by now kind of famous pie (which apparently became the love of Sam's life, as he is always quick to explain).

More often than not Sam is accompanied by his brother, a mountain of a man with shaggy hair and a kind smile. Obviously they both have apartments close to each other right  around to corner and they meet up almost every morning to pick up some breakfast and coffee before going to work. It seems to be some kind of ritual they both cherish and Castiel finds it rather sweet, to be honest.

It's obvious that Sam's fairly proud of his “little” genius and although he's keeping his praise to a minimum to not make his brother uncomfortable, Sam's face says it all.

Their tight bond gets especially clear by Dean wearing the same leather bracelet on his wrist as his brother, saying “DEAN”. Apparently it had been a joined gift by someone important to them both and they decided long ago to keep it close, every single day.

Sam gets a bit emotional when he mentions the story to Castiel one day. He tries to tame it, even laughs and waves it off as though it's an old tale no one should pay too much attention to, and obviously keeps it vague and brief on purpose, but there is a light in his eyes he just can't hide.

It's all very moving and Castiel almost envies them their devotion. He doesn't have a special person in his life that would share such a small yet meaningful gesture with him.

Sam is indeed a very lucky man.

“Nah, I wouldn't go that far,” Sam counters when Castiel tells him so. “A lot of shit happened too. But I guess all in all my life's quite alright so far.”

“Well, my brother would laugh at me if I'd propose matching bracelets,” Castiel explains with a smile, imagining Gabriel falling off a chair roaring with laughter.

“Well, my stupid Sasquatch over there,” he nods at Dean who's checking something on his phone, completely ignoring them, “he didn't have much of a choice, didn't he? When Bobby gave those wristbands to us, he couldn't just say 'no' and leave it with that.”

However, there's a waver in Sam's voice, making it crystal clear that there's much more to the story than he'd heard so far. But Castiel doesn't mean to pry, so he simply smiles gently and says, “You may not believe me, but you are a lucky man.”

Sam studies him for a moment and eventually admits, “Maybe you're right. After all, a really awesome bakery just opened close to my place. I'd call that lucky indeed.”

Castiel chuckles. “If you say so.”

“And the nice owner is definitely a bonus, too.”

Sam freaking winks at him after that and Castiel can't control a way too obvious blush to save his life.

He's absolutely screwed.

Sam, though, just stares at him as though seeing Castiel all flustered is the best thing that ever happened to him.

“Perhaps I'm indeed a very lucky man.”

*  *  *  *  *

Life seems to be perfect for a change.

Castiel can't recall ever feeling so alive, so full of energy. Even the mere thought of seeing Sam, just for a few minutes, elates him in a way he never imagined.

And then, of course, everything goes to hell.

It starts when Jo places a cake order on a rainy Friday afternoon.

She's a friend of Sam and Dean's that had been dragged in by Sam one day and instantly returned the next one on her own account for “another round of those criminally delicious cinnamon rolls”. Since then she shows up regularly and always finds time to chat easily with Castiel for a moment.

“It needs to be a big cake,” she emphasizes. “Chocolate. Lots of chocolate.”

Castiel's lips curl upward. “I assume it's a special occasion?”

Jo nods enthusiastically. “Engagement,” she announces. “Sam finally popped the question. Took the moron long enough, in my opinion.”

Castiel freezes at those words and he simply gapes at Jo, desperately trying to find some coherent speech in his head. “Sam?” he eventually croaks.

He must have misheard, right?

Because there's no way that Sam would never have mentioned a significant other. That's usually something people tell each other, even if their meetings are fairly brief. At least when that specific partner important enough to marry them.

However, Jo crushes his hope just a moment later. “Yep,” she confirms, nodding enthusiastically and being rather oblivious to Castiel's shock. “Sam and Eileen are dating since the dawn of time. They're ridiculously cute together.” She looks up. “I guess you haven't met her yet?”

Castiel merely shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

Before his inner eye he sees freckles and a blinding smile and instead of the familiar joy Castiel feels a huge wave of disappointment.

Granted, he never got his hopes up in the first place because life can be cruel and unfair, but particularly in the last week he actually got the impression that Sam's interest in him wasn't purely platonic. Castiel isn't an expert on flirting and wooing, far from it, but according to his employees Hannah and Alfie Sam has been becoming less and less subtle for some time now. They both had assured Castiel that Sam's flirting game was strong.

But now …?

Apparently they all had been majorly wrong.

Castiel feels his heart plummet and it takes all his strength not to show it on the outside. Instead he forces a (probably very unconvincing) smile on his lips and says, “I'm glad to hear they're happy.”

“They sure as hell are,” Jo agrees, studying the pastries in the display intently and completely missing the waver in Castiel's voice. “Meant to be and all. Dean's thrilled too, you know. Excited to be the best man, that dork.”

She keeps on and on about the upcoming wedding and the beautiful couple, but everything is a blur to Castiel after that as he wallows quietly in his misery.

So much for the man of his dreams.

*  *  *  *  *

Sam shows up the next morning, right on schedule.

He beams brightly at Castiel, glowing like someone who has everything he ever wanted in his life, and Castiel can't even keep feeling sorry for himself when seeing Sam so gleeful.

He deserves all the happiness.

Even if that means that it will take a bit longer until Castiel finds his.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam says cheerfully. He started to use the shortened version of Castiel's name a while ago and Castiel found himself liking it, especially hearing it out of Sam's mouth. He's got a specific way of pronouncing his name that makes Castiel shiver all over.

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel greets politely.

Sam laughs. “That never gets old, man.”

Castiel isn't exactly sure what he's referring to, but he refrains from asking. A lot of Sam's references are going straight over his head.

“I heard about the engagement,” he says instead, being fairly proud of himself for sounding somewhat mature and calm. “It's excellent news.”

“It's great, right?” Sam grins broadly. “I mean, it's long overdue, to be honest. And Eileen's seriously awesome, she's gonna be a perfect addition to our family.” He cocks his head to one side. “Okay, technically she's been part of the family for years, but now it'll be official. On paper and stuff.”

