#every time i play him is a catastrophic failure. but i love him so much so does it even matter....

[avonne-writes]

Naughty and Nice

A Christmas gift fic for one of the nicest people in the lucemond fandom, @theartificialintellect 💕 A humorous PWP based on this AU we discussed and this headcanon. I hope this brings some extra cheer to your Boxing Day, dear! Merry Christmas! 🎄

Summary: Lucerys, Aemond's neighbour and boyfriend (to be confirmed) comes over to celebrate Christmas Eve with him.

On AO3

On this chilly, quiet Christmas Eve, Aemond sits in his favourite armchair in the corner and waits for the doorbell to ring. His house is dark, save for the lights Helaena forced him to string up above the TV. Because, apparently, a home without fairies is bad luck during Yuletide. Aegon's words play in his head - 'you look like a serial killer when you sit like that in the dark.' There might be some truth to that, he supposes. He contemplates getting up to turn on the lights, but he cannot afford to move at the moment.

See, the thing is, he's experiencing a Christmas miracle. Vhagar, his ancient rescue cat, deigned his lap comfortable enough to curl up on it.

It's a tricky situation, because Aemond wants to prolong this moment as much as possible, but at the same time, he's expecting… someone. His neighbour. The cutest, prettiest man in Westeros. The love of his life. Who's also, possibly, his boyfriend. Aemond has yet to confirm that one, but he's dead certain of the rest.

Another thing he's sure of is that disappointing Lucerys would be the biggest failure of his year. Or his entire adult life, if he's in a particularly catastrophic mood.

Hence his dilemma whether to get up to light some brightness in the house.

Oblivious, Vhagar snores on in his lap. Aemond put a blanket on his legs first before he let two stones' worth of brown fluff and savagely kneading claws settle on him. He had to make sure Vhagar wouldn't damage the trousers he picked out when Luke announced he'd come over, and being covered in cat hair didn’t sound like the sexiest setup either. Thankfully, Vhagar likes the blanket too. She headbutted Aemond's hand a few times, almost managed to step on his groin, then licked her paws and went to sleep. She didn’t even purr.

This is how Aemond got stuck here, even though what he'd actually like to do is go over every room to make sure they're presentable enough for Lucerys to stay the night.

Aemond would very much like for that to happen tonight.

They didn’t plan this date, so it's like a Christmas present in itself, but Luke said he would also bring Aemond something else. He looks forward to it. It's a lucky thing that Aemond has already compiled a series of gifts for Luke that he expects to last until the end of next year.

The only miscalculation he made so far was making the store-bought lasagne they're going to have for dinner. If only Luke knew earlier that his brother would get stuck in a blizzard, then Aemond would have stocked his fridge with all the things Luke loves. Chicken, potato salad, salted caramel ice cream, cranberry juice… He has a list. He could have cooked something nice.

Alas, they didn’t know, so Aemond had to make do with the things he bought for himself. And, unfortunately, all he had was some canned beans and this lasagne. It contains tomatoes. Luke said he wasn't fond of the fruit, which puts it in the -1 tier on Aemond's list, but there was no better option. If it really bothers him, Aemond will gladly pick the bigger pieces out of Luke’s dinner and eat them himself. It wouldn't be a sacrifice.

"Are you aware of how fucking whipped you are?" Aegon's voice continues to haunt him like the taunting whispers of a little devil on his shoulder.

"I think it's sweet that he's always on your mind." The memory of Helaena's words from last week sounds like the angel on his other side.

Aemond strokes Vhagar's back, then just rests his hand on her when she growls. She pretends to be all grumpy, but she's still his girl. She can thank him for having a warm home and all the luxury cat food she can consume, and he's grateful to her for leading him to Luke. It was her naturally protective - or, in Aegon's words, demonic - nature that led to the first time they met.

Vhagar spotted Luke's five-month-old ragdoll cat in the front yard and promptly chased him up a tree. It was left to Aemond to get the meowing, fluffed up kitten down. Then Arrax's disgruntled owner showed up, and Aemond almost had to call an ambulance because he wasn't sure he'd be able to climb down without breaking his neck either.

The doorbell rings.

Aemond's muscles tense, and his heart races. He almost jumps up but remembers Vhagar at the last second and manages to correct the motion into gently lifting her up and placing her in her cat bed next to the chair. She hisses at him as if to say that disturbing her was the last mistake of his life. Perhaps he should close the door of his bedroom tonight.

With hurried steps, he approaches the front door, smoothing his hair down on his shoulders. Since Luke’s change of plans was so last minute, he barely had any time to wash and dry it. Some of the strands are still damp, but with any hope, they don't look dishevelled. Aemond knows that kind of aesthetic doesn't suit him.

When he opens the front door, Luke is right there on the other side, a bright smile on his face. There are tiny lights on his Christmas sweater which says, Dear Santa, I was good at being naughty this year. If the feelings this stirs in Aemond are anything to go by, Aemond doesn't have a single good bone left in his body. He wants to lean in and scoop Luke up in his arms, then kiss him until he can't think straight anymore. He wants to run his fingers through Luke's dark curls and tug.

"Hi." Luke greets, sort of breathless. Let's hope he's not coming down with a cold or something... Although that would provide Aemond a prime opportunity to spoil him. "You look great."

Aemond refuses to take responsibility for the words that leave his mouth after that. "You’re the hottest thing I've ever seen."

Luke laughs, then gives him a coy look. Thick, dark eyelashes flutter. To his mortification, Aemond feels his face heat up. Why did he say that? He didn't even say hi, for fuck's sake.

"Hi." He mutters then. Regrets it instantly because it just makes matters worse.

He wouldn’t be surprised if Luke turned tail and ran while he still could, but he giggles instead. His warm hands cup Aemond's cheeks and hold him in place for a chaste kiss. The realization that Luke rises to his tiptoes for it does complicated things to Aemond's body. He's not sure he can stand it without spontaneous combustion.

When Luke pulls away, he strokes Aemond's arms. "Let's go inside, hm?"

"Yes." Aemond clears his throat and steps back to let him in. He tries to take a surreptitious sniff when Luke passes by because he's fucking weak for Luke’s smell. Would probably do all sorts of illegal shit for it if he needed to.

Luke throws a smile at him over his shoulder as they walk inside, his cheeks pink from the change in temperature. He looks around in the plain living room, zoning in on the sad excuse for decoration. Aemond wishes he could go back in time and take all the holiday crap from Aegon that he refused to hang up. Belatedly, he smashes a hand on the light switch to turn the overhead light on.

"It's not much." He says awkwardly when Luke's squinting eyes take in the room again. He grabs his right elbow with his left hand behind his back, forcing himself to keep proper posture even though he would rather sink into the cracks between the floor board and become a dust mite. "I didn’t expect any guests."

"No, it's fine." Luke laughs. It's another breathy sound. He puts what looks like a pan of tiramisu on the coffee table, then brandishes a mysterious bag. "I see you don't have a tree though, which is perfect, because…"

He trails off, fumbling to pull something out of the bag. "Ta-da!" He grins, showing Aemond a miniature plastic Christmas tree with tiny, colourful lights and baubles. When Luke presses a button on the bottom, it starts glowing. Luke holds it out. He turns the lights off again to leave his face lit up only by the glow of the Christmas lights. "Merry Christmas."

Aemond stares, a little flustered by the unexpected way things seem to progress tonight. In his head, he imagined that they would have dinner first with some jazz in the background because that's how a date is supposed to go, and they would drink the best wine Aemond has from his father's collection. If everything went well, Aemond would feed Luke a bite of his dessert. They would kiss, then the presents would come out, and then they might have sex. Aemond doesn't mind variation at all, but he needs to be at his best until Luke is properly wooed, and being prepared is a big part of that.

"You’re a disaster when you have a crush. Too stick-in-the-mud to act like a human being", Aegon would say. He did say that exact thing once when Aemond was about eighteen.

Helaena would try to reassure him. "It's not perfection that people desire."

Aemond doesn't know about other people, but perfection is exactly what he aches for, and that perfection is Lucerys. And he's going to have it. He must. Feeling light-headed at the prospect of spending the rest of his life with Luke, Aemond takes the mini-tree and puts it next to the tiramisu.

"Thank you." After a moment of hesitation, he presses his lips to Luke's. Unable to resist, he slides his fingers into the silk of Luke’s hair, but he's careful not to pull. Not yet. "Let me grab your present."

He moves to take a step back, but Luke takes his hand.

"I -" Luke doesn't finish the sentence.

He stares up at Aemond with his sweet, plump lips agape, and for one terrifying second, Aemond thinks he forgot to put a prosthesis in his eye. But no, he can tell the difference, he's fine, it can't be - and then he stops thinking altogether because Luke drags him down into another kiss.

He wraps his arms around Aemond's neck and opens his lovely mouth, pliant for Aemond to explore, to taste, to possess. Luke's scent surrounds him like a heady drug.

He doesn't know what to do with his hands at first but then he remembers that he's allowed now, that he doesn't have to keep all his fantasies restrained, so he slides both of his palms down Luke's back to his ass. He maps out the shapely curve of it and the frame of his hips with greedy little squeezes until Luke whimpers.

"I want -" Aemond starts, but Luke interrupts.

"Yes."

He has no idea what Luke has agreed to, because he wanted to suggest moving to the bedroom and getting rid of a few layers - or all - but what Luke does is push Aemond into that comfy armchair instead. Holding Aemond's hands, he climbs into his lap and peppers sticky, playful pecks on his face until Aemond grabs him around the waist, tilts his chin up and captures his lips. His right hand sinks into Luke's hair again and pulls on it this time.

A sigh escapes Luke's mouth. "This isn't too fast, is it?" He asks while Aemond stares up at him, rendered mute by a wave of deep, trembling desire. Luke is heavy just the way he likes it, and he's shifting right where Aemond needs him the most - there's no such thing as too fast. Luke's fingers find the back of Aemond's head and untie his hair.

"You’re just so…" Luke bites his lip and tips forward until his face is buried in Aemond's neck. He kisses the skin there, then chuckles. His fingers card through Aemond's blond locks. "Did you wash your hair for me?"

Aemond slips his thumbs under Luke's sweater to tease the soft skin above his waistband. "Who said I did it for you?"

The devil on Aemond's shoulder laughs in delight. As if in agreement with it, Luke cradles Aemond's angular face in his palms and gives him a filthy-wet kiss that makes Aemond's heart pound. For long moments, nothing exists to him but their embrace and the warmth straddling his legs, then Luke's hands undo the buttons of his shirt and slip under the flaps.

"Would you mind if we skipped dinner?" He pushes the fabric off Aemond's shoulders. On the way back, his fingertips walk along Aemond's collarbones.

Aemond shakes his head. He rolls Luke's sweater up and pulls it off his head. "It’s not what I'm hungry for anyway."

Luke's shiny-slick lips fall open around a longing sound.

"I wanna ride you." He whispers, watching Aemond with half-lidded eyes. Behind him, the fairy lights glow like a halo. Aemond's shoulder angel weeps in jealousy, but there's only one saint Aemond sees now. He grinds their bodies together with glorious friction, slow circles back and forth. "It's all I can think about since Jace cancelled on me."

Aemond shivers. He cups Luke's ass with his hands, preparing to lift him. "Let's move this to the bedroom then."

He pushes up, but Luke clings to the arm rests. "I meant, in this chair."

Aemond blinks. "How?"

It didn't sound stupid in his head, but Luke's confused face tells him it is when it's said out loud.

"I think I can pull off a reverse cowboy, right?" Luke laughs as he considers the cramped space.

Is this your first time getting it wet? Aegon's imaginary voice cackles when Aemond fails to make sense of the proposal. You know that there's a whole world beyond missionary, right?

Fuck. Aemond knows. He's aware of a few poses, but he doesn’t watch porn - one traumatic childhood experience was enough to put him off that for good. His religious upbringing didn’t really help him explore either, so it wasn't a surprise that he had some difficulties with sex in the beginning. But he has been doing fine in the past few months. He and Luke slept together a few times already and Aemond personally thought it was great, phenomenal, even, so he has been getting more comfortable, more genuinely confident recently - he doesn’t understand why they need to change anything now.

"I thought we had a good time last Saturday." He caresses the dimples above Luke's ass, trying to hide how self-conscious the thought of failure makes him. "Were you not satisfied?"

"Of course I was." Luke leans back with a frown, his fingertips resting just above Aemond's hardness. It's dizzying. "I just thought we could try something new." He sees something in Aemond's expression that makes him add, "Just for fun."

But how would Aemond fuck him properly here? He can barely move, thrusting would be too tiring to keep up for a long time. He rubs Luke's thighs, watching him smile and squirm out of his shirt. In the dim light, Aemond can't see the colour of his nipples, but he knows they look sinful after he puts his mouth on them. He presses a kiss to one and takes the hitch in Luke's breath as his reward. "Are you sure you want it here?"

Luke holds Aemond's left hand to his bare stomach. His hair is standing up in wild tufts on one side and his eyes glitter in the faint glow of the Christmas lights. He's too gorgeous for this world. Aemond wants to soak him in like a ray of sunshine. "Very sure."

They make quick work of their trousers and make out with sloppy licks and groans while Luke's hand frees their cocks. His touch is too dry, but he spits into his palm and that makes every stroke a sudden, decadent heaven. Aemond's devil tells him to copy Luke and finger him open. Dazed, he gets as far as to make Luke suck on his fingers, Luke's lips stretched wantonly around the digits, before he changes his mind.

"Condom." He groans in frustration. "We need one."

Luke pulls Aemond's fingers away by the wrist, guiding them to his own nipple. "Fuck, you're right." He jerks Aemond's cock faster for a second before he lets go. "Bedside table?"

At Aemond's nod, he clambers to his feet. "I'll get it. Just stay here, I'll be right back."

He hurries away, leaving Aemond in awkward silence. It's strange to leave his hardness jutting out of his pants like that, too hot in the cooler air of the room, so he tucks himself away again. Should he follow Luke and insist on doing it on the bed after all?

Before he can make up his mind, the patter of footsteps comes back. Apparently, Luke shucked his trousers as well, now completely naked aside from a pair of candy cane socks. Aemond's gaze zones in on them, unreasonably turned on by the domesticity. He doesn't even know what to grope first when Luke crawls back into his lap. He settles on Luke's ass.

"Why did you put it away?" Luke snickers when he takes a look at Aemond's trousers. He presses a bottle of lube into Aemond's hand.

"I was cold." Aemond mutters. He gets another kiss for it.

"I'll warm you up." Luke smirks.

He makes good on that promise. The strange position doesn't leave Aemond much room to maneuver, so all he can do is sit back, watch and enjoy, holding on to Luke's hips or the crease of his thighs. It's sublime. Luke takes his pleasure with his back to Aemond's chest and his pert ass on display as he rides Aemond to oblivion and beyond. His hands braced on the chair, his back muscles tensed into a sensual arch and his thighs shaking, he goes for it with abandon. The wet slaps of their coupling and their litany of moans fill the air, and Aemond's mind goes quiet and empty as he loses all rational thought to the rapture of it.

"How's that?" Luke gasps, reaching for Aemond's hand to draw it to his cock. When Aemond feels how hard it is, he almost blacks out.

"Amazing." He groans, then shifts his thighs until he finally manages to find some leverage to fuck, and he does with mindless, hard thrusts that make Luke cry out. "Fuck, Lucerys."

Luke whines, rocks into the pressure and hits his peak with Aemond's grip tight around his cock. The sight of his pleasure pushes Aemond over too, and he tumbles into it through a breathless smile.

Luke leans back against him as they come down, panting softly together.

"Christ." Luke sighs. He rubs Aemond's forearm around his waist. "Boyfriend of the year."

Aemond hums. He sucks a mark into Luke's sweaty neck. Bring up the ring while he's cock-drunk, the shoulder-devil says, the first of Aemond's brain cells to recover. Then the angel chimes in. Confirmation! "Boyfriend?"

Luke laces their fingers together. "Do you prefer something else? I should have asked you a month ago, but better late than never."

Master, Aegon's voice suggests. Sweetheart, Helaena's counters. "Boyfriend is fine." Aemond smiles and kisses Luke's shoulder.

Something huge and furry jumps up on the arm of the chair, growling unhappily. They both startle.

"You took her spot." Aemond says.

Luke breaks into a laugh. "Sorry, Vhagar, it's mine now."

[morsking]

so i played ai: the somnium files - nirvana initiative. here are my thoughts about it.

at its core, the game is about irreversibility, and the effort to contend with the irreversible. it’s harrowing causes having disastrous effects in a manner larger and more visceral the original somnium files did. to tie into the buddhist and hindu imagery of the game, it’s about escaping samsara, clumsily and even gruesomely struggling to be liberated from endless cycles of suffering.

like the previous game, this core theme is tied to a more personal theme of family. the original somnium files was about the importance of being surrounded by love and the consequences of neglect and deprivation from love. nirvana initiative is the same in this regard. likewise, nirvana initiative also inherits a theme of personal separation, but in a much more literal sense intertwined with the theme of family.

the original ai was about date being separated from hitomi and iris, mizuki being separated from shouko and renju, ota and mayumi being separated from each other and takero, and so’s estrangement with saito being the most egregious case of familial separation that ties into the rest. nirvana initiative takes this further and emphasizes the irreversibility of separation with how tearer being an orphan starved for affection and treated as an organ donor for a more favored child was what turned him into a serial killer. he was literally split from his own humanity in a physical manner every time pieces of him were taken to be given to the ill jin furue, projecting this suffering into his victims, who are also separated from their humanity.

the story of nirvana initiative, unlike that of somnium files however, is that of being undone. being undone by divorce, being undone by failure, being undone by loneliness, being undone by grief, and being undone by permanence in ways that cannot ever be taken back. komeji cannot take back being a terrible father and husband. shoma cannot take back his spite toward his father, and like gen he cannot take back the effects the experiments of the horadori institute had on their bodies. kizuna cannot take back that she lost her ability to walk. lien cannot take back his past as a thief, and ryuki cannot take back that he couldn’t save his twin brother. most catastrophically, amame cannot take back that she killed somezuki in revenge, just like tokiko couldn’t take back that she ruined his life and set him on a path of murder out of her own desperation. nirvana initiative is about the consequences to impossible decisions, and this is what amame’s somniums were all trying to communicate.

so we’re guided through this conflict of being harmed by irreversible decisions whether made by us or on our behalf with the desire to reach an emancipation that cannot ever be disturbed (reversed) from those consequences, and the consequences that struggle has. what the characters ultimately desire is tokiko’s moksha: the unraveling of reality that would accomplish a freedom from all suffering in the form of a freedom from all painful consequence. that is why the game’s secret ending involves tokiko escaping reality leaving the player with the choice to tell ryuki everything they know to split the characters from the suffering they endured and grant them the good lives from which they were separated.

it is supposed to be a happy outcome, but it is actually a very uncomfortable thing. precisely because we, the players, have inflicted irreversibility upon ourselves by manifesting in our consciousness the same spiritual realization that tokiko did. in this sense, kotarou uchikoshi masterfully delivered a story that is deeply resonant in the hearts of his audience. we have been separated from normality, and we will never be the same because of it.

and i must give it to him. just talking about it fucks me up like you have no clue. i’ve even tossed the smarty pants language into the shitter because that’s how hardfuckingcore it is. that’s how bad it gets me.

amame is by far the highlight of the game. it’s incredible how uchikoshi made a side character from the first game a fully-fledged, complicated, and delightful actor in the story. amame’s somniums made me feel like i was going through heaven’s feel or omori all over again, and her presence was everywhere in the game in some form or another for me.

so that’s how the game knocked my socks off. but how didn’t it get my rocks off? 

well for starters i feel like the second worst decision uchikoshi could’ve made was have date and mizuki start seeing each other as father and daughter only to immediately separate them for 6 years just to tease you with a mystery. uchikoshi snorts twists like a long line of cocaine and shoves your face into a pile of it urging you to feel the same high, almost as if wanting to be thanked for being the one responsible for taking you on a roller coaster. drugs. that’s the metaphor i’m using here. because it’s 2am and i have very limited imagination.

the absolutely worst decision though was making shouko and renju mizuki’s adoptive parents rather than her biological ones. uchikoshi’s need to make everything connected in ways you weren’t expecting works for the story’s detriment here. it’s not necessarily bad that mizuki is the result of a genetic experiment, and it’s not bad that she has an older genetic sister. i do think it’s bad that it feels as though he’s betrayed the found family angle of the original somnium files. it was compelling that renju and shouko tried their best to be good parents to the child they made together but couldn’t make it work because neither of them were actually equipped to be parents, and that mizuki was able to forge a familial bond with someone she had no blood relation with. nirvana initiative diminishes the power of that narrative. i wouldn’t go so far so to say uchikoshi spited it, i’d just say that his habits as a writer got the better of him. talk about choices that can’t be taken back lol.

this is more of a personal nitpick but i really do wish the game had done more with ryuki in the second half. in an effort to sell you the twist of the game’s timeline, i feel ryuki was unforgivably sidelined in a way that turns “oh my god, what could be happening with ryuki right now!?” to “ugh. where the fuck is ryuki. i wanna see him have a mental breakdown right now.” granted, from launch this was advertised as The Mizuki Game but weeeeeell we saw what The Mizuki Game had to offer in terms of mizuki herself. and that’s not to say she, or rather, they aren’t fun. they are. i adore them. it’s just *gestures at everything i just said in the two paragraphs above*. 

tangentially related to mizuki, i feel like kizuna and lien were probably the weakest part of nirvana initiative. it’s not that i don’t like the lady and the tramp, i just don’t like it when the lady and the tramp has bad romcom tropes all over it. comun kaibutsushidousha put it in perfect words. lien would be better if he was less lien. if he was less “22 year old man who just wouldn’t stop being a pest to a girl 4 years his junior”. which is a shame, because the post-time skip portion of lien and kizuna’s story arc is rather good. i’m a huge fan of stories where two people come closer together overcoming the burdens of their past. i just can’t get the bad taste of lien’s first impression off my mouth.

speaking of bad taste in my mouth, not a day goes by where i don’t wish uchikoshi would stop using “older men really wanna get it on with a girl half their age” as a joke. maybe it’s just a brand of humor i don’t get, but i just feel like “this sexually deviant man is so WEIRD” just isn’t a punchline to me. especially not when i already know too many women who have had uncomfortable encounters with too many entitled men.

so yeah, that’s nirvana initiative. overall a very thought-provoking experience occasionally held back by uchikoshi’s worst habits. i really am looking forward to the next somnium game and lowkey terrified at the implications of tokiko’s parting words.

in the meantime

遐ｴ繝ｬ邯ｻ繝吶ご閼ｱ繧ｻ繝ｨ繧ｳ繧ｳ繝剰劒讒句ｹｻ荳也阜

逶ｮ隕壹ａ繝ｨ隲ｸ蜷幃擠蜻ｽ繝取凾逵溽炊繝取演髢���こ 菫ｺ繝上ム繝ｬ繧ｳ蜃ｦ繝上ラ繧ｳ莉翫ワ菴墓凾繧ｭ繝溘ワ 繝ｯ繧ｫ繝ｩ繝翫う繝ｯ繧ｫ繝ｩ繝翫う繝ｯ繧ｫ繝ｩ繝翫う窶ｦ 莉ｮ諠ｳ遨ｺ髢捺錐螢翫す蛛ｽ繝惹ｸ悶き繝ｩ縺九う謾ｾ繝ｲ 蜉ｩ繧ｱ縺ｦ繧ｯ繝ｬ蜉ｩ繧ｱ縺ｦ繧ｯ繝ｬ蜉ｩ繧ｱ縺ｦ繧ｯ繝ｬ窶ｦ

[necroangelz]

🫀 ?

『 🫀 』

a game i played

im going to discuss my latest obsession: slay the princess! just 30 minutes ago or something i was playing it (well at the time i was typing this part. so technically just last week-ish i was playing it LOL)!! i wont really explain the game but i'll review it and share some screenshots ive taken (and i have taken a LOT of screenshots. i'll probably focus more on showing off the screenshots i took and just talking about the game yk) warning for possible spoilers and horror stuff!! (like violence/gore/body horror. theres not a lot of that but some screenshots ARE heavy on that)

this is one of the first... Interesting Scenes i encountered in the game and it really left a big impression on me. this game really knows how to leave an impression on someone. this screenshot kind of encapsulates how this game is like. fiercely unafraid to be deranged, unexpected, terrifying. the previously adorable princess becomes grotesque as she barely hesitates to fucking chew her hand off to be free from the chain. she doesn't hold back and neither does this game

GOD, SHE LOOKED SO CUTE HERE. SHE'S JUST A LITTLE SQUIMBLY. HER LARGE EYES, THE LITTLE SPECKS OF BLOOD AROUND HER CUTE LITTLE MOUTH. THE WAY SHE CALMLY WATCHES THE PLAYER CUT THE REST OF HER HAND OFF. THIS IS SO GROTESQUE BUT SO FUCKING CUTE

i really love the art in this game. the art perfectly depicts the princess in whatever way she needs to be depicted like the art style is so perfect for this game.

she can be your sweet loving angel or your burning corpse that will love you forever or your soon-to-be rival for eternity or the twisted fucking cyclepath that wants to torture you forever.

let's ignore that i took... so many screenshots... of the route where the hero/the smitten gets together with the princess... and lets ignore how i kind of agree with what the stubborn says in the 4th screenshot... and what the smitten said in the dialogue just before that......

GOD THE PRINCESS IS SO FUCKING PERFECT NO MATTER WHAT FORM SHE TAKES WAAAAAAAHHH

in this infodump you will slowly watch my descent into madness and love and adoration for the princess that i'm supposed to slay

she's so adorable i want to be with her forever

she's so crazy i want to be with her forever

another art-related thing i love about the game is the parallax effect! it's so smooth (except for the times that my potato laptop lags but ofc it's not the fault of the game at all) and it feels like a storybook! i noticed that the little effect on the screen where the lines move like scribbles is called a "boil effect" and every time i think of it, i think of the term "boiling frog syndrome" which means "the failure to act against a problematic situation which will increase in severity until reaching catastrophic proportions." it's probably just a coincidence but i cant help but think of it often and it feels profound and i like to pretend that it has a connection to the game. the hero is a frog in boiling water waiting for its doom ^_^

next, i ADORE the voice acting. the voice acting carries a lot of the entertainment value of the game (i'm not saying the game would be boring without it though but gosh the voice acting makes everything so much better) JONATHAN SIMS' VOICE ACTING HERE IS SO FUCKING GOOD okay confession i tried to convince myself that the VA for the narrator and the VA for the voices in your head were two completely different people but a quick google search proved me wrong and ALL OF THOSE WAS VOICED BY SIMS?????? THATS FUCKING CRAZY THE RANGE OF EMOTION HE CAN PERFECTLY DISPLAY IS SO AMAZING

the narrator and each voice has so much personality and theyre all so distinct and they all kind of talk in different tones as well and this just makes me respect him even more. and perhaps even want to listen to more magnus archives later

speaking of the voices in your head, chapter III the arms race and chapter IV mutually assured destruction were so funny the way the hero collects all the voices in his head ever in hopes that those dumb fucks MIGHT help us out in defeating the princess in battle and then the player just KICKS ALL OF THEM OUT AND REMOVES THEM. EVEN THE NARRATOR

LIKE IDK MUTUALLY ASSURED DESTRUCTION WAS A SUPER COOL CHAPTER HOW THE PLAYER COLDLY GETS RID OF EVERYONE TO FACE THE PRINCESS DIRECTLY AND IT RESULTS IN THE TWO OF THEM FIGHTING EACH OTHER FOR LIKE ALMOST ETERNITY LIKE TWO EQUALS UNTIL THEY BOTH "DIE" TOGETHER BY EACH OTHER'S HAND

anyway the razor route was the route i most recently played and when i got sent back to the long quiet something was Different. it turns out that i've finished enough routes or brought enough vessels that the princess (?) (idk what to call her but calling her by just The Princess doesnt feel right so i'll add a question mark at the end of it every time i talk about her) and the player were able to evolve

wait no maybe her name IS the shifting mound. okay i'll call her the shifting mound now

the shifting mound's design is so fucking cool though holy shit. aaaaaaaaaaahhhh the haaaaaandsssssss HANDS! OF TIME WILL WRING MY NECK! EVERY LITTLE MOMENT SPELLS REGRET

but anyway yeah back to what i was talking about

you've grown! and then i got a steam achievement named "the bloat"

and so has the shifting mound. she looks like that because the latest route i completed was the razor (the one with the mutually assured destruction) and i played it until the final form ig.

i really like the shifting mound and the relationship she has with the player. shes very kind and gentle with me

we only have each other

she doesnt mind that i hurt the princesses, because the pain is needed to gain new perspectives, and she needs those new perspectives to get us the hell out of here

this was very sweet. after she said that, the game closed and i thought it was a problem on my side but when i reopened it, i realized its intentional and that she had actually been waiting for me, and when i reopened the game, she was still there by my side like she promised. and that was even sweeter. like wtf i will forever quote "i will be here forever waiting by your side until you're ready to return to mine"

okay so that was supposed to be the end of this infodump but i played the game a bit more after i gathered all those screenshots so. more slay the princess discussion

the witch is probably my favorite version of the princess. i adore her beastlike qualities and she just looks SO silly and adorable she looks like >:3

i just really think it's neat that the princess and the environment changes based on the player's actions! it's really fun seeing what's new every time i move on to a new chapter. theres the big changes like the cabin and the basement and also small changes like the princess' crown.

i couldnt help but stop the cycle of violence between us and rebuild her trust for me. the thorn was a very meaningful and deep chapter and i enjoyed it. i couldnt bear to break her trust again

okay thats all i wanna play more stp during summer ^_^

[perryhedge]

yugioh sevens - goha 6 elementary arc

finally finished this arc!

overall i liked it, but not as much as maximum. i didn't find asana particularly compelling on her own (same with her go rush counterpart) or as a foil to yuuga and some of the one-off duels were just alright. the major theme of this arc was freedom vs duty, so i thought it was weird that gakuto didn't have much of a focus when that's his whole thing...but instead that theme was mostly explored through tazaki and ranze. poor romin I don't think even had a duel past the one with the sushi lady where she LOSES......lol.

there was some of my favorite episodes yet though. the luke club episode...pure genius. when the show really gets into a certain rhythm of high-paced absurdity, i feel like i connect with its humor really strongly. loved the tiger episode as well...and honestly the rush duel / rappa duet gag killed me. there's this absolutely wild improvisational energy to the way the story moves episode to episode sometimes, which i find refreshing and honestly a little shocking -- it takes a long time to make anime, so i feel like you rarely see something so spontaneous as allowing entire storylines to be built on of silly puns or callbacks. of course, not all these gags are hits, since the giant cast of recurring characters mostly stick to a one joke quota. there are several who i'm already sick of (and the fact that they are brought into go rush exacerbates this). but i'm surprised at how many of the gags do make me laugh every time, and even when they don't i have to marvel at the absolute gall to write some of that stuff. this manic quality is definitely emblematic of bridge era writing, and i'm not 100% sure who to attribute it to, but i'd guess based on knowing a few fans of his work that director nobuhiro kondou had a hand in this.

the animation of the show is already catastrophic, which i expected, but still bums me out massively. if i didn't like the characters so much, i'd definitely have stopped watching by now, because okay is seemingly the best it will ever get. i remember being shocked that some earlier episodes looked actually good, but those days are behind me now, it seems. and look, i know why it's like this -- covid definitely plays a role, and looking at their work bridge seems like a studio that loves to push out as much anime as possible and that situation cannot be good for a production schedule. it just depresses me, because although even in the gallop era yugioh was never a super lavishly animated affair, and fan favorites (i'm fan) like gx were definitely not the prettiest anime ever made, i would like some flashy poses, some interesting layouts, just something, anything to look at. anyway, i guess that's just why i watch shadowverse, too.

i also noticed it feels like there's more luke focus this arc, which makes sense. though the final duel this arc ended up pretty hype, it seems like yuuga is a bit of a struggle to write conflict with. he can't really be allowed to fail, unless it's existential despair for him, or maybe even rush duels itself, lol. that's why I found the maximum arc so compelling. on the other hand, luke's whole life is failure in a sense, and I say that with love. it's much easier to write interesting scenarios around, both where he's the butt of the joke but also his unexpected triumphs. i really like luke as a character so i don't really mind if the show does shift more focus on him. as usual no idea where the show is going next so looking forward to it

[blackswaneuroparedux]

ltdan2288 asked: As a fellow veteran of the Afghan Campaign, might I ask if you have any thoughts about the imminent end of Allied air support & combat-advisory operations over there? The fall of large swaths of the country to the Taliban is already underway, which can only be seen as an unspeakable tragedy for the people there. From a strategic perspective, there’s no reason to believe that we won’t have to return in some capacity of AQ or ISIS reestablish themselves under Taliban sponsorship. At the same time, it’s not clear to me that our presence did anything beyond kick the can down the road and delay this inevitable outcome. As someone with such a deep knowledge of military history, I’m curious if you have a different perspective.

I have been avoiding answering this post for a while now because Afghanistan dredges up so many conflicting emotions inside me. I wrestle with so many memories of my time there with my regiment to fight in a war that we all didn’t really understand what we were fighting for.

Deep breath.

Almost two decades of conflict in Afghanistan has cost British taxpayers £22.2billion, or $31.3 billion according to UK government figures. As British troops prepare to leave Afghanistan, the 20-year deployment bill could be even higher. As of May 2021, the total cost of Operation Herrick (codename for the deployment of British soldiers to Helmand province) is £22.2billion. There were 457 fatalities on, or subsequently due to, Op Herrick. Of which 403 were due to hostile action. During the operation between January 1, 2006 and November 30, 2014, there were 10,382 British service personnel casualties. Of these 5,705 were injuries and the remainder being illness or disease. The UK’s remaining 750 troops in Afghanistan, involved in training local forces, started exiting the war-devastated country in May. Most of them will return home by the end of July.

They, like every one of us who went to fight in Afghanistan, will ask the same questions, ‘Why did we go there?’ ‘What was the real purpose of the mission?’ ‘Was it worth it?’

Both my older brothers fought there with special distinction and I later fought there too. I have very mixed emotions when I think about my time in Afghanistan. For all its faults and tortured history, I love that country and love its many ethnic people. I even started to learn Pashtu as I already had a spoken command of Urdu because I had been raised partly in both Pakistan and India and it’s where many Afghan refugees living in the UN camps for over a generation had learned Urdu too.

It’s not just that my family has history in Afghanistan going back to the days of the East India Company but I had a sincere respect for its culture and history as one of the central hot spots for great civilisational achievements, but also as a stubborn and unruly country who proudly defied the Great Powers to bend the knee and turned it into a ‘graveyard of empires’. Most of all I think of the friendships I made there and how my perspective on life changed as a consequence of knowing such resilience and fortitude in the face of catastrophe and death.

I’m sure like everyone else I wasn’t too surprised by President Biden’s announcement that he was announcing the imminent withdrawal of all American troops in Afghanistan. He wanted to pivot to something else when asked about it. “I want to talk about happy things, man!” He said. Who could begrudge him given that America has been at war in Afghanistan for a better part of 20 years and has nothing to really show for it. Except of course the loss of its brave service men and women as well as the death of thousands of Afghan civilians. It spent more than $2 trillion to kill Osama bin Laden, the architect behind 9/11 attacks and failed to convincingly snuff out both murderous terror groups, Al Qaeda and ISIS.

When the Secretary General of Nato announced back in April 2021 all alliance troops were to be withdrawn from Afghanistan, it was made to look like a nice, clean, enunciation of a joint decision. The end date was set for 11 September, 2021 - 20 years after the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington - and it was in line with the oft-repeated alliance maxim: we went in together; we will come out together. Except that, on closer examination, it was all rather messier.

This was partly because the withdrawal from Afghanistan had actually been Trump’s policy, so here was Joe Biden, the anti-Trump, co-opting a policy from his predecessor (a policy Trump had been so keen on that he tried to accelerate the withdrawal after he lost the election). Biden then tried to detach it from Trump by slowing down the withdrawal date a little and expressing it in terms more comprehensible to the Washington establishment and to US allies.

Where Trump had essentially done a deal with the Taliban and set a withdrawal date of 1 May, Biden left the Taliban out of it and invoked the totemic date of 9/11. This does not mean, of course, that the withdrawal will not be completed a good deal sooner - once you announce a withdrawal, you might as well get on with it.

In fact, Biden had to make a decision one way or another, given the rapid approach of Trump’s 1 May withdrawal date. And, whether it came from Washington or Nato, it was pretty low key for an announcement that a 20-year military involvement that had cost 4,000 allied lives was ending. Indeed, many people beyond Washington and Afghanistan might not quite have registered the news, given the considerable noises from Nato’s simultaneous dire warnings about Russia massing troops on the Ukrainian border, the death of the Duke of Edinburgh in the UK, and the Covid pandemic everywhere.

And distractions were needed not just because Biden was implementing a Trump policy. It was also because he was ordering an unconditional withdrawal – which he justified, correctly, by saying that setting preconditions would mean that the troops could be there forever. It was a risk Biden knew all too well, given that Barack Obama had been persuaded by General David Petraeus – against his election pledges and his better judgement – that what Obama really wanted was not a withdrawal, but a ‘surge’ with conditions attached before a withdrawal could take place.

Distractions were also useful for London, where the timing was hardly ideal. Imagine you were in government in London, you had watched the dismal failure of the UK’s Herrick operations in Helmand Province between 2006 and 2014, you knew that your armed forces had suffered 456 deaths in 20 years, with many more severely injured, but you had hung on in there.

Your government had also just released a blueprint for foreign and security policy, setting future priorities even further from home, in the Indo-Pacific, and your Prime Minister was about to make a high-profile visit to India as part of his post-Brexit ‘Global Britain’ branding . In those circumstances, an announcement that the US had decided to leave Afghanistan, giving you no choice but to follow, was almost exactly what you did not need. Rather than showing the UK as a powerful, autonomous military actor and a valued ally, it showed the exact opposite.

It also reminded an unhappy British public about a costly conflict it had rather forgotten. And those who did more than bother to remember - like the families who lost loved ones on the battlefield - and who over the years have blamed successive governments for moving the goalposts and lacking an exit strategy (all true too).

All of which might explain why the UK’s Foreign and Defence Secretaries followed the US example by changing the subject to the iniquities of Russia and China, rather than issuing a joyous pronouncement to the effect of: hooray and thank goodness, our boys and girls are coming home.

The UK’s Chief of Defence Staff, General Sir Nick Carter gave a subdued, unenthusiastic response to Biden’s announcement. I cannot remember such open acknowledgement of UK-US military policy friction in recent decades - or such an abject admission by the UK of its defence dependence on the US. What Carter said was that the unconditional withdrawal was ‘not a decision we had hoped for, but we obviously respect it and it is clearly an acknowledgement of an evolving US strategic posture’. In other words, the UK had opposed Biden’s decision – or would have done, if asked (which is not clear). Also, that it was Washington’s ‘strategic posture’ that had ‘evolved’, not the UK’s. He suggested there was a real danger that progress made could be lost and that there could be a return to civil war, with the Taliban maybe returning to power - again, all true.

Given that the UK officially has only 750 troops in Afghanistan at present, and most of them are there in a training capacity, to dissent from the US position so openly would be considered decidedly rude in the Ministry of Defence. Perhaps to that end, General Carter played the dutiful soldier and had to - through gritted teeth - put a positive gloss on Afghanistan’s future, insisting that the objective in going into Afghanistan, ‘to prevent international terrorism emerging from the country’, had been achieved which was ‘great tribute to the work of British forces and their allies’.

He also said that Afghan forces were ‘much better trained than one might imagine’ and that the Taliban ‘is not the organisation it once was’, so that ‘a scenario could play out that is actually not quite as bad as perhaps some of the naysayers are predicting.’ Blah blah blah. He’s wrong, and I think he knows it but only in the sanctity of his gentlemen’s club might he truly admit it.

I know he’s wrong because the chatter amongst ex-veterans I know is that we’ve made a balls up of Afghanistan yet again - by ‘again’ I mean from the past 200 years of us Brits trying to bring order to chaos in Afghanistan and getting burned for our troubles.

Both my father and my older siblings tell me what their friends and ex-service peers (some very senior indeed) have been nattering over a drink at their gentlemen clubs where ex-veterans haunt the club bar. Many just shake their heads in sighed resignation before burying themselves in the Times crossword or drowning their sorrows with a beer or two at how lock in step we’ve become to the Americans at a time when the British army is re-branding itself as a more independent nimble hi-tech impact army (the creation of a new ranger regiment being but one example).

Still if President Biden wanted to tie a neat bow on U.S. involvement in Afghanistan - saying, as he had, that the logic for the war ended once al-Qaida was gutted and Osama bin Laden killed - then it reveals a stunning lack of introspection about the United States’ role in the conflict that will continue in Afghanistan long after the last American and British troops leave.

Less than three months after President Joe Biden declared that the last American troops would be out of Afghanistan by September 11th, the withdrawal is nearly complete. The departure from Bagram air base, an hour’s drive north of the capital, Kabul, in effect marked the end of America’s 20-year war. But that does not mean the end of the war in Afghanistan. If anything, it is only going to get worse.

It is true that the president had no good choice on Afghanistan, and that he inherited a bad deal from his predecessor. There are never good choices when it comes to Afghanistan: only bloody trade offs.

But in announcing an unconditional withdrawal, he made the situation worse by throwing out the minimal conditions U.S. Special Envoy Zalmay Khalilzad had negotiated under the Trump administration. U.S. envoy Zalmay Khalilzad has delivered to the Afghan government and Taliban a draft Afghanistan Peace Agreement - the central idea of which is replacing the elected Afghan government with a so-called transitional one that would include the Taliban and then negotiate among its members the future permanent system of government. Crucial blank spaces in the draft include the exact share of power for each of the warring sides and which side would control security institutions.

The refrain now from the Biden administration is that the United States is not abandoning Afghanistan, that it will aim to do right by Afghan women and girls, and that it will try to nudge the Taliban and Kabul toward a peace deal using a diplomatic tool kit.

But the narrative ignores much of the reality on the ground. It also ignores history.

In theory, the Taliban and the American-backed government had been negotiating a peace accord, whereby the insurgents lay down their arms and participate instead in a redesigned political system. In the best-case scenario, strong American support for the government, both financial and military (in the form of continuing air strikes on the Taliban), coupled with immense pressure on the insurgents’ friends, such as Pakistan, might succeed in producing some form of power-sharing agreement.

But even if that were to happen - and the chances are low - it would be a depressing spectacle. The Taliban would insist on moving backwards in the direction of the brutal theocracy they imposed during their previous stint in power, when they confined women to their homes, stopped girls from going to school and meted out harsh punishments for sins such as wearing the wrong clothes or listening to the wrong music.

More likely than any deal, however, is that the Taliban try to use their victories on the battlefield to topple the government by force. They have already overrun much of the countryside, with government units mostly restricted to cities and towns. Demoralised government troops are abandoning their posts. In the first week of July 2021, over 1,000 of them fled from the north-eastern province of Badakhshan to neighbouring Tajikistan. The Taliban have not yet managed to capture and hold any cities, and may lack the manpower to do so in lots of places at once. They may prefer to throttle the government slowly rather than attack it head on. But the momentum is clearly on their side.

America and its NATO allies have spent billions of dollars training and equipping Afghan security forces in the hope that they would one day be able to stand alone. Instead, they started buckling even before America left. Many districts are being taken not by force, but are simply handed over. Soldiers and policemen have surrendered in droves, leaving piles of American-purchased arms and ammunition and fleets of vehicles. Even as the last American troops were leaving Bagram over the weekend of July 3rd, more than 1,000 Afghan soldiers were busy fleeing across the border into neighbouring Tajikistan as they sought to escape a Taliban assault.

As the outlook for the army and for civilians looks increasingly desperate, so do the measures proposed by the government. Ashraf Ghani, the president, is trying to mobilise militias to shore up the flimsy army. He has turned for help to figures such as Atta Mohammad Noor, who rose to power as an anti-Soviet and anti-Taliban commander and is now a potentate and businessman in Balkh province. “No matter what, we will defend our cities and the dignity of our people,” said Mr Noor in his gilded reception hall in Mazar-i-Sharif, the key to holding the north (sounds like Game of Thrones). The thinking is that such a mobilisation would be a temporary measure to give the army breathing space and allow it to regroup and the new forces would co-ordinate with government troops to push back hard on the Taliban.

However this is Afghanistan. The prospect of unleashing warlords’ private armies fills many Afghans with dread, reminding them of the anarchy of the 1990s. Such militias, raised along ethnic lines, tended to turn on each other and the general population.

With America gone and Afghan forces melting away, the Taliban fancy their prospects. They show little sign of engaging in serious negotiations with Mr Ghani’s administration. Yet they control no major towns or cities. Sewing up the countryside puts pressure on the urban centres, but the Taliban may be in no hurry to force the issue. They generally lack heavy weapons. They may also lack the numbers to take a city against sustained resistance. On July 7th they failed to capture Qala-e-Naw, a small town. Besides, controlling a city would bring fresh headaches. They are not good at providing government services.

Perhaps the Taliban have learned their history lesson and might refrain from attacking Kabul this time around. Their best course may be to tighten the screws and wait for the government to buckle. American predictions of its fate are getting gloomier. Intelligence agencies think Mr Ghani’s government could collapse within six months, according to the Wall Street Journal. So clearly the momentum is on the side of the Taliban and they just need to chip away at Ghani’s forces one district after another until the inevitable and hateful surrender of the central Afghan government to their demands.

At the very least, the civil war is likely to intensify, as the Taliban press their advantage and the government fights for its life. Other countries - China, India, Iran, Russia and Pakistan - will seek to fill the vacuum left by America. Some will funnel money and weapons to friendly warlords. The result will be yet more bloodshed and destruction, in a country that has suffered constant warfare for more than 40 years. Those who worry about possible reprisals against the locals who worked as translators for the Americans are missing the big picture: America, Britain and other allies are abandoning an entire country of almost 40m people to a grisly fate.