He indeed sounds overly excited and Castiel's heart melts at the sight.

“That's good,” he mutters. His chest constricts unpleasantly, his body apparently highly displeased with Castiel shoving down all his emotions rather violently, but at the same time watching Sam's beautiful smile radiating like this is the most amazing thing ever.

All in all it's very confusing.

“So … um, do you maybe have a minute?” Sam wonders, glancing at the short line of customers nearby that is currently served by Hannah. “If you're not too busy or something, of course …”

Castiel can't exactly be sure due to the bright light, but it seems like Sam's cheeks are tinging pink.

“Uh, yes,” Castiel agrees. At first he considers declining because he isn't exactly sure whether he'd be able to keep his feelings at bay for long in the man's presence, but Sam's stunning green eyes obviously have the power to make him throw caution to the wind. “I can spare a minute or two.”

“Great,” Sam answers, but he sounds surprisingly nervous all of a sudden. “There … well, there is something I wanted to ask you.”

Castiel steps a bit to the right so they would have a little bit of privacy. “What is it?”

Sam licks his lips, his gaze dropping to his feet. “Um … there's a movie festival this weekend. Not sure if you've heard of it. Lots of classics and stuff.” He takes a deep breath. “And I wonder if you wanna go there. Maybe. With … with me.”

Castiel raises his brows in confusion. That almost sounds like a date.

It actually sounds quite definitely like date.

For one, beautiful moment Castiel believes that he got it all wrong, that he misinterpreted Jo's words as much as Sam's and that there's an absolute logical explanation for all of this, that he's free to go to this festival with Sam, enjoy their joined time and perhaps kiss him when the night is over …

It seems wonderful.

And yet again, it's just a dream. Because he didn't misunderstand anything! There is no denying it – Sam is marrying someone named Eileen, obviously his girlfriend of many years now, and there is no place for a pining baker in between.

Sam obviously just wants to be nice. It's apparent he's enjoying his little talks with Castiel every morning and he's keen to turn this into a real friendship.

And it's sweet and thoughtful and Castiel finds himself recoiling.

He's not sure if he's ready for that yet. Yes, he would love to be friends with Sam because he's kind and funny and just the type of person everyone wants to have in their lives, one way or another, but Castiel knows that he has to get over this whole mess first before being able to accept Sam's offer.

Otherwise it would break his heart.

“Thank you for thinking of me,” Castiel says, his following smile not reaching his eyes. “But I'm afraid I have no time at the moment. Building a new business … it's …” He heaves a breath, feeling every single cell in his body protesting. “Maybe another time.”

Sam's expression slips for a split second, morphing into something so crestfallen that Castiel finds himself on the verge to take it all back immediately, his own emotions be damned, but just then Sam schools his features back and clears his throat.

“It's, uh, it's cool, man,” he shrugs it off, a watery smile on his lips. “I imagine it being very … time-consuming and stuff. Another time then.”

Castiel instantly wants to assure Sam that he's a wonderful man and he'd love to spend more time with him, that everyone should be lucky who considers him a friend – he wants to do about everything to never see that look on his face ever again –, but just as he opens his mouth, eager to let Sam know, Sam mumbles a quick “Bye” and walks out of the door before anyone's able to stop him.

*  *  *  *  *

After that their brief encounters turn quite stilted.

Sam still smiles at him as he ignores the other employees to get his order straight from Castiel, but it seems stiff like it takes all kinds of effort to maintain it. He offers a few anecdotes of his life, asks Castiel a few questions in return, though it's not the same anymore. There are no carefree laughs, no casual touches, no lingering looks. Instead he avoids Castiel's gaze more often than not before hastily saying his goodbyes and actually fleeing the bakery.

It's clear as crystal that he'd rather be anywhere else and only keeps up pretenses out of politeness.

Just a few days later he doesn't show his face at all anymore. It's only his brother Dean who walks in and orders some pastries and two coffees, making it fairly obvious that Sam isn't far behind, but doesn't want to interact with Castiel.

It stays that way for about a week.

Dean always stares at him as though he's desperate to say something, to meddle, and part of Castiel actually hopes he would really do so because he's dying to make things right again somehow and he's got no idea how to even start, but in the end Dean just keeps quiet on the matter.

It only changes when one day Dean shows up in the company of a young woman.

Dean and her have a short, apparently rather heated discussion in sign language, making it obvious that she's probably deaf or at least hearing-impaired, before she eventually focuses her gaze on Castiel and stride towards him, looking frighteningly determined.

“You're Castiel?” she asks and it almost sounds like a challenge.

Castiel figures that it's most likely not a wise move to cross this woman as he nods timidly.

“Eileen,” Dean pipes in, exasperated as he gets himself into her line of sight so she's able to see his lips movements. “We really shouldn't –”

“We really should,” she counters. “I'm sick of all the miserable moping.”

“Eileen,” Dean says once again, rubbing his face.

Meanwhile, Castiel fixes his eyes on Sam's fiancée. The whole time he wondered how she would be like and now he has to admit she's everything he imagined her to be. Beautiful and fierce and obviously not willing to take anyone's shit.

No wonder Sam is so excited to make her part of their family.

“I normally don't like to get involved,” Eileen states, her hard gaze focusing on Castiel. “I think that people should be capable of dealing with their own stuff. But that stupid moron is my future brother-in-law and somehow I care for him.”

Castiel furrows his brows, a bit puzzled by her choice of words, but before he's able to ask Dean leans forward and, after some encouragement by Eileen, wonders, “Why did you turn my brother down?”

Castiel finds himself speechless all of a sudden, just staring at those piercing pairs of eyes looking back at him.

“It's just … I've been here, all these weeks,” Dean continues. “You probably totally forgot that I even existed, but damn, I've seen it all. And I know you like that idiot. When he told me that he wanted to ask you out, I was so sure you would say yes.” He halts, sighing. “But then you didn't. And my brother was frigging devastated.”

Castiel always wondered how it would feel like to have his heart ripped out his chest.

Now he knows.

“I'm – I'm so sorry –”

“We didn't come here to accuse you,” Eileen is quick to add after glaring at Dean, most likely for his choice of words. “And we didn't come here to convince you to change your mind or something. We're fairly sure you had your reasons for saying no and we respect that. We don't wanna push you into anything you might regret only because you feel bad.”

“Yeah, right,” Dean agrees. “Sorry for making you think that. I seriously didn't wanna blame you or something. It's your decision after all.” He shuts his eyes for a moment, obviously collecting his thoughts. “But, you know, my idiot of a brother … he's got some bad experiences in the past and asking you out was a big step for him. And now he's telling himself that this all has been in his head. That he wanted it so bad he imagined you liking him. He's beating himself up over that and I just …”

“You care about him, that's fairly obvious,” Eileen cuts in, appearing like a woman who knows exactly what love looks like.

And Castiel flushes because this is Sam's fiancée after all.

“Please just tell him that,” Eileen pleads. “You don't have to take him up on his offer or even date him, but right now he thinks he made the whole thing up in his mind and I can't have seeing him that miserable. I kinda love him, you know?”

Yes, Castiel knows quite well.

And he's actually really grateful for that. Eileen seems to care about Sam's well-being a great deal. He deserves someone so special in his life.

“I … I don't want him to feel bad,” Castiel eventually says. “I'm really sorry. I didn't mean –”

“We know,” Dean interrupts, a soft smile on his lips. “Misunderstandings like that happen all the time. Deep down he probably knows that as well. He'd probably get over himself soon enough and realize that you like him just fine, but well, it's actually a time for celebration right now and I wanna see him happy again.”

Castiel nods. “I understand. I never meant to dampen your wedding mood.”

Eileen shrugs, smirking. “It's quite alright. You're cute. I can see why Dean took a shot asking you out on a date. I'd probably done the same.”

Dean snorts next to her. “Thank you, love.”

She pats his broad chest. “You're still my number one.”

Dean looks at her in way Castiel can only call besotted and he grows very bewildered very fast.

“I … I don't understand,” he stutters, glancing back and forth between them. Just now he notices that they're fingers are linked, probably since the moment they approached Castiel at the counter.

“What is it?” Eileen wonders.

“Jo …” Castiel's head is spinning. “She … she told me that you and Sam are getting married.”

Eileen nods. “And that's right.”

“So why …?” He looks at their joined hands and the way they standing far too close to each other and his confusion grows stronger and stronger.

He's totally missing something here.

Something fundamental.

And suddenly Eileen's eyes widen in realization. “Oh my God!” she exclaims. “I know that look!”

Dean flinches at her sudden outburst and stares at her in confusion. “What do you mean? What's happening?”

Just a moment later he receives a rather hard slap on his shoulder by Eileen. “Those stupid wristbands!” she says accusingly, pointing at the leather bracelet. “You're confusing people again.”

Dean wrinkles his giant forehead. “What?”

“Remember the first time we met?” Eileen asks. “And our date more or less right after that? The whole night I believed your name to be DEAN!”

Dean still seems highly puzzled by the events. “What does that have to do –?”

“I probably looked the same way Castiel is doing right now!” Eileen interrupts. “Super confused when you eventually told me stories about your brother Dean!”

Castiel is officially lost now. He has not a single clue what's going on.

“I don't understand …” he says once again, his voice shy now. He feels a headache coming his way as he attempts to entangle this cluster of confusing new information.

Dean, however, does finally seem able to catch on. His jaw goes slack as he looks at Eileen in shock.

“Oh no,” he whispers, shaking his head as if he can't believe it. “You're not saying …?”

Eileen nods determinedly. “I think so.”

Dean still doesn't appear convinced. He abruptly turns toward Castiel and asks urgently, “You do know that I am Sam, right?”

What?

“What?”

Castiel merely gapes, even incapable of blinking.

Now he's absolutely certain that he misheard.

Meanwhile, Eileen slams her palm onto the counter, making several of the patrons close by flinch in surprise, and bellows triumphantly, “I knew it!”

Dean – or Sam? – groans as he rubs his face. “Seriously? I can't believe that. All that moping and pining – for nothing?”

Castiel glances back and forth between them as they switch back to sign language, moving their hands way too fast for Castiel's limited skills he got himself in a ASL class years ago to understand. It's clear, however, that Eileen isn't happy with Sam's phrasing and wants to give him a piece of her mind.

And damn, is his name seriously Sam?

So does that mean …?

“Okay, what is going on?” Castiel cuts into their domestic dispute. “Can please someone explain?”

Eileen's expression is full of sympathy as she looks back at him. “It's actually a sweet story.”

And then she nudges the man beside her to continue.

Sam clears his throat – and God, his name is honestly Sam, right? – and raises his left arm so that the wristband is visible. “That's a gift from our friend Bobby. He's like a father to us since our own dad … well, he wasn't exactly a role model, y'know?” He halts briefly, making it obvious that this is still an emotional subject for him. “I don't remember exactly when Bobby gave it to us, to be honest. I think I was around fourteen at the time. I recall having a tough time in school back then, it wasn't really easy for a gangly teenager like me. And when Bobby gave us those bracelets on Christmas Day … well, Dean proposed to switch them. So I'd carry his name and he mine. And everytime someone would bother me, I'd have something to remind me that my big brother was with me.”

Well, Castiel has to agree with Eileen, this is definitely a very sweet story.

“There aren't any bullies annoying me anymore, but somehow I still kept Dean's name with me,” Sam explains. “And Dean never suggested to switch them back at some point in the past either. So it stayed that way.”

Castiel needs a moment to wrap his head around this new information. It sounds way too good to be true and for a second he wonders whether his mind is playing some tricks.