Nothing exemplifies - at least in Afghan eyes - of all that has gone wrong with American involvement in Afghanistan than in the manner of their leaving.

The U.S. left Afghanistan's Bagram Airfield after nearly 20 years by shutting off the electricity and slipping away in the night without notifying the base's new Afghan commander, who discovered the Americans' departure more than two hours after they left in the middle of the night without raising any alarms.

They left behind 3.5 million items, including tens of thousands of bottles of water, energy drinks and military MRE's (Meals Ready to Eat ration packs to the uninitiated). Thousands of civilian vehicles were left, many without keys to start them, and hundreds of armoured vehicles. The Americans also left small weapons and ammunition, but the departing US troops took heavy weapons with them. Ammunition for weapons not left for the Afghan military was blown up.

Now that is some feat considering the logistics of this mass exodus without drawing any attention. You have obviously been to Bagram and so you will know just how big and sprawling it is. Bagram Airfield is the size of a small city, roadways weaving through barracks and past hangar-like buildings. There are two runways and more than 100 parking spots for fighter jets known as revetments. One of the two runways is 12,000 feet long and was built in 2006. There's a passenger lounge, a 50-bed hospital and giant hangar-size tents filled with furniture. And all those shops to remind Americans of home from familiar fast food restaurants and hairdressers and massage parlours to buying clothing and jewellery and buying a Harley Davidson motorbike (or so I’ve been told).

I’m guessing that the Afghans were certainly outside of the wire and probably had not been inside Bagram Airfield for months. So from the outset they would not have had any reason to think anything was going on until the generators probably ran out of fuel and it started to go a little too quiet. The inner gate was probably discretely left unlocked and when the US stopped answering the radio/phone and then they probably investigated.

Before the Afghan army could take control of the airfield about an hour's drive from the Afghan capital, Kabul, it was invaded by a small army of looters, who ransacked barrack after barrack and rummaged through giant storage tents before being evicted, according to Afghan troops. Afghan military leaders insist the Afghan National Security and Defense Force could hold on to the heavily fortified base despite a string of Taliban wins on the battlefield. The airfield includes a prison with about 5,000 prisoners, many of them allegedly Taliban members.

I’m pretty sure some bright spark in the US Pentagon public affairs dept convinced his military superiors that it was important to avoid the optics of Americans leaving in the same way they did in Vietnam in case it depresses the American public and the US military. Instead it demoralised its allies, the Afghan national army who are now the only line of defence against the Taliban.  In one night, they lost all the goodwill of 20 years by leaving the way they did, in the night, without telling the Afghan soldiers who were outside patrolling the area. The manner in which the Americans left Bagram air base amounts to a resounding vote of no confidence in Afghanistan’s future. It just looks bad.

The U.S. choice came with costs attached to each decision. With staying, the cost was potential U.S. troop casualties and a fear that things would not change on the ground. With leaving comes the cost of a deeper conflict in Afghanistan and a backsliding of progress made there over the past two decades. In many ways, the costs of staying seem shorter-term and borne by the United States, while the costs of leaving will be predominantly borne by Afghans over a longer time horizon. Yet, even if those costs seem remote now, history tells us that they will be blamed on the United States.

Biden perhaps reflective of history of Americans getting into quagmires abroad didn’t want to be seen exerting time and energy for a losing cause. His decision also reflects his administration’s foreign policy for the American middle-class paradigm, which focuses on domestic considerations over international ones (and is this so different from Trump’s “America First”? No, it is not). The irony, though, is that the American middle class largely doesn’t care about Afghanistan - their ambivalence gave way to support for this decision once it was announced, but it wouldn’t be hard to visualise the public approving of a scenario that kept a couple thousand troops there for a while longer.

What’s perhaps most disturbing is the narrative the president has presented along with the rationale for withdrawal: that America went to Afghanistan to defeat al-Qaida after 9/11, that mission creep led America to stay on too long and, therefore, it is time to get out. This takes an incomplete view of U.S. agency in the war in Afghanistan. The narrative implies that the civil conflict in Afghanistan today did not originate with America - that this more than 40-year war began with the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, preceded America’s interference in Afghanistan, and will follow our departure.

The fact of the matter is that, by beginning the campaign in Afghanistan in 2001 and overthrowing the Taliban, who were then engaged in their draconian rule, and installing a new government, we western allies began a new phase of the Afghan conflict — one that pitted the Kabul government and the United States/Britain/NATO against the Taliban insurgency. The Afghan people did not have a say in the matter. That we allied powers are leaving Afghan women, children, and youth better off in many ways after 20 years is due to us, and we should be proud of that. But that we are leaving them mired in a bloody conflict is also due to us, because we could not hold off the Taliban insurgency, and we must all reckon publicly with that.

I have to ask myself why did we fail?

I’m only speaking about us Brits now as I’m sure you have your own thoughts as an ex-Marine officer of what you thought of the American military effort. Yes, I’m copping out of really bashing the yanks because first, I have too much respect for those fantastic American service men and women I did have the privilege to fight alongside with; and second, we Brits have nothing to crow about as we fucked up in lots of ways too, and to make things worse, we should have known better given our imperial history with Afghanistan.

The seeds of our failure in Afghanistan lies in not learning from history. We didn’t have a mission that was properly defined nor did we have a strategy that was clear, coherent, and easily communicated to both its fighting men and women as well as to the British public.

Were we there to get our hands bloody and to root out and destroy extreme Islamist terrorists or were we there to indulge in state building out of some idealistic notions of liberal humanitarianism? This question was at heart of our failure within our government and also within the British army as well as our relations with America and our NATO allies and finally the Afghans themselves.

Although never colonised in the same manner as other central and south Asian countries, the modern Afghan state is very much a creation borne out of great power rivalry. A land occupied by a number of different ethnic, linguistic and religious groups, it is a country whose borders were defined by, and whose sense of national identity was forged in response to western great power competition. Its geopolitical position - landlocked, mountainous, and surrounded by past great powers and present regional rivals - lends Afghanistan a dual role of geographic obscurity and great strategic significance, and has as such frequently been treated as little more than a buffer state between empires and a proxy of local powers. Its shared historical border with Russia and British India made it an object of imperial intrigue and, by consequence, has been subject to five European military interventions in the last 175 years.

The first three interventions of these occurred during the era of ‘the Great Game’ in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, in which Britain and Russia (latterly the Soviet Union) competed for influence and control over Afghan politics in order to protect their respective imperial holdings in India and central Asia.

The fourth and fifth interventions, ranging from the late 1970s to the present day, similarly involved attempts by Soviets and then by an American-led international coalition to remove political leaders acting against their interests and to protect their favoured candidates.

The unifying feature of all these conflicts was the idea of Afghanistan as the site of potential threats to the interests and security of more powerful states.

Britain’s legacy in Afghanistan in particular set the tone for the country’s historical pattern of conflict and political contestation, fuelling both the intermittent emergence of Afghan national consciousness and a fractious political lineage that saw thirteen amirs in just eighty years. Interventions by the Empire during the Great Game set the conditions for the assassination of ostensibly national leaders by their compatriots (Shah Shuja Durrani in the First war) or their exile by the British (Shere Ali Khan and Ayub Khan in the Second).

Despite the British achieving their aim of protecting India in the second and third conflicts by maintaining Afghanistan as either a pro-British buffer state or as a neutral party, the Afghan narrative tends to emphasise successes such as the massacre of British forces retreating from Kabul to Jalalabad in 1842, the defeat of British and Indian forces at Maiwand in 1880, and the gaining of sovereignty in foreign affairs in 1919.

Soviet intervention in the late 1970s and 1980s further buttressed this identity of resistance, and the failure and ultimate overthrow of the Communist-backed Najibullah government, as well as the collapse of the Soviet Union shortly after their drawdown from Afghanistan, led to a sense amongst the victorious mujahidin of the country as the ‘graveyard of empires’.

Afghanistan’s modern history should thus be seen as inextricably linked to the ebbs and flows of great power politics. Each intervention exacerbated extant internal power struggles between rival elite individuals and groups vying for nominal control over the country. Foreign intervention in Afghanistan was met on each occasion with fierce resistance from tribal militias coalesced around religion; as has been remarked upon by one historian of the country, the threat of external domination has been one of the few means of uniting its disparate population around the concept of an Afghan ‘nation’, and in most cases this shared sense of identity cohered around religion, not nationalism.

Indeed, the presence of intervening powers and the development of the Afghan state may be seen as mutually supporting: whilst most Afghan leaders throughout the last two centuries have asserted their sovereignty over the country, the reality has in most circumstances been one of competing tribal chiefs and/or ‘warlords’ rather than a single dominant leader.

Where leaders have managed to cohere the disparate tribal and ethnic groupings of the country under one banner - most notably under the regime of Dost Mohamed Khan (1826-1839, 1845-1863) – this was due in large part to their diplomatic abilities of compromise and co-optation with Afghanistan’s regional power- brokers. In other cases, such as that of the reign of Abdurrahman (1880- 1901), power was maintained by an unflinching ‘internal imperialism’ and the use of punitive force against rebellious factions.

The challenges of maintaining and projecting centralised power in Afghanistan allow us to see the relationship of its leaders with world or regional powers in the last two centuries as one of mutual exploitation. Throughout the Great Game and the Cold War, whilst the British/Americans and Russians/Soviets would use threats and bribes (and occasionally force) to compel Afghan rulers to comply with their geopolitical needs, Afghan rulers themselves often deftly manipulated those powers to maintain and extend their own power.

The pattern followed by Afghan leaders from the nineteenth century to the present day is remarkably similar in the respect that most have relied upon a rentierist economic model, seeking external aid in order to sustain the cost of security and administration. The plan of modern rulers was to warm Afghanistan with the heat generated by the great power conflicts without getting drawn into them directly. Abdurrahman, for example, used British subsidies to fund his military campaigns against rebellious factions; the Musahiban rulers of the mid-twentieth century used American capital to develop its nascent economic infrastructure and Soviet finance to bolster its armed forces; and, following the overthrow of the last royal leader of Afghanistan, Mohamed Daoud, in 1978, the quasi-communist leadership of Babrak Karmal, Hafizullah Amin, Nur Muhammad Taraki, and Mohammad Najibullah during the late 1970s and 1980s relied in the main on Soviet money and military assistance in its ultimately failed attempt to implement socialist policies and put down the American, Saudi and Pakistani-backed mujahidin.

These trends continued into the post-Cold War period in respect to both the Taliban movement (essentially directed and funded by Pakistan), the Northern Alliance (funded largely by former Soviet central Asian states) and the regime of Hamid Karzai (maintained in economic and military terms by the American-led, NATO-operated International Security Assistance Force and the wider international community). In the former cases, occurring in the main in the period of civil war between 1992 and 2001, rentierism was limited to the maintenance of proxy parties and the continuation of conflict.

By contrast, the ISAF mission bore similarities with the Soviet-backed socialist regimes of the 1980s, insofar as it focused huge amounts of capital and military resources on stabilisation and state-building efforts. Both intervening parties made the error of ignoring Afghanistan’s political history and focused their efforts on bolstering the authority of a centralised state, both promoted policies that were deemed ‘universal’ in their application and were, unsurprisingly given such hubris, vulnerable to accusations by Afghan opposition to being alien and imperialistic ideologies, and both expended enormous amounts of blood and treasure in order to sustain the regimes they supported.

The UK’s struggle to locate a coherent strategy for Afghanistan should, therefore, be seen firstly in the light of the historical problematic of Afghan state-building. This is important in narrative terms because difficulties of defining strategy imply similar challenges in explaining strategy. As with its efforts to ‘think’ strategically, Britain’s ability to explain the strategy(ies) for the war in Afghanistan have been frequently criticised by various commentators. The most strategically debilitating aspect of the Afghan campaign has always been the incoherence of the mission’s purpose; indeed the question ‘‘why are we in Afghanistan?’’ has never really been settled in public consciousness. The international community massively underestimated the difficulties of state-building and greatly overstretched themselves in the commitments made to Afghanistan, and that they did so because ‘strategies’ for Afghanistan rested on assumptions of the universal applicability of liberal state-building.

The international community from the start (meaning from the Bonn Conference of late 2001) fundamentally misunderstood the nature of an Afghan society deeply ravaged by decades of conflict, and failed to foresee the malign effects state-building ventures would have on the country. Specifically, the Bonn Conference, which set out the parameters of the post-invasion Afghan state, implemented a centralised state system onto a state whose experience of such was limited, and where the success of such a system in extending its authority beyond the major cities was predicated on coercion and the use of force.

Historically this has rarely been a credible option for Afghan rulers or their international backers, and was even less so under the self-imposed restrictions of liberal war-fighting and state-building. Rather, re-creating a centralised state required Afghan and international actors to enter into the same methods of co-optation and compromise as those of the past; in necessitating these kind of measures – as opposed to implementing a looser, federal system of governance – the centralisation of the Afghan state paved the way for a reconstitution of a ruling order based on tribal elements and ‘strongmen’. This produced something of a paradox for state-builders, as the creation of a strong, central state capable of implementing liberal policies across Afghanistan came at the cost of entering into alliances with ‘warlords’ known for their illiberal and coercive political approaches and illicit economic activities.

Another unintended but unavoidable consequence of centralised state-building identified by scholars is the re-constitution of the rentier state in Afghanistan. Post-Bonn, Afghanistan returned to its historical norm of maintaining the state via the extraction of external security and development rents, without which it would almost certainly implode due to the ruinous state of its economy and taxation system. Studies have shown that his new rentierism differed from previous patronage systems at the state level insofar as it was fuelled by an unprecedented influx of capital and resources into the country. This had the effect of introducing regulated systems of ‘neo-patrimonalism’, where departments were to be distributed as rewards to the various factions that took part in the Bonn conference, and there had to be enough rewards to go around.

In other words, the structure of the post-invasion Afghan state was, to a great extent, defined not by the demands of good governance, the needs of the country or the demands of post-conflict stabilisation and reconstruction – the purposes for which the centralised model was chosen to promote – but rather by the first-order need to avoid the derailment of the centralised state by co-opting regional power brokers.

Because of the imperative of shoring up a nascent state by securing support from potential competitors, the gulf between the ends of liberal state-building and the illiberal means required to facilitate its functioning can therefore be seen to a certain extent as inevitable.

A major issue, however, was that the patrimonial linkages created by the state for its regional proxies was not comprehensive, as it did not extend to the Taliban’s Pashtun heartland and, as such, fuelled resentment and alienation as much as they placated and co- opted extra-state power brokers. Key players in the Northern Alliance - the primarily Tajik opposition to the Taliban - received prestigious posts within the state, whilst the predominantly Pashtun Taliban were themselves excluded from such arrangements. Because those rewarded by the state tended to be given ministerial or governorial roles in cities, the conflict dynamic tended to reflect an urban – rural divide similar to that of the Soviet occupation. Along this reading, the neo-Taliban insurgency was in many ways a product of the political miscalculations and deficiencies of post-invasion state- building activities.

Given this starting point, such a view concludes that the strategic problems encountered by the international community in Afghanistan were, to a large degree, problems created by (or at the very least exacerbated by) the state-builders themselves. They misread Afghan politics in a way that reflected their own philosophical assumptions about the state and society.

Strategy in Afghanistan suffered because the coalition effort, comprised of multiple national actors and the United Nations, rarely took on the form of a unified effort. Part of the reason for this was a divergence of opinion between actors as to the ultimate purpose – counter-terrorism or state-building – of the intervention.

In the first years of the Afghan campaign, the United States’ Bush Administration remained staunchly opposed to what it called ‘nation building’ and opted instead to pursue a policy of capture- or-kill missions against suspected terrorists. For the United Nations and most of the United States’ European NATO allies, however, state-building was considered a necessary element of any counter-terrorist strategy. This difference of opinion was manifest from the start by the creation of two parallel missions – the US-led, counter-terrorism-focused Operation Enduring Freedom (OEF) and the stabilisation missions of the European Union, United Nations (United Nations Assistance Mission in Afghanistan (UNAMA)) and NATO (International Security Assistance Force (ISAF)) – engaged in seemingly incompatible aims of military prosecution and peace building.

Opinion on the impact of this dual approach varies. Some scholars have noted, along lines similar to those critiquing the state-building efforts of the international community that the approach taken by the UN, EU and ISAF was too ambitious, naïve and unrealistic, and therefore bound to fall short of their liberal political and economic goals. Both Europe and these international agencies ignored the necessity of paring down the international community’s state-building efforts to core, security-centric capacity building within the Afghan National Security Forces. But of course one can make the counter argument, as many have of course, that on the contrary it was the insufficiencies of state-building approaches vis-à-vis OEF’s counter-terrorist approach that led to subsequent failures in UN and ISAF efforts; specifically, that a disproportionate focus on counter-terrorism missions meant that opportunities of peace- building were irreparably compromised.

Within NATO there was a division not just of opinions but also one of mission relating to different political perspectives about the purpose of the Afghan mission and its ultimate referent object – whether it was primarily about the interests of the coalition member states or concerned in the main with Afghanistan itself – and, from that, the methods to be employed in pursuit of one or another objective. This was not merely a debate bounded by strategic necessity, however; rather, such debates stemmed as much from institutional disagreements over who would or could do what in Afghanistan, which in turn arose from the differences in political constitutions and cultural attitudes towards counterinsurgency and counter- terrorism.

These ‘national caveats’ or ‘red cards’ of participation created significant problems for NATO in Afghanistan, both political, in terms of the relations between states and the abiding sense amongst some that others were ‘free-riding’ on the collective security system and, and strategic and operational, in the sense that command-and-control capabilities and cohesion between forces were limited by the engagement restrictions placed on certain armed forces. Indeed, the disproportionate burden placed on combat-oriented states like the United States, the United Kingdom, and several new member states in Eastern Europe led to political statements denouncing Europe’s perceived transgressors of collective security participation; former US Defence Secretary Robert Gates argued, for example, that NATO had effectively become a ‘two-tier alliance’ ‘between members who specialise in ‘soft’ humanitarian, development, peacekeeping and talking tasks and those conducting the ‘hard’ combat missions - between those willing and able to pay the price and bear the burdens of alliance commitments, and those who enjoy the benefits of NATO membership... but don’t want to share the risks and the costs’.

A lack of strategic unity was the natural consequence of a structural compromise that produced two distinct strategic authorities that were, in many ways, competing with one another. Along similar lines to the political arrangements between the Afghan state and its regional proxies, the NATO alliance structure can be seen (and evidently is seen by officials such as Gates) as patrimonial: states participated on the basis of fulfilling their own interests and along operational lines that were complementary to those interests, for the purposes of securing an alliance structure that accommodated all participants ahead of the imperative of creating a coherent strategy for stabilising Afghanistan. As with the neo-patrimonialism of the Karzai regime NATO’s efforts would be dictated by the limitations imposed upon it by circumstance.

Thus, in the cases of Afghanistan’s and the international community’s internal political dynamics, strategy was confined by the structure of the Afghan state and society, the structure of the international community and NATO, and the interplay between those structures. The implication here is that the agency required for the possibility of a workable strategy may have been illusory from the start.

Leaving Afghanistan was never going to be pretty, but the latest turn is uglier than expected.

No one quite expected the speed of collapse within the Afghan National Army to hold of attacks of the Taliban. I don’t think it’s do with the lack of training or their professional skills is lacking (though there may be some truth in it). A big driver in the collapse is the money for wages, food and medical care for troops is syphoned to Dubai, so the Afghans who want to fight, and there are quite a few who hate the Taliban, get less replenishment than the 6th army in the last weeks of Stalingrad. They have arms, ammo and boots for this season only and that is it. Both money and morale are in short supply for these soldiers.

If I was a trained soldier in the Afghan National Army I would desert. I would say to them abandon the fixed defences these ‘ferenghis’ (foreigners) have gifted you and move to the hills and seek refuge with your tribal clan, who will be glad of the arms and experience you bring. Or get over the border if you are lucky to be in the North, if in the West you hire yourself to the Narcos in the badlands on the Iran border. Most other places it is either a last stand or defection, your Government and their relatives have already got their planes fuelled up in Kabul ready to move to their villa complexes in the UAE.

I’m being a trifle cynical but for good reason. Everyone who has been to Afghanistan sees the veil lifted on the corruption of aid and how the elites protect themselves ahead of defending the masses who bear the brunt of the bloodshed.

The corruption has been endemic from the get go, but the international community ignored it all for 'progress'. Any Afghan politico you hear on the media complaining about the West abandoning Afghanistan has at least $30 million parked in Dubai that should have gone to the soldiers, teachers, doctors, builders etc.

As spectacular as the collapse of the Afghan National Army has been it’s been even more scarier seeing how swift the Taliban has been in taking over vital provincial areas through propaganda, civilian intimidation, and rapid attacks. One by one, the Taliban has been taking over areas in a number of provinces in northern Afghanistan in recent weeks. The Taliban says it has taken control of 90 districts across the country since the middle of May. Some were seized without a single shot fired.

The UN's special envoy on Afghanistan, Deborah Lyon put the figure lower, at 50 out of the nation's 370 districts, but feared the worst was yet to come. Most districts that have been taken surround provincial capitals, suggesting that the Taliban are positioning themselves to try and take these capitals once all foreign forces are fully withdrawn. On a map, it's easy to see the point Lyon is making. A stark example is Mazar-i-Sharif, the biggest city in the north and a significant power centre in its own right. It was the rock upon which the Northern Alliance fought against the Taliban.

It is significant the Taliban are kicking off this offensive in the north, not their heartland in the south and east. The north was the toughest part of the country for them to crack last time. Their expectation is if they have victory there, success will flow much easier in their traditional homelands further south.

The strategy of taming the north extends to emasculating and profiting from trade routes to neighbours. On Monday night they captured the important border town of Shir Khan Bandar, Afghanistan's main crossing into Tajikistan. Earlier in the day, top Tajik government officials had met to discuss concerns about the growing instability next door. There is no indication that the Taliban intend to take their fight north of the border, but in the past Tajikistan has been a vital conduit for supplies flowing to the militants' northern enemies.

The last time the Taliban controlled the city was 20 years ago, when they left hundreds of captives in steel trucking containers to suffocate and die in the scorching desert heat. Now, the militants are back at the city gates once again, as part of a lightning offensive against Afghan government forces that has set alarm bells ringing from Kabul to Washington. So it should worry us all where will all this lead to.

America's drawdown seems to be the game changer. The Taliban have been beaten back several times in recent years, notably from Kunduz in 2015. The Taliban captured it briefly before US airstrikes were called in. Civilian casualties were high but the militants were driven out. The militant group has never been able to withstand the heavy US and NATO air assaults backing Afghan ground forces, but now the US and NATO are leaving, so is much of the threat of sophisticated and sustained air power. And the Taliban are well aware of this.