“But … I called you 'Dean' several times,” Castiel remembers eventually. “And your brother … if I was using the wrong names, why didn't you correct me right away?”

Sam looks sheepish. “We're just used to it, y'know? Friends and family and whatnot – they still think it hilarious to use the wrong names occasionally. Dean and I stopped going with it a long time ago. And somewhere along the way we kinda got used to react to both names.”

At first Castiel wants to argue that this doesn't explain why his brother obviously didn't figure it necessary to introduce himself properly to a stranger nonetheless, but then he brings their first meeting back to mind. How Castiel called him 'Sam' after spotting the wristband and how this gorgeous, stunning man said something in return which Castiel absolutely missed because he's been so blinded by the dazzling smile that his whole system shut down.

Obviously he'd been so dumbstruck he completely forgot to listen.

“So that means you are …?”

“Sam Winchester,” he answers with a wide grin. “Happiest man alive because he's engaged to this beautiful woman next to me!”

He drops a soft kiss onto Eileen's cheek which makes her chuckle and blush a little bit.

For an instant Castiel can't help thinking that they're most likely the cutest couple he's ever seen and he finds himself smiling warmly at their open affection, but just a moment later he recalls the urgent issue at hand.

“So your brother …?”

“Dean Winchester!” Sam practically beams now, sounding overly excited. “Totally single and really crazy about this guy who opened a bakery around the corner from where we live.”

Castiel feels heat crawling up his neck as both Sam and Eileen stare at him gleefully. “So the other day … when he asked me to that festival,” Castiel bites his bottom lips as everything slowly starts to fit together, “... he was asking me out? On a date?”

Sam and Eileen nod in unison.

“And I rejected him,” Castiel realizes. His heart drops as he recalls Dean's deeply disappointed face after Castiel declined his offer.

“And now I get why,” Sam says. “Knowing my brother he probably didn't use the word 'date' directly, am I right? I guess you thought he meant some kind of buddy night or whatever. And I can see how that didn't really appeal to you considering … well, considering they way you two always look at each other.”

He sounds teasing now. Fond.

And Castiel downright ignores it when he urges, “Where is Dean now?”

It feels right saying the name.  As if a floodgate opened up and showed him a whole new world behind it.

And it fits so much better than 'Sam'. Castiel always kind of thought that, but he never understood why.

Now he wonders whether his subconsciousness somehow knew the whole time that something was wrong.

“Dean's outside,” Sam jerks him out of his thoughts. “Waiting in the car.”

Castiel instantly rushes towards the door, but as he pushes it open he finds himself halting for a moment and announcing, “Congratulations on the engagement, by the way!”, before he continues in his mission, followed by Sam and Eileen's happy laughter.

Castiel spots the black Impala on the next parking lot right away. Dean told him so much about the car before that he probably would have been able to recognize it anywhere.

Castiel hastens over and notices Dean sitting behind the wheel, checking something on his phone and being completely oblivious to his surroundings. When Castiel knocks impatiently against the window, he startles hard and almost drops the device in his hands.

“Cas?” Dean asks, his voice muffled through the closed door. He stares at the man in utter surprise and for a minute even seems to forget that he's supposed to react somehow. Eventually though he remembers to open the door and climbs out of the car, his gaze never leaving Castiel.

“Your name is Dean!” Castiel blurts right into his face, feeling like a clumsy oaf but not giving a damn.

Because here he is – gorgeous, wonderful Dean – and Castiel can't help beaming at him, probably looking like a lunatic in the process.

Dean blinks a few times, clearly dumbstruck. “Um … yes?”

“Your. Name. is. Dean.” Castiel emphasizes every single word, sensing an elation running through his body he never felt before.

“Um, you're okay, Cas?” Dean asks, obviously concerned that Castiel lost his mind somewhere along the way. He even squeezes Castiel's wrist gently and studies him from top to bottom as though looking for clues for the other man's seemingly irrational behavior.

“I'm fine,” Castiel promises, grinning brightly. “I'm more than fine.”

Dean instinctively steps back a bit, most likely somewhat intimidated by Castiel's toothy grimace. “Uh … that's great?”

“Can I kiss you?” Castiel finds himself asking all of a sudden. He's fairly surprised by his own boldness, but can't bring himself to regret it.

Especially when he witnesses Dean's cheeks turning beet red immediately. “W-what?”

Castiel takes Dean's hand and brushes over that damned wristband which caused so much confusion. “I thought your name is Sam.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, apparently unsure what to say or what even to think about this weird situation. In the end he goes with, “What?”

“I've read the name on the bracelet,” Castiel explains. “And I assumed it's your name.”

Dean's eyes widen as he tries to wrap his mind around the other man's words. “But … but I told you then,” he counters. “That first time we met. You – you called me 'Sam' and I corrected you. Remember?”

Castiel chuckles softly. “No,” he confesses. “After you smiled at me, my brain stopped working. I can't recall anything you said.”

Dean hesitates. “Really?”

There is a small speck of hope glimmering in his eyes and it's the most beautiful thing.

“You have quite the effect on me, Dean,” Castiel admits. “Something like that never happened to me before. But you … you seem to be the exception.”

Dean still seems to have some trouble handling the situation. “So … so every time you called me 'Sam', you weren't actually joking?”

Castiel shakes his head. “No, I wasn't.”

Dean huffs a breathy laugh. “Well, I've gotta say, I really found it a bit strange after the fifth time, but –” He licks his lips anxiously. “So when you heard about the engagement …?”

Castiel nods. “I thought you were the one getting married,” he confirms. “I was seriously crushed when Jo told me about that.”

“You were, huh?”

“I mean, of course I was also happy for you or at least trying to be,” he continues, realizing he's babbling now, but unable to stop it. “Because you deserve all the happiness in the world and Jo told me that you and Eileen are the cutest couple. I mean, that Sam and Eileen are the cutest couple –”

Dean still seems to be a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing, but he chuckles anyway. “They are kinda gross.”

“And when you asked me to that festival … well, I figured you wanted to be friends,” Castiel rambles on. “Just friends. And I don't want to your friend.” He flinches instantly as he notices how that sounds. “I mean, of course I want to be your friend. Friendship is the most important basis for any kind of valuable relationship. But … at that point I merely had to get used to the idea of you being a soon-to-be-married man –“ He sighs. “It would have been too much to go to this festival with you, knowing there would be nothing else between us. Nothing else than friendship. So I said 'no' to protect my own, stupid heart. But I had no idea it would hurt you like that, I never meant –”

“It's okay,” Dean cuts in. “I guess … I see the bigger picture now.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Damn, Sammy told me the same thing happened with Eileen back then. Maybe we should really get rid off those dumb things, they're nothing but trouble.”

He glares at the wristband accusingly.

Castiel, however, lays his hand above it. “Please don't,” he says warmly. “It's a very sweet gesture.”

Dean smiles in response, his features so soft that Castiel can't help tracing them tenderly with his finger. Once again he seriously astounded by his own forwardness, but Dean leans into the touch straightaway, as if this is everything he has been waiting for.

And maybe it kinda is.

“You didn't answer my question,” Castiel whispers.

Dean's lips curl upwards. “The one about the kiss?”

“Yes.”

Instead of answering Dean's arms suddenly wrap around Castiel's waist and pull the other man closer. Castiel merely has time to make a sound that's part surprise and part approval before pliant lips cover his own and he finds himself in a world of bliss.

Castiel never knew that a kiss could feel this way. Dean's touch is soft and unhurried, yet so full of emotions. Castiel's toe curl inwards as he gives back as good as he's got and hopes that this would never end.

But of course eventually they have to pull back to get some air, though they don't go very far. Their noses are still touching and Castiel revels in the sight of Dean so radiant with joy.

“So …” Castiel chews his lower lip, feeling extremely pleased when Dean's eyes follow the motion with interest. “I guess that festival was a one weekend thing, right? But how about something else? A nice movie, some dinner?”

“Yes!” Dean agrees immediately. “Sometime soon.”

“Tonight?”

Dean chuckles amused. “It's gonna be torture to wait that long, but I'll have to manage somehow.”

Castiel can't do anything else but kiss the beautiful smile once more.

“Sorry for being so stupid,” he mumbles against Dean's skin. “I just should have listened.” He shakes his head in the face of his own foolishness. “I'm usually such a good listener. But you … you just make me –”

He groans in frustration and presses his forehead against Dean's temple. “I'm really sorry.”

Dean drags him closer. “I get it, Cas. I'm just so adorable I'm frying brains left and right.” He laughs quietly, his whole body shaking. “Though I'm really glad you listened now.”

“Me too,” Castiel agrees. “And you have Eileen to thank for that.”

Dean makes a humming noise. “That woman is way too good for my brother. He's one lucky bastard.”

Castiel nods. “He is.”

Dean keeps silent for a while after that, his fingers gently brushing over Castiel's spine and making him shiver in the process. It's easy, quiet and it feels so comfortable that Castiel barely knows what to do with himself. Something like that never happened to him before.

“But you know what?” Dean eventually picks up his voice again.

“What?”

Dean grins brightly. “I'm starting to think that I'm one lucky bastard myself now.”

Something warm presses within Castiel's chest as he smiles harder than he ever smiled before in his life. “I told you that weeks ago.”

Dean just laughs. “Yeah, you did. If you want you can tell me that every single day from now on.”

It sounds like a promise for a beautiful future, a future filled with happiness and so much potential, and Castiel simply nods and buries his face in Dean's neck, almost overwhelmed by all these feelings.

It seems wonderful and terrifying at the same time.

And Castiel can't wait to have it all.

[silenceerased]

The Dragon

Prompt: You’re a dragon who enjoys living a peaceful life away from humans. One day, a princess shows up asking you to “kidnap” her so that she doesn’t have to get married. (At least, I planned for this prompt but the story wrote itself as it went.)

The screams of the men fills the air. Many of them have already dropped their weapons and fallen back, unwilling to go further into the fire, but a courageous few know that the prize for their quest is worth the danger. They wipe the sweat off their faces, put their helmets back on, and continue the trek towards the mountain top.

“How many do you think are left?” a young man with red hair asks his group. His face, usually pale and covered with freckles, is coated in a thin layer of soot. His sharp blue eyes almost seem to be glowing against his soot-covered face.

“We were the last group to leave the town, weren’t we, sir?” another coughs out. The smoke in the air is making it harder to see and breathe. It has already begun to blend into his blond hair, tinting it a dark grey.

“Yes, we were,” the last man responds. He turns his head to watch as another two men run passed them in an attempt to escape the forest. “If I’m right, we might be the only group left.”

The redhead grins the blond man next to him. “That’s great news for us, isn’t it, Eric? The less people there are, the less competition.”

“There may be less competition, Richard, but that also means less assistance,” Eric reminds him. “Based on how everyone’s reacting, we might not be enough to face this thing.” He turns to the last man. “What do you think, Louis? It’s your call. Is it worth it to keep going?”

The last man glances at his longtime friend, contemplating his options. All those men ran from something terrifying. Was he truly willing to let his own men possibly die? “I don’t think it would be fair for me to make this decision myself. You two are the ones risking your lives out of loyalty. I leave it to you.”

Eric clicks his tongue impatiently, already expecting this answer. He turns to Richard. “Well, what do you say, kid? Are you willing to fight for your life for our prince here?”

The younger man lets out a loud peal of laughter. “We’re going to be facing a dragon alongside our prince! I can think of no better way to go.”

Louis smiles at them. They may not be an army, but these two have nerve of steel and hearts of gold. He wouldn’t replace them for the largest armies in the world. “Well, that’s decided then. Let’s go slay that dragon and bring home my bride!”