It seems to me behind the choice of withdrawal by the Biden government lies a bigger assumption that drives that choice. That is the Taliban militants' perceived desire for international recognition. This has been the mantra underpinning the American exit. The logic of the American argument has been simple: The Taliban wouldn't renege on their agreements with the US because they crave international acceptance. The events of this past week and more appear to blow a hole in that assumption.

Another assumption that’s currently being blown out of the water is the US establishing some presence outside of Afghanistan so that if it needs to intervene again to combat terrorism or flush out militants then it can do so from the safety of a neighbouring country. But so far no country has come forward to reciprocate. And why would they? Like the Afghans, no one likes foreign troops with boots on the ground in their country. Only the central Asian republics and possibly Pakistan would come close to allowing that but there would be a political cost those governments would pay with their people. Moreover by welcoming the Americans in, they also allow the militants to target that country too.

Another assumption is the nature of the Taliban support and links to terrorist groups. The U.S. may not face any serious post-withdrawal Afghan support of extremist threats to the United States, even if the Taliban does take over. It is all too true that the Taliban continues to talk to the remnants of Al Qaeda, as do elements of the Pakistani military. It is unclear, however, that these remnants of Al Qaeda focus on attacks on the U.S., and the Taliban does seem to oppose ISIS. It is also unclear that the Taliban will host other extremist movements that focus on attacking the U.S. or states outside the region.

It is unclear that any key element of the Taliban has an interest in such attacks on the United States. Even Al Qaeda now focuses largely on objectives inside Islamic countries, and it is unclear that some other major extremist force will emerge in Afghanistan that do not focus on regional threats and on taking over vulnerable, largely Islamic states.

At the same time, one needs to be careful about the assumption that the U.S. can defeat any such threats by launching precision air and missile strikes against extremist targets. It is unclear that the forces in Afghanistan involved in any small covert attacks on the U.S. will be easy to target and cripple if they do emerge. The Taliban is unlikely to tolerate major training camps and facilities for extremist forces, and any such strikes will present major problems for the U.S. if the extremist threat consists of scattered small facilities and small expert cadres that shelter among the Afghan population.

It is also far from clear that more intense U.S. air attacks on Taliban forces from outside Afghanistan will have any decisive effects. The loss of limited numbers of Taliban fighters as well as some key Taliban leaders and facilities will not offset the pace of their victories in the countryside or enable the central government to survive. A continuing U.S. ability to target and kill some key Taliban leaders and fighters also does not mean that the risk of such strikes will deter future Taliban willingness to let small, extremist strike groups conduct well-focused, well-planned strikes on U.S. or allied territory, especially if such groups in Afghanistan sponsor attacks on the U.S. or it strategic partner by strike units or cadres based in other countries.

At the same time, it does seem more likely that the Taliban, and/or any independent extremist groups, will focus largely on Iran, Pakistan, Russia, China, and the other “-Stans.”

Going forward I think we need to re-evaluate many of our assumptions about the war in Afghanistan.

The objectives of the Authorised Use of Military Force approved by the US Congress in 2001 have long been accomplished. Once Osama bin Laden was killed in Operation Neptune Spear in 2011, the last element of the AUMF was met. The American and British mission in Afghanistan was complete. But America and Britain did not leave because we wanted to do a spot of state building to curb the spread of militant islamist terror. That was a mistake as it turned out.

Post-Neptune Spear, The American, the British, and their  allies’ conventional mission should have been ended, adopting instead a laser focus on intelligence collection and offensive special operations to prevent al-Qaeda (or any terrorist organisation) from re-establishing safe havens and training areas.

What was needed for an acceptable ‘victory’ and a ‘saving face’ withdrawal  was to embrace the use of Afghan Militia Forces the same way the Allies did for our initial entry way back in 2001.

In 2001, Western powers won the initial military engagement in 42 days using special operations forces with local and regional allies - we need to return to this format - and through a combination of special operations and specific information operations efforts, regaining the high ground and influence over ‘centres of gravity’. The issue is not the number of troops, but the mission of the forces there. Once the mission is defined, the number of forces needed would be clear.

It has never been about the number of troops - it’s been about the lack of an achievable mission assigned to our forces in Afghanistan.

The US engaged in ‘nation-building’ for the wrong reasons - and has seen bad results. We installed Hamid Karzai, served as his praetorian guard to protect the new central government and abandon our AMF allies and attempted to build a large, bulky, expensive and ineffective Afghan National Army - a force that is now evaporating before our eyes. It was folly.

Americans will never make the Afghan people more like them - nor will they be able to instil what my American colleagues used to fondly refer to as ‘a Jeffersonian democracy’ in Afghanistan. That day may come but only when the Afghan people wish it to be so. Lest it be forgotten Americans sought independence in 1776; the Afghan people seek self-reliance and independence from foreign influence. This is their defining historical DNA: escape from any outside control.

The Afghan people are not ungoverned, they are self-governed - with no tradition of central democracy and no desire for our version of democracy or ‘prosperity’. By pushing ‘prosperity’ we had become targets for both the Afghan government and the Taliban. This has ended, but we must draw a distinction between the end of nation-building and the continuation of our own interests in Afghanistan and the region.

It is time to adopt a practical policy based on what will work and is in our allied interests, rather than by funding the aspirations of progressive politicians who have no real understanding of Afghanistan.

First, we must establish a clear post-‘state-building’ strategy - with achievable objectives. We must return to the policy and operational format we know will work - cooperation with Afghan tribal leaders and militia. This type of force was used to achieve the initial victory in 2001. Empowered warlords and regional leaders were the force multiplier that worked as the Afghan Militia Forces - and can again, in partnership with our Special Operations Forces work now. Intelligence collection and limited military operations should be our focus.

There is no way around it. One has to play the Great Game. Think tribal rather than central. Afghan nationhood is a liberal Western wet dream.

The central government is weak and corrupt just like all the other rulers of the past. The Afghan National Army is not as strong as it is on paper. It can hardly prop itself up rather than any government. Most of the Afghan National Army troops have stronger tribal loyalties than to the concept of a nation. Since the tribal chiefs play both sides to hedge their bets, it's no wonder 'their' people do what they're told. The Taliban know this because that has always been the Afghan way, so the tribes go with them. Provided the Taliban honour their promises to the tribal chiefs, the Taliban can do what they want.

On one hand, the tribes won't now be too bothered by central government and have a large pool of Western-trained troops to prop them up. On the other hand, they now have to do business formally with the Taliban again. Largely in order to get their hands on Western-supplied aid that will surely follow after the Americans leave.

Second, we must accept the reality of Pakistani influence in Afghanistan - and work with the Pakistanis to counter al-Qaeda and the other militants now attacking Pakistani targets within Pakistan. Pakistan has made great advances in securing the tribal areas on the other side of the border and they have always been the de facto control of much of the Taliban force capacity, such as the Haqqani network. Working with Pakistan is the best option within the current circumstance.

‘Endless wars’ are not an American value. The use of the US military must only be used in response to genuine threats, when American interests are at stake or lives in danger. Withdrawal of conventional military forces and discontinuing nation building is in the US interest: leaving Afghanistan is not.

Third, make Afghanistan China’s problem. Afghanistan could easily become a hotbed for growing Islamic extremism, which would to some extent affect stability in Xinjiang.

It is not without reason that Afghanistan is known as the “graveyard of empires”. The ancient Greeks, the Mongols, the Mughals, the British, the Soviet Union and most recently the US have all launched vainglorious invasions that saw their ambitions and the blood of their soldiers drain into the sand. But after each imperial retreat, a new tournament of shadows begins. With the US pulling out of Afghanistan, China is casting an anxious gaze towards its western frontier and pursuing talks with an ascendant Taliban. The burning questions are not only whether the Taliban can fill the power vacuum created by the US withdrawal but also whether China - despite its longstanding policy of “non-interference” - may become the next superpower to try to write a chapter in Afghanistan’s history.

Beijing has held talks with the Taliban and although details of the discussions have been kept secret, government officials, diplomats and analysts from Afghanistan, India, China and the US said that crucial aspects of a broad strategy were taking shape. An Indian government official said China’s approach was to try to rebuild Afghanistan’s shattered infrastructure in co-operation with the Taliban by channelling funds through Pakistan, one of Beijing’s firmest allies in the region. China is Pakistan’s wallet.

It has been reported that Beijing has been insisting that the Taliban limit its ties with groups that it said were made up of Uyghur terrorists in return for such support. The groups, which Beijing refers to as the East Turkestan Islamic Movement, are an essential part of China’s security calculus in the region. The ETIM groups were estimated by the UN Security Council last year to number up to 3,500 fighters, some of whom were based in a part of Afghanistan that borders China.  Both the UN and the US designated the ETIM as terrorists in 2002 but Washington dropped its classification last year. China has accused the ETIM of carrying out multiple acts of terrorism in Xinjiang, its north-western frontier region, where Beijing has kept an estimated 1m Uyghur and other minority peoples in internment camps.

In a clear indication of Beijing’s determination to counter the ETIM, Wang Yi, China’s foreign minister, exhorted counterparts from the central Asian states of Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan this year to co-operate to smash the group. “We should resolutely crack down on the ‘three evil forces’ [of extremism, terrorism and separatism] including the East Turkestan Islamic Movement,” Wang said in May according to Chinese news media which I follow.

The importance of this task derived in part from the need to protect large-scale activities and projects to create a safe Silk Road. Silk Road is one of the terms that Chinese officials use to refer to the Belt and Road Initiative, the signature foreign policy strategy of President Xi Jinping to build infrastructure and win influence overseas.

An important part of China’s motivation in seeking stability in Afghanistan is protecting existing BRI projects in Pakistan and the central Asian states while potentially opening Afghanistan to future investments. China would have to more actively support efforts to ensure political stability in Afghanistan. So make them work for it. Western powers need to leverage China’s problems in Xinjiang to be more active in Afghanistan.

International media outlets and intelligence agencies worldwide have been circulating reports pointing toward the creation of a Chinese military base in the Wakhan Corridor of Afghanistan’s Badakhshan province for a while now. Although China has not embarked on militarisation programs on foreign soil historically, and has profusely denied the rumours about building an Afghan “mountain brigade,” China’s first overseas military base in Djibouti provides an example of China’s newly adopted strategy of leveraging economic influence to further its strategic objectives. There’s even some chatter amongst Chinese officials that Beijing may entertain the idea of being part of a future UN international force should one be needed in Afghanistan (a bad idea but hey, let China find out first hand for itself).

The Afghan government was able to maintain a measure of stability largely because of the superiority of US air support. The drones, gunships, helicopters and heavy air artillery were unmatched by the Taliban. But when the US leaves, that advantage will evaporate. China’s imperative to create overland trade routes to Europe and the Middle East may draw it inevitably into Afghanistan’s domestic strife.

Of course China’s forward policy in the Wakhan Corridor needs to be assessed with a critical eye. Although on one level it seems to be motivated primarily by the threat of radicalisation, China’s interest in the region is also contingent on the strategic role that Afghanistan is capable of playing in the larger scheme of things. Despite China’s vehement denial, there seems to be sufficient evidence available indicating a definite military build up in the region, which provides China with an opportunity to showcase its ability to transform into a balancing force in the regional dynamics. I think that is a trade off that both America and Europe can afford to concede under the current circumstances.

In conclusion In the face of failure, there is an impulse to move on and not ask “what led to this?” But to avoid a reckoning with our follies is to risk their repetition, or worse.

it is probably too late to salvage either the civil or military situation in Afghanistan. It almost certainly is too late to salvage it with limited in-country U.S. forces, outside U.S. airpower and intelligence assets, and with no real peace agreement or functional peace process. Limited military measures are not the answer, and neither is simply reinforcing the past processes of failure. Tragic as it may be, withdrawal may not solve anything and may well make conditions worse for millions of Afghans, but reinforcing failure is not a meaningful strategy.

I do feel strongly that both the American and British governments must establish a clear path of redemption so that those who served and the families who sacrificed loved ones know that their loss was not wasted. At the same time our civilian governments must limit missions to intelligence collection and counter-terrorism missions that will prevent the metastasis of al-Qaeda or Isis in the region should the Afghan government fall. How we balance these two is going to be very interesting to follow in the next chapter in Afghanistan’s tortured history.

I apologise for the length of this post. This has been a hard post to write because of the subject matter and the many conflicted emotions and memories I have of my time in Afghanistan. I wish I had all the answers but I suppose the beginning of wisdom would be to know how to ask the right questions. Because we didn’t ask the right questions when we went in, we ended up making a real mess of it.

There is an understandable desire to bring all our allied troops home safe and that not another life is lost there. Yet I doubt this policy of withdrawing all troops will bring peace to anyone, not to us and most of all, the Afghanis themselves. As always in war it is the native population that will bear the real cost of war, in this case women, girls, and others brutalised under Taliban rule. What lies for them if the Taliban regain power to govern the country in their image is something I care not to imagine but retain a deep foreboding of their continued suffering. Ordinary Afghanis just want a respite from war and have a chance to live in peace, but without having us foreigners or the Taliban around. It is hard to imagine that happening at all. Our desire to save our soldiers’ lives set against ordinary Afghanis being left at the mercy of the Taliban is one of those humbling and brutalising trade offs that any war can only offer.

Near the end of his famed novel, The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald described two of his privileged characters, Tom and Daisy, as “careless people” who “smashed up things and creatures” and then “retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness” to “let other people clean up the mess they had made.”

That description applies to America as a whole but also to we Brits and other Europeans, especially when we tire of a misguided war. Americans and we Brits are a careless people. In both Iraq and Afghanistan, we smashed up things and human beings with abandon, only to retreat into our materialism. No scratch that, returning soldiers retreated into themselves struggling with PTSD whilst the rest of our citizenry carried on with their own material struggles and their insipid culture wars. The point is we always leave others to clean up the mess in a very bloody fashion that never troubles our conscience.

Count on us, probably sooner rather than later, doing precisely the same thing in Afghanistan. Again.

Thanks for your question

[spicycreativity]

Good Omens but Make It Moceit (unfinished)

I said I would do it and I tried very, very hard but it's not looking like I'm going to be able to finish because ✨mental health reasons✨

Here's what I have so far (about 8k words)

EDEN

It is a little-known theological fact that the invention of the hypothetical coincided nearly perfectly with the invention of the thunderstorm, the latter being a rather effable invention of God, all things considered, and the former springing forth from the troubled mind of Phaedaël, the angel of the Eastern gate. The first drops of rain pattered to the ground and he curved one wing upward to protect his head. Addressing his companion, he said, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I should be talking to you."

"Oh, and what a shame," cooed the serpent, who hadn't yet chosen a name, "and here I was so hoping you'd wring the details out of me."

"Oh," said the angel, considering this. He shifted uncomfortably, and made a face like he'd just been forced to swallow something bitter. "Well… What did you say to her?"

"Don't patronize me," said the serpent. He paused. "I don't suppose you could enlighten me, angel, on what's so bad about knowing the difference between good and evil?"

"They broke the rules," said the angel firmly.

"I don't suppose it matters that the rule was arbitrary?" The angel drew in a breath to reply, but the serpent cut him off, looking him up and down suddenly as though seeing him for the first time. A sly smile tugged at his lips. "Lose something?"

"No!" said the angel, far too quickly.

"Oh, come on. Lying doesn't become an angel."

"It's not a lie!" the angel insisted.

"Well, then. Please do tell me what happened to that flaming sword of yours."

The rain began to fall in earnest. A thunderclap sounded overhead. The angel said, "What if you had an opportunity to help someone--"

"What if?" repeated the serpent incredulously.

"What if," persisted the angel, "someone could benefit from something you were supposed to have, but weren't really using?"

The serpent began to laugh. "Don't tell me you gave it--" he gestured into the distance-- "to them?" A few more hysterical cackles escaped his chest, but he swallowed the rest down at the anguished look on the angel's face. "Oh, relax. If you did it, it can't have been bad, can it? Angels don't do bad."

"And demons don't do good?" the angel looked at the serpent with uncertainty.

"Oh, yes," purred the serpent, "we're wicked to the core."

The angel went silent, considering this.

The thunder roared, the rain came down harder, the serpent remained, and the angel very gently lifted his other wing to keep his companion dry.

Who, after all, prayed for the Devil?

DRAMATIS PERSONAE

God (God)

Logan (Patton's overseer)

Satan (A Fallen Angel; The Fallen Angel, one might say)

Remus (Janus' overseer)

Janus (An angel who did not so much fall as back away muttering "I'm really going to do it this time; no one try to stop me")

Roman (a lover)

Virgil (an Antichrist)

Dog (hellhound, hellraiser, and sleeping partner)

21 YEARS AGO

In the Valendale Regional Military Cemetery lurked a demon.

Well, he lurked as best as he was able, given that the ambiance was all off for lurking. He had fudged the timing a little, being unaccustomed to the nature of the passage of time on Earth, and had accidentally arrived just in time to witness a beautiful sunrise over Florida's eastern coast. Half the sky was a magnificent golden ocean with waves of orange and pink. The military cemetery had also been a mistake, though this one bothered him less. While he had been hoping for something a little more ancient and decrepit, he soon began to console himself by playing hopscotch on the clean, flat grave markers, delighting in the muddy bootprints he left behind him.

Besides, he liked the way 'military cemetery' rolled off the tongue.

When he inevitably got bored of desecrating graves, he threw himself down in the grass and began to look for worms and bugs with which he might decorate his uniform.

This was Remus, a Duke of Hell.

He found a worm and began to speak to it, watching it writhe around in his palm. "I'm so bored."

He spent a good few seconds coming up with a voice to use to represent the worm, then asked himself in a high-pitched squeak, "Why's that, your

Grace?"

Remus cupped the worm in his hands and rolled over, nearly kicking the basket he'd brought with him. This bothered him less than it rightfully should have, considering what was inside. He only gave a blithe "Oops!" and returned his attention to the worm. "That little subordinate of mine is making me wait!"

The worm said, "You should punish him!"

"Good idea!" Remus exclaimed, stroking the worm with his fingertip. "What do you think, should I spank him? Make him kiss my boots? Or--" He cut himself off, having just caught sight of flashing red and blue lights in the near distance. Sirens had been echoing on and off throughout the night, but they were very near now. "There's my bitch!" he said with undisguised affection. He put the worm in his pocket and stood up.

The Interstate Highway System was ostensibly developed under the command of United States President Dwight D Eisenhower in order to facilitate the movement of personal use vehicles, public transportation vehicles, and self-propelled field artillery across the country. This project, as anyone who has ever attempted to traverse the Interstate Highway System can tell you, was a catastrophic failure. The criss-crossing network of freeways, highways, turnpikes, and byways is frequently backed up with bumper-to-bumper traffic.

What most hapless travelers of the Interstate Highway System do not know is that the cloverleaf interchange, one of the most commonly-used interchanges in city planning, is also the exact same shape as the sigil det in the written language of the Church of the Black Clock. Written correctly, it means "black fire upon my enemies, devour their souls!" (Note: Written incorrectly, it reads "kneel, gay men.") Every day, commuters slow traffic via their own ill-wishes on fellow drivers, granted life by the sigil. (It is a known fact that every driver on the freeway considers every other driver on the freeway an enemy).

It was one of Janus' most diabolical achievements. He was quite proud of himself, not only in the end result but in his methods. While a lesser demon might have had to go to the trouble of hands-on work: hacking computers, making bribes, and, Satan-forbid, possibly even sneaking out at night to move marker pegs by hand, all Janus had had to do was talk. He was quite good at getting people to do his bidding once he got his foot in the door.

Something Janus had inexplicably failed to account for was the fact that he, too, would occasionally need to use the freeway system. Such was the curse of Janus' great evil deeds: more often than not, they slalomed between his legs like a wily terrier and bit him squarely on the ass.

The irony snuck up on him sometimes.

Janus had dark hair and high cheekbones. His eyes and tongue were really only unusual if you looked at them twice, and he had a tendency to hiss when he forgot himself. He looked far too young, far too handsome, and far too svelte for the 1957 Cadillac Deville he was driving, bearing no resemblance at all to the sort of wealthy, elderly man who deals in classic cars.

He checked his watch, which also seemed too old for him, and glanced at the rearview mirror. Normally he enjoyed the minor thrill of having cops on his tail, but his exit was coming up and he did have someplace to be.

What he did next lacked imagination, but it got the job done: With one complicated hand gesture, he turned both officers into pigs and gently glided their cars to the shoulder. Then he turned on his blinker and took his exit.

Remus watched the police lights disappear  with impassivity, bouncing on his toes. When Janus finally emerged through the wrought iron gates, having bent reality to get past them, he raised his arms and shouted, "Hail Satan!"

Janus acknowledged this with two lifted fingers. "So sorry I'm late," he said, bringing his hand smoothly upward to tip his hat, "it's just that I don't value your time in comparison to mine." The sarcastic inflection was so light the words could very well be sincere. But of course Janus always meant every word of what he'd said. (Now that's

sarcastic inflection)!

Remus gave a feral grin. Janus was his favorite subordinate. "Wanna see my worm?"

Millennia of acquaintanceship had freed Janus from the notion that he needed to be polite to Remus. The demon was as twisted as they came and nearly immune to flattery. "As much as I'd love to, shouldn't we get this over with?"

"Yeah, yeah." Remus looked around. "Hm, now where did I put the basket?"

The basket was currently sitting atop the headstone for a General T. Pratchett. Janus spied it first and indicated it to Remus with a flicker of his yellow irises, careful not to let a trace of his hesitancy show on his face. He didn't even let himself hesitate when Remus, who had hopscotched over to the basket and then back over to Janus, thrust it out to him.

"So this is really it," Janus murmured, wrapping both gloved hands around the handle of the basket. Then he began to work. "What a high honor."

"So they say," Remus said.

"Remus, be honest with me." Brief pause, just enough for Remus to wonder at the weight in Janus' voice. "Did you pull some strings to ensure I was the one who got this task? Do I owe you a favor?"

"Are you about to thank me?" Remus asked, tilting his head. Addressing the worm in his breast pocket, he said, "Listen up, this should be good."

"So you did?"

"Of course not."

Here it was. After a few seconds of rallying, his ace: "So why me?"

"You've been in the field the longest." Remus' grin widened to an impossible degree and he grabbed Janus by the lapels of his immaculate suit jacket, coming nose to nose. "Some of us think you're getting soft."

Janus smiled back, the unblinking predator's grin of a snake about to strike, and hefted the basket. "We'll see about that." And he extricated his lapels from Remus' grasp and turned to leave.

"You didn't say hi to my worm!" Remus called after him. Janus did not reply. Remus fished the worm out of his pocket. "How rude."

"The nerve of some demons," agreed the worm.

The Cadillac's speedometer hit 110. Janus fumbled for the volume knob with a shaking hand. The radio was permanently set to 98.5 The Jukebox, which only ever seemed to play Queen.

"Shit," Janus muttered as majestic panned harmonies began to emanate from his speakers. "Shit-shit-shit. Why now? Why me?"

BECAUSE, came the harmonic vocals, YOU'VE EARNED IT.

Janus bit down on his tongue to keep from swearing. Communication via electronics had been another one of his ideas, hoping he'd be issued a BlackBerry or a Nokia. But no. Instead, upper management just cut into whatever he was listening to at the time and twisted it. "Thank you very much, my lord," he said, working very very hard to instill his voice with the proper amount of unctuous ooze.

THIS IS IMPORTANT, JANUS.

"Yes, my lord."

THIS IS THE BIG ONE.

"Yes, my lord."

AND YOU UNDERSTAND, JANUS, THAT IF THIS GOES WRONG, EVERYONE INVOLVED WILL BE PUNISHED. EVEN YOU. ESPECIALLY YOU.

"I understand."

GOOD. YOUR INSTRUCTIONS.

And suddenly, he just knew. A new Queen song began to play on 98.5 The Jukebox, and Janus hissed and slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel. "What was the point of all that, then?" he demanded of Freddie Mercury.

Freddie Mercury replied, "Don't stop me now! 'Cause I'm havin' a good time!"

Janus rolled his eyes and changed lanes without signaling. He had been instructed to head straight to a hospital on the edge of town. It was technically in an unincorporated community called Misty, but for all intents and purposes, Misty was Valendale. If he kept up this pace (the needle of the speedometer now closer to 130), he could be there in five minutes. Joy.

It had all been going so well, too. He'd really hit his stride in the 21st century, and now here was Hell pulling the rug out from under his shiny Armani brogues. Armageddon. What a nightmare.

In the Publix baking aisle, two angels stood side by side. One of them was Phaedaël, who had lately adopted the name 'Patton,' feeling it suited his corporation.

The other had been christened 'Loirea' once upon a time. As Heaven began to

modernize, Loirea had been the first among the angels to adapt to the changes being made. He had even taken on the name 'Logan' as a show of good faith. 

Both of the angels were human-shaped, having discovered early on that it's much easier to get things done when you have limbs as opposed to flaming wheels of eyes and animal heads poking out at odd angles.

Both wore glasses. Patton's glasses were round, wire-rimmed things, of the sort usually found on kindly old librarians and stern but fair headmasters of all-boy's boarding schools. Logan's glasses were made of shiny black plastic and looked like they could draw blood if strategically applied to a sufficiently tender area.

Patton was, at the moment, holding a bag a semolina flour under one arm and awkwardly attempting to explain himself. "It's called 'cooking.' It's actually really clever, you take ingredients and combine them--"

"Why?" Logan interrupted 

"Oh, uh, well," Patton hesitated, shamefaced, "it makes food."

"Eating," Logan said in such a forceful tone of dismissal that three boxes of brownie mix turned to ash behind him. "I don't understand why you waste your time."

"It helps me blend in," Patton said with a sheepish smile. Everything from his shoes to his shirt was a shade of white or blue; he'd never been comfortable dealing in gray areas.

"I see." Logan adjusted his tie. "Well, I'll let you get back to it in a moment. I just came to pass on a message: Our intel has given us reason to believe that Armageddon is underway."

"Oh," said Patton vaguely, staring at a bag of something labeled 'pasta flour.' "Oh!"

"We'd like for you to keep an eye on Janus. He's a demon; he's on a similar mission to yours."

"I, uh," Patton swallowed hard, staring right through the pasta flour, "I've heard of him."

"Good." Logan put his hand on Patton's shoulder and looked him dead in the eye. "Patton."

"Y-yes?"

"When I say 'keep an eye on' I mean I want you to watch him. It's a figure of speech."

Patton nodded, forcing his mouth to curve into a pale imitation of a smile. Logan nodded back and vanished.

"Well," Patton said to the pasta flour, "fiddlesticks."

Brother Emile Analogical had been raised a Satanist. There is no such thing as an orthodox Satanist, but if there was, that would be the kind of Satanism that Brother Emile's parents had practiced. He had graduated with unspectacular grades, joined the Paralleling Order of Saint Botild, and promptly moved from Nebraska to Florida: more specifically, to the unincorporated community of Misty in the greater Valendale area. The climate had taken some getting used to, not to mention the long, black robes he had to wear, but he had survived the transition and found himself a good fit for the Paralleling Order.

Note: Saint Botild Comminalitus of Malmö was reputed to have been martyred in the middle of the fifth century, for reasons unclear. It is said that the Lord granted him the power to draw parallels and connections between topics; his last words are reported to have been "This reminds me of that one story about Loptr, when he--" Then his assailants lit the pyre.

At the moment, Brother Emile was thinking about the tall, dark figure stalking down the hallways at him holding a basket, likening him to a Scooby-Doo villain, the way the shadows seemed to stick to him.

"Jinkies!" said Brother Emile once the figure was in earshot.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him over the tops of his sunglasses. "Hello."

Unphased by the cold greeting, Brother Emile pointed to the basket. "Is that the fairly odd baby?" he asked in a high-pitched coo that indicated he already suspected the answer.

"No," said Janus, rolling his eyes. "It's a basket of kittens I saved from drowning. Aren't you wondering why I'm all wet?"

"You're," Brother Emile started, and Janus braced himself, fearing the last frayed thread of his patience might snap if the sentence ended with the word 'dry,' "a Mister Grumpy Gills, aren't you?'

Janus thrust the basket at Brother Emile and did not dignify him with any answer more notable than a slight thinning of

his lips.

Brother Emile drew back the blankets and began to babble at the sleeping Antichrist. Janus took the opportunity to flee.

"Look at you," Brother Emile said happily. "Sleeping in a pic-a-nic basket, huh, Boo-boo?"

After a few more moments of cooing, babytalk, and Boomerang references, he remembered himself and found a wheeled bassinet for the baby Antichrist. 

There is a game, common among carnies and street magicians in which a ball is hidden under cups and shuffled around. Unbeknownst to himself, the two sets of new parents, and all the friars at St Botild's, Brother Emile Analogical was about to become a mark.

And Hell had had nothing to do with it.

same rate, and good and evil had a knack for balancing themselves out in the grand scheme of things. And this left Janus and Patton free to pursue other passions, which somehow resulted in the two of them spending a great deal of time in each other's company.

silence. "It's not even that I disagree with you," he said apologetically. "It's just, well, you know, I'm not allowed to disobey."

his hazelnut hot chocolate. "What's a shame?"

Janus nodded. "Roman Dowling."

Roman was about to turn 21, and lived his life according to the belief that everyone over the age of 30 was, in some degree, an 'elder').

wanna do that."

"Roman!"

people; every social interaction, no matter how minor, always kept his body as tense as wire.

[thesunshinebunny]

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part VII)

 Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: Sometimes, to understand the present, it’s necessary to pay a visit to the past. While reader is in a deep sleep, their unconscious plays a trick on them by reminding the most important and catastrophic moments in their life.

Word Count: 9.1K

Year 847, a very hot and humid day.

First day of training in the 104° squad. Each of the hundreds of soldiers coming into the slaughterhouse gathered in lines, lined up, waiting for our first orders. Announcement of names and locations. Some serious who didn’t need an introduction, other clowns who didn’t take the training seriously. Instead, I...was  waiting with an empty view towards the horizon, not seeing anything or anyone in particular.

First day, call and presentation; some came from cities, some from towns, but none from a filthy wealthy family of nobility, much less royalty. Most of us simple villagers, presented on a silver platter for the aristocracy, entering our graves on our own. Each one would have their reasons, some simpler than others, some more hypocritical than others, and others more selfish than all of us here.

First day, and there were already a couple on the ground and others being severely punished. Like the tall girl with a ponytail who had the brilliant idea to not only steal, but also cook a potato before training and eat it in the middle of line formation. A village girl, a hunter and faithful to her principles and culture; a girl who wasn’t ashamed to show her true colors on the first day, even if it gave her a punishment that would end up lasting for hours, until nightfall. An incredible example for the most stupid, but equally for the bravest. I think it was hearing where did she coming from that something inside me arose like a flower in the middle of spring, or maybe it was hearing her resound every minute around the training ground until the moon rose. I’m not very clear about it. Maybe I wanted to be nice to someone after a long time, and what better way to start with a person who was humiliated on the first day of what would be our next life.

I wasn’t quick enough to bring her something to eat when her punishment ended, a certain very short blonde beat me beforehand, but I was quick to save her a seat next to me the next night, while saving her a portion of bread. I assumed she would like it, and I wasn’t wrong. She devoured every last crumb along with her ration of dubiously sourced food on a metal plate. Hearing her eat with such enthusiasm brought a smile to my face, it reminded me of the little tadpole children who came and went in my town, asking for a piece of bread or an apple, even knowing that they had food at home. Those playful children who wandered through the small market, looking for some candy and returning disappointed at their doors when they hadn’t found any.

"I didn't hear yesterday where you came from"

Sasha, I think that's the name of the girl in front of me. Apparently she was talking when my mind wandered with nostalgia and melancholy. Her eyes were very fixed on mine, and as much as I looked away, I could still feel them penetrating my skull. I guess you can't dodge the past for long, right? At the very least, I tried to be as cautious as possible when giving my answer.

"I come from a village northeast of the wall Maria, far enough away from the wall to be warned of the fall before a titan reached our town"

She played with the poorly made metal spoon on a piece of carrot that came out of the poor soup, already cold, that this place delighted us for the second night in a row. I made me a mental note to go out hunting every now and then if I wanted to have a good meal and not end up anorexic and a failure.

“And what do you do in your village? In mine we are dedicated to hunting, but they’re taking away the land for the cattle” She took a huge bite of his bread, showing how angry she was. I couldn’t blame her, taking the land out of a hunting village was like taking away their essence, a part of their soul.

"We’re dedicated to raising horses and handicrafts" From our town came the fastest horses that the military police could ask for, some of them stayed for the field and keep the children busy.

Beautiful horses dedicated to the gambling of the nobility, others common for the plowing of the agricultural peoples. Horses dedicated to the race for the survey corps; what the government needed, we provided. It would be hypocritical of me to say now that the horse was my least favorite animal. It was not. For me they were the most beautiful, faithful and loyal creatures in this whole little world. My favorite animal without a doubt.

I wanted to talk about the various horses we managed to sell at a high price to the most authoritarian court on the Rose wall, but a noise from behind our table made my jaw drop.

A "Tsk" echoed throughout the dining room.

I turned my head, hoping to find an animal, or anything but a human like us. To my misfortune, I met the withering look of a brunette with bright green eyes, just as bright as those of the forest, and his hand holding the spoon tightly, as if my simple face angered him.

"Do you have a problem, Jaeger?" I remembered him from yesterday. Serious, tall, with a look that could kill you at any moment. Decisive and lethal. At the same time conceited and childish. He had won the ears and admiration of the majority here with well-used words and a touch of drama.

"Yes, I have a problem" his hand let the spoon escape on the plate, causing some drops to fly in all directions "I have a problem with people like you"

He got up from his seat, walking slowly but steadily toward my table, planting himself in front of me. The lap dog as a friend of his following behind him with a decomposed face, one hand half raised, perhaps to stop him if necessary. But let's face it, of the two, Eren was the one with the most strength, it was obvious to the naked eye.

"And what is that due to? Or do you wait for me to get into your little head and find some clue that can help me understand the cockroach you have for a brain?" At no time did I get up, I wasn’t going to lower myself to the same situation as him.

Half of my body had my back to him, so I was looking at him over the shoulder. He may not have liked that, ‘cause he immediately grabbed my shoulder and turned me around, waiting for me to look him in the eye.

"People like you, who come from villages far from the cities, who don’t know the real danger, are a problem" He looked so angry, angry with the world perhaps? I couldn't find an answer to that anger, nor the source of his feelings. But what I did know, was that he wasn't going to let me be trampled on by a fool who knew the world simply by seeing a titan within his short life.

"Excuse me, but you realize that many here come from villages far from the big cities and only very few saw a titan with their own eyes" And it was those same people who began to get up and look at him with bad eyes. The same ones who looked at him with wonder, as if he were an angel fallen from heaven to bring them the news of the world.

I fervently removed his hand from my shoulder and deigned to stand up, trying to gain some ground in this pathetic discussion. I wasn't going to raise my voice like I assumed the boy in front of me was going to do it at any moment, so my body did it instead.

"I don't understand what your complaints are about, but please, oh great Eren, the one who saw a titan bigger than the wall, explain to me" I could notice how his other friend was approaching towards his back, looking at me with caution.  Now, of the group of three, with her I had to be the most careful.

"Are you making fun of me?" he took a dangerous step towards me. 

“’course not” ‘Course yes, but I wasn't going to say it openly.

"People who don’t see the enemy in the face think they can come out of the walls to face it" did my ears hear that correctly? I looked at him as if a third eye had popped out on his forehead.

"Not having seen a titan in my short life doesn’t mean that I cannot go out to fight them"

"And yet you have no fucking idea what you're up against" the conversation was getting more and more heated, his feet were getting closer to mine and I could lightly feel his breath on my skin.

"That doesn't mean you can come and mistreat me" I instantly threw myself back, but ran into the legs of the table. Sasha's hand rested on my shoulder, unable to encourage me with words, but enough emotionally.

"Fucking villagers" he took a step back, turning on his heel and looking, without seeing, or so it seemed, the crowd around him "you don't know what it’s to see a relative of yours being eaten in front of your eyes!"

Ah, that's where so much hatred for the world came from. But I wasn’t his target. He must express his emotions, his anger, towards a common enemy, not towards a comrade who was going to help him in battle. Taking it with me wasn’t going to help him at all, and the fact I was from a small village didn’t mean I was naive and deserved the anger of the citizens. "I'm sorry that happened to you-"

"My mom was eaten in front of my eyes!"

"I'm sorry that happened to your mom! And I'm very sorry that you had to see it with your own eyes, but taking it out on me is not going to help you ”I pushed him back with my words, unfortunately they were not enough to stop his viper tongue.

"You can't know what it feels like to lose your mother like that" he turned his back on me, and before turning to his blond friend, he turned his head over his shoulder, looking at me again with contempt. "Go back to your village with your mommy and cries on her lap for being incapable of shit"

His comment blew me away.

He had left my mind blank and the only thing I managed to do was throw myself back, and sit down heavily on the hard wooden bench. My eyes stared into nothingness, unable to observe the multitude of eyes that settled on me with sadness, some with regret and support. Sasha sat down next to me on the left, while on the right a figure that I didn’t recognize crouched down to look me in the face. All I could make out of him, or her, were those big round blue eyes. A blue that reminded me of the rivers that flowed gracefully near my town. The same water that landed on a larger lake or river, and… perhaps, on the same sea.

"Hey, Eren-" I heard someone yell. From the tone of their voice I thought I distinguish Jean's annoyance.

I didn't have a second to reflect on what I was doing and before I could blink, a plate full of food was flying in the direction of the two boys, impacting on the wooden wall and scattering the pieces of vegetables on the floor and the people who unfortunately was close.

The two boys turned to see where the plate had come from, finding my hand half raised and smeared on the thumb of the cold soup. My body was euphoric, my breath hitched and my chest rose and fell quickly.

"You ... you don't know shit about me, or my family, or my people" I started slowly what would be the best speech I would have given in my 13 years, a speech that would bring me problems, as well as friends. “I’m so sorry about your mother, but in the same way, she was devoured by an enemy of which we still do not know exactly"

I came around the table and approached the brunette, meeting his friend halfway through. Without stopping, I hit her shoulder with mine, pushing my way over her.

"While mine was shot by the people who had to protect her" now my body was a few inches from him, taking Jean away from his side "my mother was killed for the simple fact of wanting to see the sea"

His blond friend, who hadn't been separated from him at any time, widened his eyes, even more than the person who bent down to comfort me. His eyes stared at me in amazement before turning to understanding and sadness.

"Judging by your friend's expression, he understand what I'm talking about" There was little space for me to move calmly, so I chose to get closer and closer to Eren, keeping my face a few inches from his. Even with the slight difference in height, I could manage to have an aura of warning and seriousness.

I raised my hand to his forehead slowly, preventing the girl from earlier from pouncing on me thinking I was going to hit him.

"The military police took her out of my house, placed her to the center of the village and with a pistol in the middle of her forehead" I closed my hand except for two fingers, simulating the muzzle of the rifle, and placed them in the same place as they did it with my mother "they shot her in front of her little child"

I detached my fingers from his forehead and with a "bang" I simulated the same shot that, to this day, continues to haunt me in dreams, after 6 years. My eyes observed his expression, the color had disappeared from his face, he was so pale that it seemed he was going to faint at any moment. There was no longer a trace of his anger towards me or towards the titans; An immature child had been left in front of me, from whom they had taken food for not knowing how to appreciate it.

I walked away carefully, noticing the trembling in my body, in my legs, and took small steps towards the door, leaving everyone who wanted to give me their condolences and emotional support behind.

"You are lucky that your mother was eaten by a spice stranger to her, mine didn’t have the same fate"

*** Weeks passed from that terrible night. The golden trio hadn't deigned to approach me, and for my part I longed for it to stay that way for the next three years. I didn't want people like Eren or his friends to get involved with me, I preferred the company of people like Sasha and Marco, Jean and Connie, as empty-headed as they were. I preferred to spend my free afternoons practicing archery, preventing some stupid from passing through the shooting range or next to the bullseye from getting a head shot.

"Here, I fixed your glove, now you are supposed to be able to put your thumb in without it opening" Marco had his hand extended, grabbing a leather glove, which I’d found in the storage bag of the training set.

The leaders had been very understanding when explaining the training I wanted to follow as free time. Although no faction was going to need a bow and arrow for sure, due to its inefficiency, I had given my point of view that it would end up being useful if an expedition needed more days than predicted and more food and provisions were needed, a bow was going to be of great help when hunting.

"Thanks Marco, you are an angel in this place" I proceeded to put on the worn glove and test its elasticity with the arrow and the bowstring.

"See you at night" and with that, the freckled man marked himself towards the canteen, greeting Jean in the distance who was waiting for him at the door.

The shooting area was not far from the entire training ground, close enough to observe everyone who came and went on the field, everyone who wandered without any direction or aim, and everyone who wanted to train. As well as being close enough to the training area with the movement equipment, equipment that was being used a lot recently by many colleagues in need of balance. One of them turning out to be the annoying brunette with bright green eyes, who was walking very dangerously with his friends on the target at the time I was about to release the arrow.

The small deadly weapon shot out and ended up hitting the red dot in the middle, grazing Eren's neck. He put a hand on his skin and when he saw the arrow stuck on the straw object he turned to look at me angrily.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? That almost hit me in the neck "

"If you saw where you walking you would realize you’re in the shooting zone, if an arrow hits you it’s not my fault" I yelled at him from a distance, preparing a new arrow to launch.

When I saw him take a couple of steps towards me, I stretched the arrow back as a warning, I wasn’t going to laid on a rose’s field while he went back to being a fucking asshole. Armin, I knew his name in these weeks when listening to a conversation he’d with another person, he grabbed his arm while Mikasa put herself as a shield. They both took him away from the target and I was able to shoot the arrow without taking my eyes off them.

I followed them until they positioned themselves on one of the balancing machines, helping Eren onto the equipment. I was about to accommodate a third arrow when I heard a scream coming from his direction. My head spun at the same speed an owl would, given countless hours of practice in the woods, and I watched the last second of Eren's fall, watching in broad daylight as his head hit the stone floor. The blow could be heard from a distance, even where I was located I could hear it as if it’s next to me.

Seeing him lying swaying on the floor, half hanging from the equipment made me burst out laughing. I couldn't stop the laughter from coming out of my mouth seeing him in such bad shape. He was going to have a safe bump and maybe some neurons would end up rearranged. My laughter didn’t go unnoticed, the commander Sheith passed on his way to the shooting area and stood in front of me, looking at me with that serious, expressionless gaze.

"Cadet (Y/S)!" I settled myself as best I could, putting the bow to one side and the arrow on the back sleeve before standing firmly "help young Jaeger heal his wound"

I was puzzled and my face reflected it.

"But, sir, why me?" I begged with my words to let me go, or at least give me a couple of hours of punishment, whatever it was before starting a conversation with that selfish man, much less heal his wound.

"Are you arguing with me, cadet?"

Every movement or prayer that I could make to try to accomplish my task vanished like a leaf in the wind. I lowered my head, avoiding his frivolous gaze and waited for him to leave, snorting. I reluctantly put down the bow and arrow sleeve next to a target and headed towards the three of them, Armin and Mikasa were trying to lift Eren off the floor as they took the equipment off his hips.

"Come on, I have to heal your wound" I didn’t stop to greet them, or to explain the situation. In the same way that I approached, I went towards the canteen, without looking back.

On the short drive I overheard Armin asking about my rare kindness, to which I replied dryly that if it weren't for the commander, I'd be breaking my asshole on the floor by laughing. We walked and walked, me in front and the other two physically stable, keeping the dark-haired boy as best they could, lifting his head so that he wouldn't hit himself again. Upon reaching the canteen stairs I yelled "Sasha, I need a bucket of cold water and a washcloth!"

I opened the door for them and pointed to a table near the kitchen door so they could seat Eren. I warned them to keep his head steady, to keep him from going forward or backward, and to keep him awake at all times.

"I didn't know you knew so much about medicine" Armin pointed out when Sasha came out with the bucket of water and a cloth floating in it.

I let out a slight "hmm" before positioning myself behind Eren, squeezing the hands of the other two and allowing them to let me do my job. I ran his hair back, trying to locate the wound and notice any cuts. Finding none, I proceeded to feel the area, finding the slight bump on the upper side of the forehead. I down the cloth in the cold water, letting it soak, and placed it on his head. The water was so, so cold, it had even made me shivered, but for some reason, Eren didn't seem to be fazed at all.

I didn’t give it much importance and I passed the cloth over the bump, waiting a few seconds for it to deflate a little before going through the sides, preventing the area from becoming inflamed as well. I soaked the cloth again and laid it on the side of his forehead, indicating to Armin to press down and not move his hand while I looked for a handkerchief or some bandage to cover the blow. In the same way, I explained to Mikasa to keep watching Eren, to talk to him, even if he wasn't waiting for an answer, to keep him awake for fear of having an accident in his brain.

I found what looked like a used bandage, quite disgusting for my taste, but I wasn’t going to take much longer of my time for "patient" who didn’t deserve my treatises. I stretched the bandage as far as I could over his head, giving it two full turns before pinning it around the back of his head.

"Try to find a better bandage for the blow" I washed my hands with cold water, hoping to get rid of all the irritation the situation had caused.

"Thank you" Armin sounded really grateful, with a hint of ... sympathy perhaps? With my hands clean, I grabbed the bucket and started to put it back in the kitchen when the blonde asked me again "where did you learn all this?"

I sighed not once, but twice, the kitchen door was open and I was about to enter when I threw a look over my shoulder "everything I know, I learned from my mother's books"

And with that I closed the door behind me a second time to the golden trio.

***

Year 850, a beautiful spring night.

The night before our graduation. A hectic night. Between the well-deserved nutritious food, meat and bread that we have longed for the past three years, and the shouts of encouragement for each of us who were present that night, a great party was put together. Many people defected and others didn’t have the ability to move on. Many were frustrated when they fell short of the top ten, fearing they would be sent to the survey corps, others claimingthey had contacts in the military police and had an assured position. Others fought for their point of view before such faction; and with others I mean the same suicidal brunette. Eren, finishing 5th out of the top ten, undoubtedly deigned to throw me in my face.