The two men cheer in agreement and they race forward, fully aware of what’s ahead of them but willing to risk it all anyway.

~*~

They begin to set up their camp a mile away from the cave entrance. The fires seemed to have ceased for the night, but they decided to keep their distance just in case. Richard lays out their sleeping mats while Eric builds the fire. As the fire begins to burn, Louis returns from the river with enough fish to fill their stomachs.

The night is calm and serene, so unlike the hectic, flame-filled day. The three men exchange stories as they eat their supper. Richard, the youngest and least experienced in battle, tells stories of his days before being accepted as a knight of the royal court. He tells stories of a simple farm life with a set of younger twin brothers. He tells them of the first time he tried to milk a cow, not really understanding what to do, and nearly getting stomped by the irate animal. He tells them of the games he played with his brothers, how they would pretend to be knights fighting opposing armies until it was time for him to tuck the two children into bed. He tells them of the conflict within him when he was first chosen to join the royal court, the pride of being a knight but the heartbreaking sorrow of leaving his family behind.

Eric, on the other hand, tells stories of nothing but battle. He had been the son of a member of the royal court, thus explaining the friendship between him and the prince. When he was old enough, he asked his father if he could start training to be a knight and his father beamed with pride. Eric tells them of the first time he met the prince, when they were just little boys, and how they stole mince pies from the kitchen together. He tells them of how it felt marching into battle for the first time, armor on, head high, ready to fight for his king. He tells them how confusing winning can be because how can it be a victory if so many of his fellow soldiers wouldn’t be returning home?

Louis chooses to stay silent while the other two emphatically talk about their lives. He had the usual upbringing of a prince, filled with studying and training. However, it wasn’t as exciting as Eric’s battles, or even Richard’s farm life. Louis hasn’t really had much to be excited about growing up, when everything was centered around learning how to be a prince. However, when his father first introduced him to Princess Helena, his heart was immediately hers. She was beautiful, with kind brown eyes and hair as dark as the night sky. Her smile was soft and a light pink blush complimented her dainty features. When we first spoke, I was immediately enamored by her sweet voice, a voice that even the songbirds would envy. When she spoke, he was often too distracted by her lovely voice to really pay attention. Before returning to his own kingdom, he asked her to visit him and her blush deepened as she turned away and he knew that she was the one for him.

“--s… Louis!” Richard’s voice brings him out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” He looks up at the two, noting the amused looks on both men’s faces.

“You were thinking about her again,” Eric says with certainty. Louis could already feel the light flush on his cheeks.

“He definitely was!” Richard exclaims. “No one looks that lovesick for no good reason.”

Louis laughs along. “Maybe I was,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with that. I’m just counting the hours until I’m with her again.”

Richard beams at him. “Only a few more hours, sir! Then we’ll have your dear Helena back!”

Eric raises his cup of water. “I’ll drink to that! To slaying the dragon!”

“To slaying the dragon!” the other men respond joyously.

The night continues on with more stories and more laughter. The fighting can wait till tomorrow. As soon as the sun comes up, they will wear their armor once more and be the knights they’re expected to be. But tonight, they are just men, laughing with their friends under a moonlit sky.

~*~

As the sun begun to set that same day, the large fires from within the cave stop. Two large golden eyes peek out from within the darkness, watching out for movement from beyond the entrance. After a few moments of stillness, the dragon within lets out a strangely-humanesque yawn as it turns and walks further into the cave. The men have stopped coming, as they usually did when the sun set. His job is done until the morning.

The tired dragon would have been quite the sight, had there been anyone to see him. Even in the darkness of the cave, his green scales sparkles. As he walks, he sways slightly as if too tired to move properly. His tail drags behind him, sweeping the rocks on the floor of the cave. He yawns again, all energy drained from a long day of protecting his cave.

“Glykon! You’re back!”

And its inhabitants.

The dragon watches with a fond expression as the young woman jumps up from her spot on the floor to greet him. He lowers his head to allow her to embrace him and lets out a warm huff of air. Hello to you too, the action seems to say.

She releases him from her hug and looks at him sternly. “Are you injured anywhere? You’re more tired than usual. I can tell from how loud your footsteps were.”

He huffs again and rolls his eyes. As if those idiots with their overgrown toothpicks could even come close to hurting me.

The woman continues to scrutinize him until he nudges her stomach with his nose, pushing her to the ground, then resting his head lightly on her torso with his eyes closed. I’m just tired. You don’t need to worry, she could almost hear him say. To most people, having a gigantic dragon pin you down would be terrifying but she had spent enough time with him to know how gentle he could be. Even now, as tired as he is, he is keeping most of his weight off her.

“Okay, okay. I give up,” she relents. He opens one eye lazily. “Let’s go lie down somewhere it’s actually comfortable.”

He picks up his head and follows her further into the large room. His tail sweeps from side to side, accidentally pushing a pile of books onto the floor. He winces as they fall, but the young woman just giggles. “I’ll clean it up tomorrow.”

The two get to a small cot in the middle of a large, minimalistic room. The woman goes to simple wooden table with a simple cotton dress folded on top. She takes the dress and changes quickly while the dragon circles the cot, getting himself ready for a good night’s sleep. She climbs into her bed as he settles down.

“Are you comfy, Glykon?”

He grumbles quietly, sounding almost like a purr.

“Sounds like a yes,” she says, amused. “Do you wanna hear a story before sleeping again?”

He picks his head up next to her and lets out a huff of air.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Let’s see…” she ponders. “I’ll pick up where I left off yesterday, alright?”

He grunts in agreement and she begins to tell her tale as the old dragon listens, finding peace in the calm yet enthusiastic storytelling. The moon rises high into the sky as the night continues, but the two don’t realize this, too wrapped up in the peace that came with their nightly routine. Tomorrow, as soon as the sun comes up, the men will be back to raid the cave to steal the dragon’s most valuable treasure, but for tonight, he will listen to her stories until she starts to yawn and keep watch as she begins to nod off. For tonight, she is safe and that’s all that matters.