"Three years and I'm still better than you, your little village tactics were useless" he smiled wickedly and his eyes showed that characteristic glow when he won a fight. Although there wasn’t a fight here, therefore, there was nothing to be gained.

"Congratulations Eren" I turned around without waiting for an answer and walked briskly towards Marco and Jean, they were both heading towards the boys cabin and I followed them to the entrance, leaving a fuzzy Eren behind.

Now, tonight, with the years of training in the past, it was time to rest, have a night of peace before the real deal began. I never thought it would arrive the next morning.

From my position, far from the main entrance to the Trost district, a thunder crashed into the ground, followed by hot smoke covering our feet. The famous colossal titan stood imposing on the side of the wall, watching my companions who were a few meters from him. From where I was standing, I could see his arm rise and run the guns and the others, burning and blinding them with its smoke.

An calvary that started very early and had no intention of ending soon. Death and dismemberment in every corner, blood flying through the air, comrades being eaten. At each step we take, each turn a building took to dodge a Titan or go after one to kill it, a comrade fell in battle; with each step I took, it was one step closer to my own death. But, call it a miracle, call it divine grace, or simple luck, I managed to reach a roof of one of the many houses destroyed by the attack. From the roof, I could see the disaster more clearly, and I could examine my own disaster with great concern.

The pants were torn in the knee area, the tips of my boots brushed my bare skin and apparently bruised from some friction. I had a blood stain in the abdomen area, apparently from a person who was eaten near me and I didn’t have the dignity to see it. I didn’t have the strength or the courage to unbutton my shirt to see the disaster that surely my body had taken in the hours we were surviving in the city. I had enough of the bruises and cuts on my hands and cheeks thanks to some small rocks flying through the air from the impacts; I didn't need to see if my ribs were in place.

In the distance, perhaps three, four houses in from where I was, were a few comrades sitting on the rooftops of another house. It seemed a few had survived and came together to rest, there weren't many titans in sight and the few there were were wandering around without looking around. Those idiots gave me the chance to jump houses, without looking down. If I looked down I would’ve see the cobblestone streets stained red, I would’ve see limbs scattered right and left. I had a goal in mind and I wasn’t going to lose focus on the death around us.

I landed on the fireplace, hitting both knees when landing, I was running out of gas and it showed. The movement wasn’t being so fluid anymore. I scrambled down the stone wall of the fireplace, landing right next to Armin. My movement gear hit his, jerking my hips and torso on impact, nearly knocking me off the roof. Armin didn't flinch, he was just looking at the tiles, but given his expression, I think he wasn't looking at anything at all. He was just preparing to stare and lose himself in the terrors of his mind.

"Armin, what happened? Ar you alright?" stupid questions. Obviously he wasn’t alright, it was reflected in his empty and dark eyes, but my mind couldn’t process correctly.

It was in automatic mode, only thinking about survival, not the correct questions for each of those who were spread out on two rooftops. Of the many who had graduated, we were reduced to two dozen, maybe a little more without counting those who were in that huge building with the gas parts. Others may have taken refuge in a house, waiting for the right moment to move and reach us. But there was little hope, even if I didn’t say it out loud, unconsciously I knew there wasn’t much to do with the people who were not among us, because after all that was exactly what was happening ... they were not with us, they weren’t in the land of the living.

How pessimistic my thinking, right? I wasn’t wrong at all.

"Armin, where is Eren?" want to know the worst?, I already knew the answer before Armin could lift his head and scream the terrible news with his lungs.

In the end, the boy who so wanted to fight the world, succumbed to the terrors of him.

But what had impacted the most was that, minutes after hearing that news, minutes after arriving at the building for gas supplements and saving the comrades who had barricaded themselves, minutes after being saved by that fighting titan, we saw the same Eren, the same brunet with bright green eyes, appear. Alive.

The surprise we all get when we see him emerge from the nape of that eccentric titan. He was fine, his skin pink and hot from the smoke of the decaying body from his titan. His titan? There was no time to understand the situation. If that, how to understand it? We saw him resurface, like a phoenix, among the ashes of a dying body, fully alive. He had all of his limbs, even the ones that had been eaten; I could see the limits of his pants and the sleeve of his shirt torn, with perfect and huge bite marks.

I stood to the side watching the scene, Armin and Mikasa crying uncontrollably when they saw his heart beat. Scientifically and medically that was impossible. Technically speaking, nothing we were witnessing was possible; And yet there was the suicidal bastard, breathing normally. His eyes closed, his lashes drooping over his lids and his hands being held by his childhood friends. Jean couldn't believe the scene before his eyes, even the other trio was hesitant to say anything, with serious faces and completely stiff eyes at Eren. Each and every one of the reactions present entered what would be a normal reaction, missing one who wanted to kill him immediately.

And I think I rushed a couple of minutes.

***

Days after the expedition to the giant tree forest.

With Annie crystallized and guarded underground, a bit of tranquility arose within the walls; a calm that only attributed to the survey corps. Citizens panicked, not understanding, not comprehending even ten percent of what the latest information was being advertised in newspapers and billboards. The general did everything possible to give us time to resupply and rest from such a hard fight. The patrol had been divided in two, and I had remained as Jean's auxiliary escort, the poor man wanted to vomit all the trip when he had to suffer the terrible order of disguising himself as Eren.

And when the time for action came, we were both prepared to assist Eren in his titan form. I wasn’t still used to seeing him at a height of more than 15 meters, but his characteristics were still there: eyes, now huge, green and shiny, as if that shine never went away, no matter how violent or dark the situation turned upside down, and his dark haired, he looked silkier and smoother in this way that the originally he modeled.

Now we where here, Armin, Mikasa, Jean and I watching him and examining his vital signs. He had fallen into a coma for the second time. I couldn't blame him, I guess controlling a titan of that caliber used up a lot of physical energy, let alone the psychological, but to be honest… mental health had already leaked out the window.Each of us were standing in a corner of the room, sometimes Armin wandered between the door and the window, sitting close to his friend on the bed when he couldn't take it anymore from the anguish. Mikasa always sat next to him, holding his hand at all times, faithfully waiting for him to open his eyes. For my part, I was watching the sun set outside the window, as the sunset gave us its warm rays and prepared us for the cold night.

Every once in a while, whenever I heard a snort or movement coming from the bed, I would turn my head and come closer to feel his breathing. He was stable, and showed no signs of any disturbance. He was completely healthy, except that he was absolutely tired. Like all of us.

There was a couple of knocks on the door, pulling all of us out of trance. Jean and Armin were being needed to give testimony in front a small assembly, before the leaders continued speaking with Commander Erwin.

Silence reigned in the room. Mikasa was still willing to maintain her position in the chair, even if the sleep weakened her with each passing minute. I could see how her eyes were closing and her head fell from fatigue, it was obvious that she needed some rest. I put my hand on her shoulder, pulling the scarf out of her hands and trying to lift her up at the same time.

"Come on, you're very tired, you must get some sleep" I led her to a sofa that was doubtfully placed on the other side of the room. Normally our rooms were only furnished with a couple of beds, a desk and a closet, ah... and a paltry window. We couldn't bother with expensive decorations or furniture like a sofa. Above all, when we didn’t receive a decent salary.

"But Eren ..." I laid her on the few cushions, not very comfortable, brown and beige, that matched the small room. When her head touched the doubtful softness of the pillows her eyes closed completely and her breathing became calm, it was a matter of seconds before she fell completely asleep.

"I'm going to take care of him, you rest" I adjusted her hair before noticing she had entered the realm of dreams. Apparently my words were enough to give her that peace of mind to go to sleep.

I knelt to remove her boots and set her feet on the lap of the sofa. Notice her legs stained with dirt, I'd bet she'd have a couple of bruises around her knees and ankles, maybe even her feet. My body was moving heavily as I searched for a blanket among the few scraps of cloth lying in the closet. In the end, I ended up finding one a bit small for her body, but it perfectly covered her torso and stomach, that way she wouldn't take cold while she was in her defenseless state.

I wanted to look out the window again, but there was nothing to observe that I hadn’t seen before, a sad and dull orange sky. I settled into the chair, feeling that I was usurping Mikasa's place for some strange reason, and I kept analyzing the young man lying on the bed. His hair was matted and a bit dirty, a shower every now and then wouldn't hurt, although he smelled conveniently well, like freshly cut wood or dry grass. A scent that, while I was destined to smell more than necessary thanks to the expeditions, I felt no discomfort smelling it on Eren. It fit him very well indeed. I might even get used to being around him if it meant smelling such a sweet scent.

Seconds that seemed like minutes, and minutes that seemed like hours. Time seemed to play against me and I felt like my body began to weigh me more and more, and more, until I fell forward and lay my face on the hard mattress and the soft fabric of the sheet. Second-rate cotton, if you would let me say so, but it did the job. It was comfortable, too comfortable, enough to let me rest for a moment and close my eyes, making time flow more quickly.

I felt a hand gently rest on my head, moving and caressing me with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years. I opened my eyes immediately expecting to find my father in front of my eyes, but instead, I spotted a still asleep Eren, scratching himself and trying to wipe the sleep out of his eyes.

I pulled his hand out of my head quickly, but without being rude, and laid them on the bed. I rubbed my eyes and gave him a half smile "Good morning sleeping beauty"

It took a few seconds for his eyes to get used to the little light that filtered through the window and when they opened they surveyed the entire room, still drowsy.

"Where is Mikasa? Armin? " he coughed after feeling a little hawking in his throat.

I stretched out on the chair, accommodating the bones of my back and immediately moved to the side, letting him see a sleeping Mikasa, comfortable and warm under a blanket. Eren inspected her, perhaps trying to find any signs of injury or complaints, but finding none he turned his gaze from her to me.

"Mikasa is asleep" I settled back on the chair, this time stretching forward a bit and resting my elbows on the bed, holding my head on my hands "Armin and Jean had to go to give their testimony for the paperwork"

Ere didn't say anything, he just nodded and gave me a brief "hmm" before looking out the window. "How do you feel?" was the last thing I said before the room fell silent again and neither he nor I deigned to say anything else.

Years of hating each other weren't going to go away, just like that. It was going to be a long road now that we were in a much worse mess than when we were 13 years old. But at least, we could talk to each other without the need to jump on each other's jugular, that's progress, right?

***

Why couldn't this bastard have a little sense of preserving of his life? Why wasn't he a little more careful, and since we are, a little more common sense? Why couldn't he stay calm for a few seconds, analyze the situation and act according to his surroundings?

Now we had to do a search party to find the damned "last hope of mankind". Galloping as fast as the horses would allow us, avoiding on all sides dozens of titans, even when one fell, five more came out. It was an order that had become more and more dangerous. And to make matters worse, having to be behind two of the most dangerous titans we could have encountered was a suicide mission and most of us knew it. We were giving it our all for an idiot, who I don't think he knew the value of the lives that were being lost in battle.

Sighted in the distance, ranks breaking and each one trying to survive while we tried to have enough time to rescue him from the armored titan, large numbers of soldiers were being eaten or crushed. You know the terror I had in my eyes to see Captain Erwin being bitten on the arm and dragged towards God knows where? If a great man like him could be defeated so easily in the blink of an eye, what was in store for us? What was in store for me?

I kept galloping, begging Phillip to keep going as fast as he could, that he never stop and be careful of everything in his path. I was so scared that I didn't know exactly to who I was saying it, the horse or myself. For sure, I knew the horse wouldn’t understand me perfectly, but he was the only thing that I could grab to at that moment, the only one that could save me.

Both left and right, titans ran everywhere, the boys had managed to reach the battleship while the others did what they could to give them time, seeing Ymir was also a sight worthy of admiration if it wasn’t because I was givind my life at this moment. And surely she was helping the blonde of "girlfriend" instead of us.

In that sway between giant bodies and tiny soldiers, the ground rumbled, the earth fell away, even trees fell at our feet. When trying to reach Mikasa before she fell, a titan came out of nowhere in front of me, trying to dodge it would be a feat, especially when he had his immense mouth pointing almost completely in my direction. I will never be able to thank the soldier who cut his neck, for seconds later to be grabbed by another titan and break his spine in such a grip. With the body decomposing and the other titan out of focus, I was able to move on, circling the smoking mass, ready to support Mikasa when another mass fell very close to me, causing the horse to jump from the force of the impact. In that second of distraction I turned my head to look at what had fallen, the ground began to crack under Phillip's legs and it only took a footfall from the armor titan to completely break apart and pieces of earth and stone came out, shotting everywhere.

As I turned my head back forward, I saw clearly how a stone flew directly towards my head. Call it reflections, call it having a guardian angel on my shoulders, but I was able to move my head in time, causing the stone to impact the gap between my shoulder and neck. I shot backward, hitting my head against the hard ground. I felt my shoulder dislocate and I noticed how by leaps and bounds the shirt, previously white, was staining with blood, as well as the jacket and the floor. My head was probably bleeding from the back as well, but the pain in my shoulder kept me from focusing on anything else. It was impossible to move it, I tried to scream for help, but my words stuck in my throat, and even if I had been able to scream, it would have been overshadowed by the hundreds more screams that were begging for help. The grass around me felt a bit comforting, like a cold hug in the last minutes of life. Body pain prevented me from reacting to the sight of a five-meter titan approaching where I was lying. Tears began to flow, falling down my cheeks; I wanted to scream, say my last goodbye, but I was so petrified that I just closed my eyes.

If I was going to die, I would rather die without seeing the horrible face of that damned titan. I preferred to have the image of my family in mind one last time. The ground began to rumble, I thought more titans were going to come for me, that I was going to be smashed into pieces, but the longer it took to feel the huge hand or a pair of teeth, I opened my eyes, finding myself, not a pack of hungry titans, but with the clear evening sky.

I raised my head and to my surprise, a bizarre surprise, all the titans that were chasing us at the time, were now going towards one of the highest. I couldn't understand what was happening, I looked around trying to find someone, to see if someone else was seeing the same thing as me. In the distance I found Armin holding a figure, I couldn't quite see who, trying to breathe normally and stand up. I tried calling out to him, but my vision started to blur and it made me dizzy from trying to lift my head even higher. I brought my hand to my head and confirmed the blood that flowed behind it, I was completely soaked in my own blood and at any moment I would end up fainting if I didn't treat my wounds.

The grinding of a horse brought me back to a state of consciousness, Phillip was back next to me and he lowered his head towards my good shoulder, pushing it up and lifting me little by little. Standing back on both feet, I leaned on his stomach and in an attempt to walk towards Armin I heard Eren's terrified scream in the distance.

Both he and Mikasa were looking at the scene without understanding anything at all, and what bothered me the most was that those stupid were still sitting on the ground, without any intention of moving. As I could, I got on the horse's lap, lying on my stomach, both arms hanging at the side, and I told him to run as fast as possible towards the two figures in the most dangerous area that could be at that moment.

"Stop looking and start moving!" I yelled at them a few feet away. They both turned their heads in my direction, wanting to say something, but only managed to gasp a few times before I arrived.

I grabbed the collar of Eren's shirt and with what little strength I had left, I lifted him off the ground "NO TIME TO TALK, LET'S GO"

Seeing Mikasa being picked up by Eren and placed on his back, I indicated to Phillip to leave the area, to try to get to safety, along with the other soldiers. At our side ran the couple of stupid who almost devoured, wondering what had happened. Their words sounded more and more distant and the ride put me in a calm trance until I was unconscious.

***

Year 851, a beautiful summer day to go horseback riding without the hassle of a titan in the area. At the same time, a beautiful day to visit the forgotten and destroyed towns.

We took our time, observing the landscape. Trees that had fallen and left their tracks on the ground and on the trunk were beginning to show traces of vegetation in their wood. The grass crushed by large feet was beginning to heal and new shoots were coming to the surface, some flower buds could also be seen. The few stone paths were smashed, small cobblestones were smashed, and there was no possibility of repair unless they were remade. Today was the day; the day it was my village's turn to be toured. We leave early to the northwest, guiding us along the river, me in the lead. The night before I hadn’t been able to sleep, to close an eye, I was nervous, very nervous, I couldn’t even eat anything for breakfast. After four years, I returned to my home, or what was left of it.

Endless nights I dreamed of returning to my small village, touring the oldest houses and greeting its inhabitants, seeing the children run, now older, and helping them take an apple from the market. I dreamed of reassembling one of our horses, of stroking and caressing them, earning me one, perhaps two licks to the face. But what I most dreamed of was to see my father's face again, to see his eyes full of dark circles and sadness at having lost his wife, the woman he loved the most in the whole world; I wanted to hold hid hands again, see them splintered after carving a piece of wood and turning it into a beautiful work of art. I wanted to lie down by the communal fire, hear stories from the elderly, shameful stories, and love stories. I wanted to be able to repeat my childhood years, to see my mother one last time, to be able to say goodbye properly.

I wished my village had been intact, but at the entrance my heart shattered. There were no standing houses in sight, all had sagging roofs, broken windows, and dried blood marks from years painting the walls.

I got off the horse looking at the damage and I was leading him forward by the mooring. Slowly, being careful not to trip over any stone, I entered the town more and more, seeing the withered flowers and their dried petals lying on the floor. Children's cloth toys, a odd wooden horse broken in half. Some walls were burned, others full of holes, the clothes hanging outside the houses torn into pieces, the stable reduced to nothing. The center, where the market normally took place, full of rubble and garbage, on the left a path of dried blood, on the right as well. I approached a stall that had not been completed, a fruit and vegetable stall, now reduced to nothingness itself. I picked up the chunk of splintered wood and found underneath what scared me the most. An arm.

I didn't know who it was exactly, the clothes were almost the same for everyone, but I assumed it was a man's; It was in the process of decomposition, pieces of meat were half detached. Beside him, a porcelain doll broken on its head, its brown curls discarded, and only dirt and fiber remained. I picked it up with both hands and kept walking in the direction… in which direction? I couldn’t tell. Only my body was on autopilot looking around me for a sign, the slightest hope that someone had survived. But one look at the stables from the beginning was the only thing that put my hopes in the trash: there were pieces of horses lying all over the ground. Not even our pride had survived. My feet stopped walking, dragging on the ground, and stopped in front of the house that saddened me the most. Mine.

Of all, this was the one in the best condition, part of the roof had fallen to the side, not on the house, and a hole led directly to the living room. The walls were completely burned, not from the destruction of a horde of titans, no. Those burns were from years before, produced by the military police. Seeing that wreck brought me the vile memory of the day of her execution. The people were scared, they implored not to kill her, but those brutes turned a deaf ear and executed her without mercy. My mother was a very dear woman to everyone and no one denied her dreams of leaving the walls, my father loved her more than anyone ... but that love of his was not enough to save her.

"(Y / N)?" I heard Eren's voice behind me.

His voice echoed in my ears, but I couldn't fully register it, I was just looking straight ahead, towards the hole in my house, looking from the outside for fear of entering. "These were the borders of my life"

I took a step forward, then another, and then another, until I collided with the first stones of the house. From that place I could see how the fire from a small oil lamp had fallen on the floor and burned part of my father's favorite armchair. I took another step, fully entering what was left of my old home. I ran my hand over the dry, scratchy fabric, dust had collected over the weeks, maybe years. Given how advanced the bloodstains were, I couldn't exactly calculate the time that had elapsed. In front of the chair was still a small desk full of sheets, most of them ruined by rubble, but some survived. Some of these had broken tips, other were left with black spots, and others were flawless, as if they had been made yesterday. Beautiful drawings of people, others of nature, others of birds or city buildings.

I kept looking for more sheets, running those that were hopelessly damaged, and under my foot I came across a paper somewhat harder and thicker than the others, even framed. The glass was broken but it revealed perfectly a small family, a man, his wife and their child. "In this dusty and destroy little house, where an artist love his wife"

I took the drawing with me, holding it tight with both hands, until I reached the only standing door in the house. The door leading to the master bedroom. I stood there for a couple of seconds, wondering if it was right for my sanity, if it was right for my conscience to open it up and find whatever was on the other side. I inhaled and exhaled a couple of times before sliding the door open. Next to the bed, on the side where my mother used to sleep, was my father's top. I wasn't brave enough to turn around and see his face. I closed my eyes when I saw the scene and left what was left of the facade with my head lowered. "The house of my childhood is gone"

***

A couple of days after hitting the ocean.

We had settled next to the shore. Jean, Sasha and Connie were playing with the small waves that were breaking in the sand, Armin was inspecting small seashells and Mikasa was dedicated to dipping her feet in the cold water. We had made a small fire to cover ourselves from the cold of the coming night. Eren and I were in front of that same fire. He watched as the small sparks flew over the small sea of ​​flames until they exploded and died in the blink of an eye. Some fell into the sand before exploding, others continued to rise until they rose higher and became part of the beginning of the starry sky.

My feet were barefoot in the sand, letting the little grains get between my toes and tickle every time I twisted them. I dropped my head on Eren's shoulder, giving me the chance to close my eyes and reopen them after a few seconds, admiring the sea towards the horizon.

After so many calamities, after so many deaths and losses, a moment of quiet was more than necessary. Maybe being this close to the bright green-eyed brunette wasn't so bad after all.

I could get used to this.

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[swanpyart]

The Short Lived Adventures of RAPH and Casey Jones

This is an old pic that was made for a zine that was never published. So I’ll leave it here. It might not ever be finished, but I think the story is decent enough on its own.

Part 1:

Casey was completely fine by herself.

Sure, her parents never really paid her any mind, but she never needed them to; Casey was a fast learner, and was able to cook, clean, and do pretty much anything the adults could do.

“Look!” Ten-year-old Casey held up an English vocabulary test, with an “100%” written in the corner in cursive. “I passed!”

“Honey,” her mother barely looked at her from her seat at her desk, “One hundred percent is the bare minimum. Anything less means you practically failed.”

There was always an empty space in the bleachers whenever Casey had a hockey game. She would cross her arms as she waited for her parents to pick her up and watched as the people in the audience rushed down and hugged their own children after a game, regardless of whether they won or lost. When her parents finally showed up, she sat in the car quietly as they drove.

Casey spent almost everyday after school at her Granny’s while her parents were at work. The old woman’s house was always warm, mostly because she was always baking; cakes, cookies, and especially her famous brownies - made with a special ingredient.

At twelve years old, Casey had failed a math test for the first time, and burst into tears as she walked through her Granny’s front door. “I’m a failure!”

“Sweetie, everyone fails every now and then,” her Granny wiped a tear from Casey’s cheek and got out an antique mixing bowl, “but I can tell you tried really hard. That’s what matters; that you don’t stop trying your best.”

Afterwards, Casey and her Granny spent the afternoon baking brownies, and that was when she was granted the knowledge of the secret ingredient. She swore her secrecy and never told anyone.

Of course, that was a while ago; her grandmother had passed away sometime afterwards. Her parents reacted with more emotion when Casey had shaved her head than when they attended the funeral.

They also seemed only mildly surprised when, at thirteen years old, Casey was accepted into the Foot Clan and never came back home.

There, Casey promised to herself to show the world just how much of a not-failure she really is! Even if she had to work with the most vile Clan in all the world to achieve it and release the Shredder, the ultimate evil, unto the world. She had worked above and beyond to get where she is, and no one could stop her!

At least, that’s what she thought before the Shredder disappeared, and with him, the Clan’s purpose. And way before those strange, overgrown turtles with no sense of honor or discipline showed up and destroyed their chances, time and time again.

Suddenly, the group she had worked with since she was a preteen, and the closest thing she had to any family, were dragged away by outside obligations she never understood.

Foot Brute and Lieutenant were better parents than her own, but, in the end, they were her bosses and coworkers, and no replacement for a family.

Sure, everyone else may have given up, but she would stay committed to the Clan’s ultimate vision, even if she had to use her dear Granny’s recipe for evil. Grandma CJ’s Brownies were an absolute bust, but she had to try something.

Then, she met this weird, giant, smelly rat with a Japanese accent dressed like a teenager who somehow turned out to be the father of those overgrown turtles.

And, as weird as it was, despite not even being human, he sat next to her and heard what she had to say; and, for those few minutes, it was almost like being next to her Granny again.

“Just because you failed doesn’t make you a failure.”

If she had been smarter, maybe she should have listened a bit harder to what he was saying. If she had been smarter, maybe she would have calmed down and talked to the girl that was beating up the Girl Scouts. There were so many opportunities to just talk.

But then the Shredder was restored, and she really thought it would be the return of her Clan’s glory. Even as she looked at the beaten down forms of her previous bosses. Even as she saw Splinter and his family struggling for their lives. Even as she realized winning would mean the end of everything, including her.

There was no more Clan. She was still alone. She was just alone with a giant evil suit of demon armor.

But, now, she wasn’t.

Even after everything, Splinter offered her an invitation into their...

Family.

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

He had invited her to the lair a few weeks after the fight with Shredder.

“I’m working at the Foot Shack. After my former clan disbanded, they got bought out by another company, Splinter, sir.” She squeezed the mug of tea in her hands.

“Just ‘Splinter’ is fine,” Splinter had opened a bag of chips, and was reclining in his seat. The turtles were out with April at the arcade, taking a break from repairing the lair. “Where are you staying? Do you have a place to live?”

“Yes, I actually have my own apartment.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Splinter sighed. “Listen, Casey, I know that it’s probably hard having to... uh, sort things out by yourself-”

“What?! No, I’m fine!” She flapped her hand dismissively. “My life is fantastic! It’s definitely not in complete shambles after losing everything I know.” She blinked, realizing that she overshared, and collected herself. “I’m doing great.”

“I-I never said it was in shambles,” He massaged his temple with two clawed fingers, his beady eyes squinting in frustration. “Look, all I am saying is that, if you ever need help, or if you ever get lonely and just want to talk, I am here. And my sons would probably say the same thing. You’re a Hamato now, at least in spirit.”

Casey’s eyes widened, then she looked down. “Thank you, but I’m a very independent person. I’ll be sure to not bug you unless it’s an emergency.”

Splinter nodded, but he’d dealt with enough children to see that Casey was a bit lonely. Still, he said nothing.

For a good while, Casey stuck to what she said; she didn’t really come by the lair unless she really felt the need to or if they needed an extra set of hands with repairing.

But… occasionally, she found herself asking questions. She found out Michelangelo loved cooking, and somehow he got her to agree to bake her Granny’s brownies together. She realized that Leonardo wasn’t just annoying in battle, but all the time, and that she started getting more and more used to it, even occasionally laughing along. She found out while playing video games with them, that Donnatello was just as vicious as her, and that April was equally as competitive.

And Raph, well… they didn’t talk very much. But he seemed nice every time they spoke.

But she kept her distance. After all, it was better if she didn’t get too attached.

She occasionally goes down to the local hockey rink and plays a few rounds with total strangers, and usually gets kicked out due to a combo of delinquent children and complaining parents.

So, here she is, lying on her bed, staring blankly at her phone, with a half eaten sandwich laying on her chest, and old sweatpants that she’s been wearing for a week because her clothes are in the laundromat. For a ninja-slash-ex-cult-member, her life had fallen into a fairly mundane pattern.

Everything could always be worse. So why did she still feel like such a failure?

And for some reason, Casey found herself at the sewer grate. She didn’t even know why she came here, really.

She was about to turn back when a feminine voice spoke from behind her. “Hey, CJ, what’s up?”

She spun around. It was April.

“I was just coming to visit.” Casey tensed up. She hadn’t expected to run into someone else.

“Oh, me too!” She opened up the grate, and started climbing down the ladder. “You coming or what?”

Casey gulped. She couldn’t back out now.

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

Raph paced the lair, quietly groaning as he tapped his chin.

It had been about six months since the fight with Shredder, but another challenge had presented itself; cleaning up the lair after it had been almost completely demolished. Thankfully, with Draxum’s help and Donnie being able to scavenge some old tech that didn’t get destroyed and whip up some devices for reconstruction, the place was finally fixed up after about a month and a half.

Now what? Well, in Leo’s words, it was the time for “rest and relaxation.”

That was pretty easy for the rest of his family to do.

Leo’s entire existence hinged on “rest and relaxation”; Mikey has an assortment of hobbies to keep him busy; Donnie had a tight schedule trying to repair all of his broken inventions; April was trying to adjust to all of the changes at school due to all of New York recovering from the recent Battle Nexus catastrophe; and Splinter, of course, was parked in front of the TV, finally at peace after the Shredder was defeated, and helping himself to milk and cake.

Raph should be relaxing, or at least recovering from all that’s happened to them. The fight with the Shredder was the most stressful and terrifying time of their lives. They lost their Gram-Gram, and even if she was now able to rest with their ancestors and her father, it still stung.

But it’s been such a long time since he’s been in a real fight, and he can tell he’s going a little bit stir-crazy.

Of course, the turtles would spend a lot of time out of the lair; but whenever Raph gets a call on the phone, he finds himself hoping it’s some kind of an emergency, only to turn out to be Todd calling them about the puppy farm, or Leo pestering Senior Hueso with an order for pick-up. It seemed like even their strongest enemies have gone on hiatus as well; there was no word of Big Mama as of late, and every other major bad guy they fought recently seemed to have been exhausted by the Shredder ordeal as well.

Raph’s usual sparring partner, Frankenfoot, is absolutely wonderful, but fighting him wasn’t exactly what Raph had in mind; it was fun, but couldn’t really be compared to the thrill of a real fight.

“Come on, guys,” Raph stood in front of the screen, blocking Leo and Mikey’s view of a Jupiter Jim rerun while Pops was passed out on the couch, snoring, a bag of chips lying open on his stomach. “We’ve been cooped up in the lair for a million years. Who wants to go wreck some bad guys?” He pounded his fist in his opposite hand for emphasis.

“Raph, I can’t see!” Mikey waved his hand in a dismissive way as he said it, and leaned to peek around his older brother and continue watching the screen.

“Ugh, we’ve been over this,” Leo exasperated from his spot on the ground, on his stomach and his head resting on his propped arms. “No crime fighting while we’re on vacation! This is the time to chillax, my guy.”

“How long are we gonna be chillaxing, exactly?” Raph put his hands on his hips, an inquisitive look on his face, even if, deep down, he knew what response he’d get.

“I don’t know, until some other crazy evil mutant guy tries to take over the city? There’s bound to be another one of those eventually.”

“What, so we just wait until some evil mastermind has some evil plan and gets all of New York in their evil clutches? It’s our job to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Raph tried to summon the energy he usually exudes when he attempts to make a rousing speech, but the rolling eyes and groans from his youngest brothers quickly made its effect futile.

“You know,” Donnie said from the back of the room, the other three having not noticed him walk in, “We did, oh, I don’t know, save all of New York City, take down Big Mama’s Battle Nexus scheme, and, most importantly, defeat our bloodline’s greatest enemy?!”

Raph furrowed his brow, his sharp fang digging into his lower lip.

“We deserve an indefinite break, and I need it, because I actually refuse to do any fighting until I have all my stuff back online. I’d love to fight with only my impeccable mind, but let’s be realistic.” The sandwich in his hand was brought to his face and he swallowed it whole. Donnie knew he had made an excellent point.

“Don’t worry,” Mikey beamed, tucking his arms and legs into his shell, “We’ll get back into the groove of things before you know it!”

“Yeah,” Leo agreed, “Think of it as, like, you know, self-care. Sometimes, you need a break from what you’re used to. Now, can you move out of the way?”

Raph sulked out of his siblings’ view of the screen and sunk into a beanbag, next to the couch their father was snoring in.

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

“Hey, guys!” The turtles turn around to see April and... Foot Recruit walk in.

Raph didn’t really know what to think of Foot Recruit, or Casey, as she preferred to be called. Pops insisted that she wasn’t dangerous anymore, but it was hard for him not to be a little wary; I mean, come on, she used to work with the Shredder!

 She’d been over only a handful of times over the past few months, usually to speak with Splinter and Mikey.

“Casey! April!” Mikey stuck his hands out of his shell in joy. He ran over and hugged them both. “It’s been a while.”

“Hey, Apes. And, hi to you too, Casey.” Leo kicked his legs up behind him.

“Above ground has been pretty hectic,” April leaned on Donnie’s shoulder as she spoke, “Everyone has been freaking out about disappearing from New York for a few days. Relaxing on a yacht sure beats coming back to the city in shambles. And finding another job is so hard when everyone’s paranoid we’re gonna all disappear again. Ugh, I wish we did, then I’d get another break!”

“Well, if you want a job, you can help me repair what’s left of my s- I mean, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. The Shredder tore him apart.” Donnie put his hands on his hips and relaxed his posture to cover his slip-up.

“Aw, your cute robot son isn’t repaired yet?” April teased.

As the two bickered while walking towards the lab, Raph looked back at Casey, who was standing by the entrance, visibly tense. 

“Hey, Casey. Um, why are you here?” Raph asked innocently, not realizing how rude he sounded.

“Smooth,” Leo chimed in unhelpfully.

Before he could take it back, Casey spoke, with a glare on her face. “I’m here for the orange one.”

Raph blinked. “Huh?”

“We’re gonna bake brownies!” Mikey clarified, his chest puffed out with pride. “Casey decided that I’m worthy of learning an old family recipe.”

“Yes!” Casey grinned, in a way that was far too menacing for someone talking about brownies. “I decided that, as a new member of your- um…” clan? Group? Committee?

“...Family?” Raph assisted.

“Uh, yes, that,” she turned shy for a few brief seconds, only to return to her previous bravado, pumping her fist in the air, “I will honor you with the knowledge of my grandmother’s most nefarious secret!”

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

Raph peeked into the kitchen as Mikey and Casey got to work. Of course, he trusted Mikey; but he had a hunch that Casey might be up to something.

Or maybe the boredom was just making him a bit more paranoid than usual.

Dirty dishes, half-full cups and brownie mix were strewn about the kitchen counter. Whatever this recipe pertained, it must be pretty intense.

“And, now, for the final ingredient. This one was given to me by my grandmother.” Casey pulled a canister of brown powder. She leaned over and whispered close to Mikey’s head. Whatever she was saying, Raph couldn’t hear.

Mikey gasped. “PUMPKIN SPICE?!”

Casey shushed him, then yelled herself. “It’s a secret, remember?!” She poured a generous amount into the mixing bowl full of batter.

The two of them looked so happy baking together, and Raph felt a pit of guilt in his stomach for assuming the worst. He really needed to chill out.

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

“Wait, so let me get this straight,” Leo sunk into the bean bag chair, “You’re a fan of Lou Jitsu, right?”

“That is correct.” Casey was sitting stiffly in her seat. Her expressions were intense, like she was about to strangle someone, but Raph had realized pretty quickly that this was just her default.

“You have all of the movies memorized?”

“Of course! I used his guidelines for self improvement in my schemes to take over the world! I mean, that’s not really relevant now, but-”

“And you said you spend almost all of your available money on Lou Jitsu merch?”

“I hide them all so my guests don’t see.”

“And, yet, you’ve never watched a Jupiter Jim film? The Jupiter Jim, his longtime franchise rival and co-star in Jupiter Jim Vs Lou Jitsu?” Leo clutched at his chest, as he held up the DVD case of the movie he was talking about for emphasis.

“Leo,” Raph warned, looking up from his phone, “don’t make her feel bad-”

Leo chuckled. “Oh ho ho, trust me I won’t. I’m definitely putting on a Jupiter Jim Vs. The Galaxy Riders Part 1 and Part 2, and you are going to love it!”

Casey cackled ominously. “You really think this ‘Jupiter Jim-’” She made quotation marks with her fingers for emphasis, “-can measure up to the greatness that is Lou Jitsu? Fine, I guess we’ll just have to see.”

Raph ended up dozing off after the fifth film, and woke up to see Casey and his brother still openly debating whether Lou Jitsu would beat Jupiter Jim if they were both in a desert completely unarmed and at full strength.

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

“I’m not scared of much,” Donnie mentions offhandedly one day, while Raph was doing a bicep curl, “but she -”

He points to Casey eating a sandwich like a hyena, while April sat next to her, texting.

“She terrifies me to no end.”

Donnie’s strange relationship with their new friend took Raph a while to comprehend. Then it became clear as day. If anyone could match Casey in moral ambiguity, it was his immediate younger brother.

“I made you a little gift,” the softshell grinned smugly, as he handed Casey what looked like a metal hockey stick.

“Oh, um,” Casey's eyes were wide, and a little watery, and her lips were in a warbly smile. “Thank you… no one’s ever given me something so nice.”

Donnie grinned. “Press the button on the side.”

When she did, the widest end of the hockey stick flipped open like a lighter, and a stream of fire shot out of the tip. Casey’s tears of joy gave way to maniacal laughter. “Those kids at the hockey rink won’t know what hit ‘em!”

Donnie joined her in glee, his eyes and teeth shining menacingly in the light of the flames. Raph watched in mild horror (He was plenty used to Donnie’s antics), at least until the fire alarm sounded and they were all drenched from the sprinklers.

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

Another month had passed since Casey started coming around, and Raph seemed like the only one in the lair who hadn’t quite jived with her yet. Sure, his suspicion had pretty much subsided, and he liked her company plenty, but the two of them hadn’t really clicked.

However, he noticed some slight changes over time. Casey’s eyes had bags under them which were more obvious in brighter lights, and sometimes she fell asleep on April’s shoulder (and snored louder than his Pops, somehow). Sometimes, there were hints of sadness on her face, even when she was laughing along with everyone.

Raph didn’t mention it for fear of being rude, but he couldn’t help his concern. After all, if she was upset, she probably wouldn’t mention to him all of the people.

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

Hockey wasn’t a sport Raph and his brothers knew much about, but he couldn’t help but get excited as Casey gushed about it, holding tightly onto the treasured tech-hockey stick Donnie had gifted her, wearing a huge grin on her face.

The two humans and four turtles (disguised as humans, of course) were just entering the hockey rink. The hall to the auditorium was cold and echoey.

“I come here every other Friday. The regulars here know my face, and they fear it. It’s ‘cause they know I’ll decimate everyone in my path!” She pumped her fist as she spoke, a sinister grin on her face, before she caught herself and straightened out. “Well, I do until the rink’s supervisors kick me out for making a scene and being mean to children.”

“Don’t sweat it, Casey,” Donnie spoke up, “You’re not the only one whose been kicked out of establishments for scaring kids.”

“Uh huh, exactly!” April agreed a bit too eagerly, and Raph looked back to see the distant, traumatized look in her eyes, and he could tell she was remembering the screams of children and the  sinister laughter of animatronics at a certain pizza joint.

The six teens got to the rink’s auditorium, and put their bags down on the bleachers. There weren’t too many people around.

Mikey whistled. “This place is massive!”

As Raph put on a maroon hoodie and pulled on his skates, Casey rolled onto the rink, over to a huddle of teenagers wearing hockey gear. “Hey!”

One of the teenagers - a boy with messy brown hair covering his eyes - responded. “Oh, you again. Guys, look, it’s that crazy girl from last week.”

“The name is Cassandra Jones!” Casey pulled down the hockey mask she was wearing and held up her stick. “I’m challenging you to another round! Did you really think you’d escape my wrath?!”

The kids started laughing. “You challenge us every time we’re here, and you always lose. What makes today so different?”

Casey laughed. “Well, for one thing, I’ve got my own team now, so you better get ready to go crying to your mommy!”

The group hadn’t stopped laughing, even as Casey walked back to the bleachers. Raph raised a brow. “Uh, what was all of that?”

She looked down. “Those are my enemies,” She clenched her fists, “A group of jerks who manage to beat me every time I come here.”

Raph paused for a second. The look on her face was determined, but had a hint of sadness to it. Raph understood how she felt; wanting to fight, but getting beaten down time and time again. He’d realized a while ago that he didn’t have to do it alone; and neither did she.

Raph put an arm around Casey’s shoulders, and cupped a hand to his mouth, shouting to the teenagers from across the rink. “Hey, knuckleheads! You get ready for a match; you’re not just dealing with Cassandra Jones anymore! you’re dealing with the Mad Dogs, now!”

“Yeah, right!” One of the kids, a girl with a ponytail, shouts back.

He turned to face his brothers and April, who were sitting on the bleachers, their attention already on Raph from his shouting. “Hey, those guys over there are saying we’re gonna lose! What do we say to that?!”

“Oh ho ho, I like this energy!” Leo stood up on the bleachers, joining in the hype. April and Mikey stood up beside him.

“Yeah, you chumps aren’t even at our level!”

“Ya’ll ain’t seen nothing yet!”

Donnie stood up slowly, his arms crossed from the cold. “Yeah, we’ll definitely beat you! But-” He switched to his normal volume, “let’s not make promises we can’t keep.”

Raph dismissed him, and looked at Casey, who was smiling. Together, they were able to beat the Shredder. This would be a piece of cake.

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

“Are we done? My mom is here to pick me up,” One of the kids, a girl with pigtails, mentioned as she walked towards her belongings on the bleachers.

Raph was gasping for air from his spot on the cold ground. Hockey was hard. Like, really, really hard.

In hindsight, their loss made sense; this was the turtles and April’s first time playing hockey, and even Casey, who’d been playing since she was a kid, wasn’t able to beat these kids. They really were just that good.

“Is that all you’ve got?!” Leo had fallen in front of the goal, two huge purple bruises visible on his face; one on his forehead, and the other under his eye, popping out from his green skin and red birthmarks.  

Mikey was crying on his knees, while April patted his shell, cussing out one of the kids who she felt pushed him too hard. Even as the kid was walking away. “And another thing-”

Donnie lay flat nearby, looking like a purple stain on the white shiny floor. He was never good at sports, but he tried. Geez, it was almost more embarrassing, with just how hard he tried.

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

They found a vending machine, and after Raph gave Leo a cold soda can to hold over his bruises, he walked past Casey, sitting with her head in her hands.

“Hey,” He placed a hand on her shoulder, and looked around to see if the others were watching. April, Mikey and Donnie were going off about losing the match, while Leo sat dejectedly in the corner, nursing his injuries. “Are you alright?”

She looked up, tears in her eyes, and her lower lip wobbling. She hastily rubbed at her face with her sleeve, her eyeliner smearing. “I’m...I’m fine.”

“Is this about us losing?”

“No, no, it’s not that,” She sighed. “It’s a lot of different things- It’s just…”

She trailed off, and Raph sat down next to her on the bleacher. He realized this had definitely been bubbling up for a while. If only he’d talked to her sooner.

“Ugh, all I’ve ever wanted was to be a success. Taking over the world was everything for me- helping the Foot, working for the Shredder, making that whole brownie pyramid-scheme. But now? I don’t have anything. I’ve hit rock bottom. Now, I’m stuck in a stupid rivalry with a bunch of kids in a hockey rink.”

She began to cry again. “What am I going to do? Am I just doomed to be a failure?”

“Just ‘cause you’re not taking over the world doesn’t make you a failure. Most people just stick to regular, everyday stuff and they turn out fine.”

“It’s not just about taking over the world,” Casey sighed. “I don’t have a purpose. No Clan, no commitments, no future. It’s like everything I do is a failure. I’m a failure.”

Raph felt himself start to tear up, too. What she was saying felt way too familiar. “You’re not the only one whose failed.”

“Huh?”

“My Pops told us we were supposed to die in order to protect the Dark Armor. We failed to do that, but we realized how messed up that was, and we decided to do our own thing. And it totally worked out for us, ‘cause we ended up destroying Shred-face once and for all.”

He stood, wiping the small tears from the corners of his eyes. “Think about it. So what that you don’t got a purpose? I get it, but your ‘purpose’ was handed to you by those Foot-faces. What do you wanna do? What do you wanna succeed at?”

Casey sat quietly for a few moments, thinking, and Raph feared that he might have said something hurtful. He was never as savvy with people as Leo or Mikey.

Then she spoke. “I spent all of my life trying to be the best, even if it meant being the biggest bad guy in the world. Now, I want to be the best good guy!”

Her expression softened. “I guess what I really want - I want to stop people who were like me once. I want to stop evil people who want to control others. But...how?”

Raph thought. Then, an idea struck him. “You and me can team up!”

“For what?”

“I was a vigilante for a little while. I mean, I used to be, but I guess since I was already part of a team, and with the whole Shredder thing, I just sort of stopped. But, since my bros are on hiatus, you and me could fight crime undercover!”

Casey was looking at her lap, her head bowed. Raph cleared his throat. “I mean, only if you wanna, it’s just a suggestion-”

“That sounds amazing.” Casey looked up at him in awe, her dark eyes glossy with unshed tears. Suddenly, she stands up, and pumps a fist into the air. “Raph and Casey, the most feared vigilante duo in all of New York!”

“Yeah, Go big or go home!”  Raph pounded his fist into his other hand in excitement.

“Oh me gosh, stop yelling!” The two look behind them to Leo, still holding the can to his face. He turned in the direction of his twin. “Donnie, get me another can! This one’s warm!”

Casey was giving him a big smile, a far cry from her previous mood. Raph smiled back. Finally, he’d be able to go out and fight crime again; and this time, he wouldn’t be at it alone.

[reynie-muldoons]

'The Dance of the Celestial Orb' liveblog!

for real this time lmfao

book and show spoilers below

I'm ✨nervous✨ please let our children be okay

0:10 this Sticky arc hurts me so kuch

1:35 this music is BUMPIN

2:22 I just wanna know how she got under there without the dude seeing her

2:47 "all systems go" for the Improvement.... yikes 😬😬😬

2:55 she didn't wait even 5 seconds after they left, the door was still closing when she popped up 😂 can you imagine if one of them doubled back right at that moment

3:18 they look like the dudes from that veggietales movie, I think it was Esther- the island of perpetual tickling?? Anyone??? 😂😂😂

4:00 Kate vented.......

4:51 "not a rat" yeah no shit

5:07 if not for the suspense, I would be jamming out lmaooo

6:10 Mr. Benedict is looking at the shoreline, is he about to watch Kate dive in???? Because I mean that's where she's gotta be going

6:20 "memory challenges"? Is Rhonda talking about Milligan's amnesia, or has short term memory been affected as well??