~*~

Helena had just left home that day with no intention of returning. All of them were exactly the same, uncaring of her opinion and who she was outside of being a beautiful princess. She would rather live in this cave for the rest of her life than marry any of them. But she didn’t expect her life to end this soon. She had just entered the cave half an hour ago and begun reading to herself when the dragon that seemed to live there decided to come home.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t realize this cave was already taken,” Helena whimpered as she flattened herself against the wall. Her eyes were wide open, staring straight into the golden orbs that seemed to be piercing her very soul. “I-I’ll leave.”

The dragon shifted its gaze to the book in her hand. She lifted the book. “D-did you want this?” she asked cautiously.

He let out a snort that she took to mean yes. She began to bring it closer to him when he narrowed his eyes and let out an annoyed huff of air.

“Uhm, is that a no?” she questioned, some confusion starting to mix into the fear. He pushed the book towards her with his nose and huffed again. “Uhm, do you want me to read it?”

He didn’t move at all, which she took as a yes. She sat down slowly and his head followed suit, plopping down to the ground. She began reading and as she read, she would glance at him often. Every now and then, their eyes would meet and she realized the fear from before had faded and calm had taken its place.

After what felt like hours, she closed her book and put it aside. While she couldn’t see the sun from within the cave, she had a feeling it was already nighttime. She yawned and interestingly enough, the dragon yawned as well. She sank further down onto the floor, curling up into a ball as she readied to sleep for the night.

“Good night, Mr. Dragon,” she murmured. “See you tomorrow.”

He grumbled in response and moved his head closer to her, so he would be able to breathe warm air onto her if the night got too cold.

At the time, they didn’t realize how close they would become, able to understand each other despite the language barrier. She had no idea she would enjoy living with him, sneaking into town every now and then to gather more books to read to him. She had no idea she would worry about him every day as more princes and soldiers came to “save” her. Likewise, he had no idea how much he would begin to treasure the young princess and her wonderful storytelling and her kind heart. He had no idea he would fight countless men every day, risking his own well-being despite his claims of their weakness, just to keep her safe with him.

All they knew was that night felt calm and they would sleep well.

[kestrelsarethebestrels]

Employer termination.

-PART 1-

It wasn’t easy at first.

Not the part that involves eating people, of course. Alex had no qualms about that. He wasn’t burdened by things like “morals” and “ethics,” and that silly thing called “introspection.” No, it was the process of taking them apart and storing the pieces which he found difficult. Oh, and of course - getting the bodies in the first place. After the aggression of the initial avian assault, the store had been nearly picked clean and there weren’t a whole lot of surviving humans.

There was one single advantage in his possession. Intelligence? Nope. Skills? Naw. It was the element of surprise. That was assisted by arrows. Lots of them (fletched by the other employees). Oh, and the pocketknives, of which he had pocketed a few for himself in the before-times. From time to time he reminisced about the particularly gruesome ones, which were intentionally coworkers he had deeply despised. Like Gary, for instance. Always bossing him around, that son of a bitch. Thought he was way better at being a bow technician, just because he knew how to properly tune a bow and cared, for some stupid reason, about customer service. You’re not my real boss! he often angrily thought, when Alex’s mistakes were pointed out to him.

Well, he took care of Gary first, that quiet old man. That one was rather messy, but the goal of the inaugural kill was to make a statement, not to keep it simple. It terrified the others, but at that point Alex had already stockpiled any usable weapons and had trapped the rest in the conference room. From then on, the order was his immediate boss, the owner, and then anyone else on a whim. 

Preparing them was also an ordeal, as Alex had never once cooked in his life, unless you count putting a frozen pizza in the oven as cooking. He had burned that the first four times in his life too, but he got the hang of it eventually. The grill at the 4U Cafe should have been simple to operate, but he had spent the better part of a day trying to light the flame. Imagine a man desperately flailing a mini Bic lighter around what he thought was the flame source, but was in fact just the edge of a grate. That was the scene about three hours into his struggle. Two hours after that, it finally occurred to him that he had never turned on the gas in the first place. He still considered that an overwhelming success. There was a bunch of leftover onion ring breading in the kitchen storage room, and being a good ol’ boy from the land of fried foods, he created his own version of deep frying the meat. Serve that up with a side of decade-old expired ketchup, of which there were gallons in the kitchen, and voila. It’s a hell of a wonder he never got scurvy, but thanks to Gary’s immense stash of Emergen-C packets, the minimum amount of sustenance was just barely achieved. For shits and giggles, he had even tried deep frying brains. It turned out pretty good, in his opinion. (Remember, this is the same guy who thinks frozen pizza is the height of culinary mastery.) He liked to pretend he was a zombie whenever he got to those pieces, which was always saved for last.

He savored (both literally and figuratively) in the fact that he had finally proven himself to be an alpha male by being the last survivor at H&H. He didn’t miss anyone, sentimentally speaking, after the apocalypse started. Friends were far and few in between before that, anyways. Alex incorrectly chalked that up to the idea that mere mortals were intimidated by him. Men envied his souped-up super duty F250 and camo everything, and women were… well, he didn’t know anything about women, so anyone who didn’t respond to his creepy Tinder messages (which was all of them) was definitely a bitch. Everyone else outside of that gender binary didn’t exist, or else they were “goin’ straight to hell,” as he liked to remark to anyone who’d listen.

As for the birds, he took the hero’s route and bravely stayed indoors almost the entire time, only venturing out to find fresh water and pilfer dry ice from the businesses up near MacArthur and 29th. Dry ice - why, you ask? Well, that walk-in freezer had to stay cold somehow. What with all the body parts and such.

Except now, in early 2042, the people-food had run its course (pun totally intended). Occasionally he was able to lure down a highly dull and unintelligent bird to the front entrance and shoot it with his bow (missing his mark about half the time, arrows sent clattering over the parking lot asphalt), but in his attempt to prove his dominance over all of god’s creatures, he opted to use broadheads. There wasn’t a whole lot left that was edible after that, but goddamn did he feel good after a good bird kill. Revenge, he thought. Revenge for the humans (though, again, “humans” defined a universe that included himself and himself only). Eventually he ran out of functioning broadheads, which slowed that food source to a trickle as well. It turns out that missing your target and hitting the concrete sidewalk or parking lot surface really messes with the integrity of the arrow. Who would’ve thought?

Anyways, he was running out of ideas, flesh, and also vitamin C packets. On one cold morning, he woke up as usual (fatigued and cranky as all get out). He shuffled slowly, bundled up in other people’s jackets, exited the warmer interior room and made his way towards the cafe for the very few morsels that were left of his last victim, a pathetically obese bluejay that had gorged itself on too many rancid leftovers from the nearby Denny’s. His bulky elbow caught a stack of decaying papers on the shop counter, which fluttered disorganizedly to the ground (is there any other way for paper to fall to the floor?). Something caught his eye. An invoice? Painstakingly, he bent down to pick it up.

JASON MILLER - INVICTA 37 SVX PINK SATIN FINISH #3 MOD SET

Hah. Jason Miller. He vaguely remembered that name as being attached to a fussy asshole who was constantly pestering him about the “status” of his order. Like he cared. Looks like Chris was the one who placed this order. Chris: former manager, also formerly alive. His current position was now part of a haphazardly balanced pile of bones behind the cash register.

The journey to the cafe would have to be interrupted for now. He gripped the invoice tightly with a sense of anticipation. Alex knew there was a giant stack of boxes that had arrived from Hoyt, Mathews, and Elite in the back room, and he was pretty sure those people were still waiting to pick them up (deceased status pending). If he knew anything about statistics, his confidence in that information would have been within a 95% confidence interval, because after failing all of his other responsibilities, it had been his sole job to contact those people to let them know that their orders had arrived. This task, like most other things, was consistently shirked as well.

He mustered his last few brain cells and remaining muscle mass and awkwardly sprinted to the back room, if you could call it a sprint. He ran a pen, as a pointer, from top to bottom of the stack of cardboard boxes… slowly… slowly… there it was. The Invicta. He silently congratulated himself, as usual, and quickly returned to the main shop.

It had been a long while since he had used the landline, seeing as how he had no friends to check up on. A tone immediately greeted him upon picking up the phone, much to his relief. He located the phone number on the invoice from earlier, rehearsed a few lines beforehand, and then made the call. Shockingly, the person on the other end responded.

Cool.

Now the plan had been set in motion. It was time to play the waiting game…

-PART 2-

He couldn’t stop marveling at his good fortune. He also couldn’t stop laughing, either, but that was a side effect of the starvation delirium. While that chump in the back room was getting excited over his new bow, Alex silently retrieved one of his own, which had been hidden earlier behind the counter. Pushing aside an assorted mix of Gary and Chris to grab an arrow, he loaded up his second-to-last broadhead and stayed low. No sense in alerting the other guy right now, who was probably still futzing around back there. He closed his eyes, gripped the bow, and attempted to wish the hunger pangs away. The anticipation was too strong. With his index-trigger release already attached to the string, Alex peered from behind the shelves and into the backroom to catch a glimpse of his next meal.

Shit. Where’d he go?

“You lookin’ for someone?”

Now standing, he frantically searched for the source of the sound and was blinded (again) by that stupidly bright flashlight beam. With the last of his strength, he drew back the bow. It came back down. Too weak that time. He drew back the bow... nope. Still needed more force to get all the way to full draw. All right, this time for real… he drew back the bow and once again failed to overcome the peak draw weight.

“Struggling a little there?”

Ah, that fucker was taunting him. Alex had no reply - speaking drained too much energy. He could mutter crazily, though, and he sure did. Exasperated, he angrily drew back the bow one more time and his own shoddy workmanship failed him. 

A great shattering noise was followed by a clattering of pieces. In his enthusiasm, Alex had torqued the bow while drawing it, de-aligning the strings (which he had never waxed) and popping the main cable right off of the cams. He blankly and pathetically stared at the only thing that remained in his hand, the compound’s riser. (The moral of this story: don’t shoot a PSE. Just kidding.)

The other voice spoke. “Wow. I almost feel sorry for you. Almost.” He heard the subtle click of another bow being pulled to full draw. “I’ve been wanting to say this for a long time, and I mean this in the most genuine way -

Alex, you’re the worst.”

In a final moment of brief clarity, right before Jason’s fixed-blade arrow passed through his skull, a thought occurred to him for the first and certainly last time in his life: Oh. I fucked up.

-PART 3-

It wasn’t that hard, in the end. A 20-yard shot, Jason guessed. He was pretty close, too - the other man was just shy of 22. 

The bit that tipped him off was the sudden quietness from the main room. Very suspicious. By then, Jason had already tied a d-loop onto the Invicta and threw on an arrow rest. No sense in dilly dallying while ol’ Hannibal was still out there. His camping pack had included a whole bunch of archery tools. Added some extra weight to his already hefty bags, but it was worth it. And he packed arrows. All of them, but especially the hunting arrows.

Jason didn’t take too kindly to people-eaters. He made sure to double-tap too, just in case. 

He kicked one foot for a response. Nothing. Dug his foot into the shoulder. Still nothing. Kneeled down to check the carotid artery… no pulse. And since this isn’t a zombie story, it’s safe to say the guy on the floor was now totally, comprehensively, holistically, well-n-good dead.

After loading up on more tools from the shop, he made his way back to the entrance and took one final glance towards the dark, haunted western corner of H&H. This time, he wasn’t leaving empty-handed. The gorgeous and garishly pink bow would turn some heads, to be sure, but most likely they’d be heads with beaks on them, and maybe now they’d leave him alone for a while longer. He sighed deeply, this time with satisfaction.

It had been a good goddamn day.