6:29 .....thank you for answering so efficiently 😂

6:42 "I buy it. I completely.... buy it." RHONDA THAT'S NOT HELPFUL AHSKSHDJKD

6:56 can you imagine seeing your friend go down in a sub then hours later seeing the sub float up in fucking PIECES

7:06 KATE! KATE! KATE! KATE!

7:06 please let it be reunion time

7:25 oh hello that's a drop

7:38 *to the tune of Bezos I* come on Katie u can do it pave the way put ur back into it

7:51 she craves that mineral

8:06 Sticky, my child

8:20 oh my gosh they went out and LOOKED FOR HER I care them 😭😭😭

8:23 SHE KNEW HIS DREAM SHE KNEW HIS DREAM TELEPATH TELEPATH TELEPATH

8:34 STICKY STOPPPP

8:40 "jumping to conclusions is a failure of character" wow that really is something Curtain would say

8:52 angry Reynie. He is in rare form

8:54 "and you helped put her there!" OOOOOOOH I SCREAMED

9:03 "I shouldn't have yelled" okay but you kinda should have Sticky needs a wake up call

9:06 "dont apologize. I like this side of you." IS THIS THE START OF REYNIE AND CONSTANCE HAVING THE BEST SIBLING RELATIONSHIP

9:22 "if you really cared about me, you'd want me to be happy instead of standing there telling me who I am" oh Sticky my dude I am NOT digging the manipulation

9:36 Reynie pulling out the BFF card!!! Also Reynie digging in his feet because he knows he's right!!!! That's great setup for his arc as a strategist later

9:48 "I'm telling you, Kate's fine." Narrator: Kate was not, in fact, fine.

10:03 "they'll notice." Sticky has made one (1) good point.

10:11 oh dear god are they fingerprinting this bitch

10:19 all this equipment, has no one walked up to the cliff and looked down???

10:23 HAHAHAHA WAIT THEY ACTUALLY HAVEN'T

10:27 "we've been out here all night" that means Kate has been clinging to a cliff by her fingers and toes ALL NIGHT????

11:04 babe I know it's been a long night but maybe wait a second for them to actually leave before you climb back up

11:15 BUCKET NO

11:22 she has to go get it. There's no way someone wouldn't find that shit, it's in plain view

11:37 "WAS"???? WHY ARE WE SAYING WAS????? NO PAST TENSE HERE MILLIGAN'S FINE

11:43 "I only wish we could've known him better" NOOOPE NONONO WE'RE NOT DOING THIS

11:47 Rhonda back at it as the voice of reason!!!!!

11:59 "I have never met a more competent swimmer" throwback to "the baaAAAYYYY"

12:10 MR. BENEDICT'S FACE HAHAHAHA HOLD ON LET ME TAKE A PICTURE IM DYING

12:11 NUMBER TWO, NOT HELPING

12:14 RHONDA'S FACE HAHENDJDKDN

12:33 "we will go rescue him" because of COURSE he would

12:36 Rhonda is his best wingwoman omfg she's so consistent

12:54 MISS PERUMAL??????

12:56 MISS PERUMAL!!!!!!

13:00 SHE KNOWS HE'S RIGHT GAKSHDBDHEKSNND

13:09 "how hard can it be? It's an island!" PFFFFT

13:16 oh SQ baby boy please get out of there

13:25 "I certainly have my own suspicions" he said, looking at SQ why are you looking at SQ like that

13:31 SQ GET OUT OF THERE PLEASE IS2G

13:36 here we fuckin go

13:43 the captions have the f in forest capitalized like it's this special place

13:43 new hc that the Forest is a magical place like pixie hollow

13:57 TWO THINGS: 1. YES stand up for yourself baby!!!! 2. Shepard Quaid? Interesting! I don't think we ever got SQ's full name in the books, I hope TLS made that decision!

14:08 your "father hat"??? Oh my gosh shut the fuck up right there don't even continue

14:16 oh yeah real fuckin cute put on your "steward of this institution hat" and call that a good reason to be a shit person

14:43 "No." GOOD FOR HIMMMM GOOD JOB SQ

15:03 Kate's struggling right by the shore where a certain someone would be returning after a very hard swim, it would be a great time for a meeting wouldn't you think

15:09 KATE THE GREAT

15:11 "THE TRAPESE GODDESS" I WILL REFER TO HER AS NOTHING ELSE

15:26 sorry but that green screen of her falling was kinda funny

15:28 soooooo is someone, a very certain someone, gonna catch her...??????

15:36 YEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH

15:43 IS THIS IT????@?@?!?

15:46 awww poor baby girl you can tell how tired she is

15:46 just putting this out there- they look so good in frame together

15:46 the actor who plays Milligan is fucking huge in stature so I wasn't sure how that would go but it looks so good

16:00 THE WAY HE'S LOOKING AT HER WITH HIS HAND ON HER SHOULDER I CANT DO THISSSSS

16:20 "keep going." 😭😭😭😭😭

16:23 "you dont understand." Ohhhh I think he does

16:25 "I think I do." What did I tell you, he's got your back babygirl

16:45 I'm so glad she's talking this out, and with Milligan of all people

17:01 it makes so much sense for Kate to feel alone in that situation, and when Kate feels anything less than positive she goes and does something, whatever that something is.

17:05 "So.. I...." "fell off a cliff and nearly died." Thanks for putting things into perspective Milligan

17:05 Milligan is such a good dad stop

17:19 "most of the way" is an understatement LMFAO

17:29 I'm so glad we know the intimate details of Milligan's illustrious swimming abilities 😂 out of all the new things wfrom the show that one wasnt on my radar

17:52 leave it to Milligan to come up with an escape plan off of an island with no water vessel with four kids in tow

18:08 THEYRE SO CUTE 😭😭😭😭

18:08 lowkey I'm super surprised they didnt take this opportunity to have Milligan's arduous swim force his memories out and have the father daughter bonding time they deserve. I hope they give that moment ample time to flesh out.

18:13 BUCKET!!!

18:13 wait that shot is so artsy hold up lmfao

18:13 this looks like someone's photography final hahahaha

18:26 THE TENDER MUSIC STOPPPP 😭😭😭

18:41 Sticky is still on that jumping to conclusions bs he got from Curtain

18:44 WETHERALL'S WIDGET 😭

19:31 "Kate... she's in danger..." NO SHIT SHERLOCK

19:36 "and it's all because of me." Not just because of you but love to see you taking responsibility

19:52 once again I am asking WHY ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT THIS IN THE OPEN

20:26 "Kate. She has changed." "Not really. She's always been who she is." "Her clothes. She changed clothes." PFFFT HAHHAHA they really took a moment of self-reflection and made it so much better

20:55 AYYYYY KATE'S DEPENDENCY ARC CONTINUESSSSS

21:35 yikes yikes yikes

22:16 I love that Mr. Benedict got closure in telling Miss Perumal that her words stuck with him

22:40 the way she just knows Reynie took the position of leader 😭😭

22:54 SHE WROTE HIM A LETTERRR

23:02 "Would it be possible to get this to him?" Ma'am what part of undercover spy don't you get

23:54 it's still really weird that we are now in a position where Reynie is the one who is not trusted and Sticky is the one in Curtain's favor

24:13 and here we see Curtain's thinly veiled anger issues shining through

24:21 "the little things matter. Every minor detail, it all matters!" CALLBACK TO MR. BENEDICT TELLING THE CHILDREN THAT THEY ALL MATTER

24:55 "I can tell with complete accuracy when a person is lying." first of all, no. second of all, I cannot wait for him to talk to Constance.

26:33 why is Mr. Benedict graphically explaining the children's potential trauma so funny to me

26:40 "you're catastrophizing." "Yes. I am. Quite severely. Thank you." WHY IS THIS FUNNY

26:58 MADGE!!!!

27:16 she's so prettyyyyy

27:33 GOOD JOB MADGE!!!!!

27:36 wait did she just take the LETTER??? she's delivering the LETTER?????

28:05 WHAT DOES "OKAY FINE" MEAN??? REYNIE??????

28:22 it's sad because it's true 🥺

28:24 "I miss my teacher from the orphanage" the best lies are the ones rooted in truth 🥺🥺🥺

28:48 roll credits

29:16 Reynie honey Orion's Belt isn't on the ceiling

29:29 the way he was so confident that he had it right 😑 Curtain Stop Being a Pretentious Fuck challenge

29:52 our babygirl is so smartttt

29:55 did Milligan plant his prints 😳 oh no OH NO

29:57 MARTINA???? WHATSUEJHDKD

29:57 is this the replacement for when they pin cheating on her????

30:03 THE KEY CARD!!!!

30:11 MADGEEEE

30:21 "one attacked me as a small child" honey you are a small child

30:24 "it did not win," she said, smiling menacingly

30:40 "so we dance again" WHY DID THE MUSIC REV UP WHEN SHE SAID THAT HAHAHAHA

31:01 ✨woodworking is a passion✨

31:58 "was it functional?" "Well I guess that depends on how you define functionality" RHONDA'S FACE IN THE BACKGROUND HAHAHAHA

32:10 OH HEY MARTINA

32:17 wait 🥺

32:22 that has to be SQ :)

32:28 hi sweet boy

32:34 please tell me they did that shot of the sandwich because Madge is about to take it

32:39 LMFAOOOOO

32:44 hi good girl!!! Enjoy your snackies

32:50 oh god oh no the LETTER

33:25 oh wow we're doing this NOW??

33:52 and here we see another example of Curtain's thinly veiled anger issues bubbling to the surface

34:10 hey what if you uhhh weren't such an asshole

34:33 that man's voice is buttery

34:52 REYNIE'S TRYING TO TELL SQ????

35:02 and they're talking about this right in front of the office door, WHY??

35:24 AND THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT THIS RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE OFFICE DOOR, WHY????

35:55 he's letting him go 🥺🥺🥺🥺

36:14 why does that look like a body bag

36:17 oh my gosh it definitely is a body bag, hey Martina

36:25 yep, that's about what I expected

36:36 "whoever did this to me, they're gonna pay" oh girl do I have some bad news for you

37:12 ahhhh, so Martina is the burnt out gifted kid who keeps going out of spite and sheer force of will

37:12 everything makes much more sense now

37:30 ohhhhh my gosh feelings time

37:44 "I think it's awesome." "Yeah. I know you do." THE SHIPPERS ARE THRIVING

37:54 THEY REALLY WANT TO MAKE THIS AS PAINFUL AS POSSIBLE HUH

38:10 "it's the least I can do" that's an understatement 😬

38:14 AAWWWWW SHKSHSLSBDK

38:20 "I don't know what I'd do without you, Wetherall" STOPPPPP

38:30 HEY BUD UH MAYBE CLOSE YOUR DOOR???

38:38 he's been writing letters to her every night and now he finally gets one back 😭😭

39:34 so Miss Perumal wrote this letter with the intention of it being sent to him, right- why did she write it like that?? 😂

39:34 they've gone to such lengths to communicate in code but the letter kind of undermines that- it was written in such a way that an onlooker would know Reynie was a spy but wouldn't know what he was doing or why. No wonder SQ was pissed

39:41 KATE!!

40:10 BREAKING NEWS: local bastard man treats everyone like shit

40:15 ohhhhh SQ bud please be careful

40:30 "always have time for my son," he said in a clipped voice that implied that he does not have time for his son

40:35 ohhh he's getting RIGHT INTO IT HUH

40:41 you mean to tell me he's never asked about Mr. Curtain's work?? Ever???? Somehow that doesn't seem right to me

40:57 hey uh what if you didn't talk down to SQ at every opportunity

41:02 "would you care to reconsider that answer, son?" "No." DIG THOSE HEELS IN SQ!!!!

41:22 I'm really not digging that Curtain is using the guise of openly expressing his feelings to communicate his anger and his unasked question. Not cool bitch head

41:33 the fact that he didn't answer SQ's spoken question kind of also answers his unspoken question

41:45 "I knew there was something off about that girl. But espionage?" "How do you so convincingly fake a tetherball obsession?" I love that this entire conversation could be about Martina or Kate interchangeably

42:34 WELL THAT'S NOT GOOD

42:36 IF IT WAS THAT EASY TO FIND WITH BINOCULARS HOW HAD THEY NOT BEEN SPOTTED UP UNTIL THIS POINT?!!?#? HOW????

43:05 Kate advocating for Martina with the Society 🥺🥺 the interaction I didn't know I needed

43:58 "I definitely don't like to leave anything unfinished." "That's true, I've seen you eat." PFFFFT

44:05 YESS YOU GO STICKY USE YOUR ACCESS FOR PRIME INTEL

44:19 "well, you can't succeed without me, so..." baby girl you have no idea how right you are

44:28 please let that be Milligan PLEASE LET THAT BE MILLIGAN

44:32 YEAAAAAHHHHH

44:35 I simply adore him

44:45 "would you mind helping me down, please? I'm stuck." Your honor I would die for this man

44:54 oh shit, Martina's tryna sleuth it out herself.. this can't end well

45:04 is she about to find Kate's marbles or something?? Callback to the book?

45:26 the absolute MURDER in her eyes

45:31 FUCKIN YIKES

45:41 "the clothes of someone who had given up" ASEJDGEIDNDLFK

45:47 well that's not good

46:00 WELL THAT'S NOT GOOD

46:04 PLEASE let them be on their way already, please

46:14 THEY MADE A BLIMP????

46:17 Goodyear is QUAKING

46:35 why the fuck is Number Two in red, that's upsetting on principle

THEYRE JUST ENDING IT THERE???? goddamnit!!!!

How surreal is it that next week is the finale?? Idk if I'm ready for that????

[discotreque]

LwD 2.03: We’ll Always Have Tom Paris

I’ve lived in the same apartment for eight years now, and yesterday was the fifth catastrophic mechanical failure of the same bathroom toilet—all unrelated issues, too; this time it was the fill valve. At this point I don’t know whether to call a plumber or an exorcist… but anyway, it’s been kind of hard to focus on Star Trek! Ugh.

This week’s episode is credited to M. Willis, who I last encountered on She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, a show about which I wrote literally 100,000 words of fanfic last year, in between Picard and Lower Decks when I had no Star Trek to obsess over. Willis’s She-Ra episodes tended to be slightly off-format in execution, with big action set pieces, lots of characters in unexpected combinations, and usually an emotional game-changer of a climax—and her last credit on this show was “Much Ado About Boimler,” which obviously had all those elements too. She writes to her strengths!

Spoilers within:

If you need me, I’m going to be ugly-laughing about “Voy” for the rest of the day. (Wow, that does actually save a ton of time!)

SHAXS IS BACKXS!!!! The lower-deckers never knowing how or why a senior officer came back from the dead is a perfect microcosm of this show. I love that he still calls Rutherford “Baby Bear,” and I love the weird cosmic horror that LwD keeps sprinkling into the Star Trek universe. (What does that koala know?) I hope this doesn’t mean we’ve seen the last of Kayshon! His appearance on the bridge gives me hope we’ll get to keep both characters around.

Star Trek has always had fairly fuzzy world-building for the world outside Starfleet—understandable, since 99% of Star Trek takes place within Starfleet—but it’s been such a thrill to see LwD (and Picard) finally establish some in-universe pop culture that isn’t conveniently familiar to 20th- or 21st-century audiences. Like the Zebulon Sisters last season—a band that apparently does USO-style tours of Starfleet ships? Delightful. Kestra Troi-Riker having a t-shirt from a Sex Pistols cover band in Klingon? Fucking brilliant. Tendi bonding with the guy at the storage place over the “Klingon acid punk” playing from his little Bluetooth speaker? PUT IT IN MY VEINS.

They really put the character development in gear this week! I liked how we locked in a couple of things already established in extra-canonical material: Mariner’s bisexuality, which Mike McMahan mentioned in an interview last year, and Tendi’s given name, D’vana (which I was sure we’d heard on the show before, but I guess not?).

Speaking of Mariner’s love life, is human–Bynar dating just… by definition a threesome situation?

We learned a lot of new things about Tendi, though, and every single one makes her 10 times more interesting to me. Remember last season, when she said “many” Orions hadn’t been pirates or slavers “for over five years”? Is the implication that something happened in Orion culture—around the end of the Dominion War?—that led to Tendi (and presumably others) rejecting a life of crime and joining Starfleet? How long was she “the Mistress of Winter Constellations” before that—or is it more of an inherited title? I want more Tendi lore!!!!

(Speaking of Tendi’s life, another quick and confounding piece of information for my red-yarn “what the hell is up with Tendiford” theory board: Mariner asks if they’re dating and Tendi’s response is “Not really!” Not really? That’s not no, D’vana!)

This show continues to be a surprisingly conventional workplace sitcom underneath all the excellent Star Trek (and that’s not a bad thing, just a genre overlap that keeps falling out of the front of my mind). Boimler’s inability to use the computer hit way too close to home for me this week: a couple years ago, I returned to a job after a long-term leave of absence, during which time I’d been assigned to a new manager—who’d never had an employee return from long-term leave before, so he didn’t know what to do beforehand—so I spent my first day back just chilling at my desk, fucking around on my phone, because there was literally nothing else I could do without logging into the system first. Too real!

Something we’ve seen in this show that I’m not sure we’ve seen before w/r/t the food replicators is somebody putting a tray of food into the replicator to add more food on top of it—in this case Shaxs getting spicy kiwi ketchup (?!) on a hot dog he seems to have already replicated. (He couldn’t have asked for “hot dog, with spicy kiwi ketchup” in the first place? This is haunting me worse than him coming back from the dead.)

As a certified cat lady, the T’Ana plotline—and its resolution—made me laugh until I couldn’t breathe (unless that was the toxoplasmosis). I should have seen it coming, but I was too distracted by the second-hand embarrassment of them breaking “Jeremy” (and the completely unprecedented Star Trek plot of a doctor getting off on her grandmother’s family heirloom…).

Miscellany:

Jet offering to carry Boimler across the threshold of the door like a bride… am I going to ship THIS now?

Mariner interpreting Tendi’s “talk like a pirate!” in the same way a modern millennial would—“Arr, how ya be doin’ today, me fellow Orion?”—might have been my favourite dumb joke in the entire episode. (“I’m allergic to, uh, pheromones?”)

Tawny Newsome read the line about “only one name, like Odo!” in the script and apparently literally called Mike McMahan out of the blue to remind him that Odo’s name is short for “Odo’ital” and she didn’t want nitpicking nerds on her case. He told her the line was so funny he would accept the nitpicking, so don’t blame Tawny—she tried to warn him!

“There’s like, only a couple people in the quadrant who can say they got beat up by Tom Paris.” Is that a burn? I think that’s a burn.

Another banger of an episode. This show is more confident this season, and I’m loving it—and based on what I’ve heard from people who’ve seen the next two episodes, it only gets better from here. HYYYYYYYPE!!!!!!

See you next week—I’ve got to go fashion a toilet plunger into a crucifix, apparently.

[incarnateirony]

Wow. lol-jackles seriously thinks Jensen's less attractive, popular, well known, and talented than Jared. Jensen's never going to rise above being 3rd on the call sheet unless a producer like Jared designs a role playing to his (read: limited) acting skills. Everything Jensen (and Misha) do/have/say is crap. But it's the hellers and AAs who are jealous and MEEEAN to poor Jared. True MAGA hypocrite, ignoring facts and living in some alternate reality they've created in their minds

P much

I find literally none of them attractive personally because, you know, they’re men and all that.

But all it takes is one look at Jensen Ackles, even if you’re not personally attracted, to understand that he’s the more classically attractive of the lot. He meets every media standard of attractiveness, like some perfect shake and bake bag of classic attributes of male beauty. I don’t know what universe anybody lives in to pretend otherwise or like Jensen would have a harder time finding work from his looks.

Much less his acting. I’m sorry. Jensen Microexpressions Ackles vs Jared Macroexpressions Padalecki is not a contest. Not remotely. That’s not being “AA”. It’s literally observing the basic functions of their acting. 

Jensen doesn’t need to do shit like this

or this

He just doesn’t. Sam was equally over the top in 15.20. Again, he just was.

I think part of it is in the universe they built to shit down on Destiel, they had to shit down on Jensen’s micro work. They would rather imply, subdermally, that Jensen somehow underplayed Dean’s death in 15.20 than gave a solid (if directorially overdrawn) performance while Jared Manly Wail Dot Jpeged through it. Why? Because they also can’t recognize the same features of acting he applied in 15.18.

I swear to god it felt like they were acting two entirely different scenes with the energy in the comedically long 15.20 death.

Why? Because in both scenes, there was an I Love You with nothing back.

Given, they bro’ed the bro scene. Destiel fandom out here always “No Fear; Cas/Dean calling Each Other Brother: One Fear” and it was literally the bro scene that they crapped on by throwing “my baby brother” in when Destiel didn’t get that, despite all the other “When I first raised you out of hell/got you from school” “knowing you changed me/you didn’t take any of dad’s crap (so I learned not to)” and then they slapped the goddamn “my baby brother” on it and Sam also didn’t say it back and respectively, never ever has.

By bronly logic: Sam doesn’t love Dean, even as a brother. Unless of course, you only respect Manly Wail Dot Jpeg. And not all the nuance Jensen brings to his acting. (”No response; flat; underacted” etc.) -- understanding that would understand 15.18 instantly so can’t have that.

And that’s enduring even before 15.18. 

We won’t even talk about the fact that Jensen is currently out-trending Jared on every platform--be it imdb star rating for how often he’s searched, or google--while Jared’s constantly headlining articles on a new buzzy show and Jensen is.. shoveling snow? Posted a picture on instagram? Made a few statements several months ago? Has a production company with zero actual announcements or current products while Jared has one that’s actively attached to Walker? Has a show role for a show that’s going to air in 2022, that got announced half a year ago? IDK. Shrug emoji.

The same people currently don’t understand that 0.2 is a smaller number than 0.3 in the same year on the same timeslot on the same channel too. Nothing they say is grounded remotely in reality. The whole world is a conspiracy against Jarpad to them, and that’s why people talk about Chaos Machine and not Stick To Your Guns, I guess.

They’re in flat denial that this current show is--as someone on SR (the site they convinced themselves I somehow personally made in 2009 just to fuck with Walker in 2021 [which I don’t own]) put it-- in “Walker Try Not To Round Down To 0.1 In Your First Season Challenge” mode with its current ratings trajectory. Ebb and flow tells us it’s going to hover its current 0.21-0.23 for a bit but start draining on the back end and does genuinely risk dropping under 0.151 at this point. And I hate to break it to them again, but 0.1 is a smaller number than 0.3 still.

Flat-out: even beyond who’s more attractive, or who’s better as an actor, or who trends higher online: Jensen just chose his career path far more intelligently.

He courted multiple possible media suitors (WB, Disney, Amazon). He came out with a role on an Amazon show and an exclusive deal with the WB for a studio that can put his work anywhere from on the CW to HBO. He’s diversifying his recognition base and portfolio.

Jared chose a path that is plugging him back on the CW, and actually makes his popup studio in association with it wholly dependent on its parent companies, rather than being an independent operation contracted into exclusivity. If and when Jensen’s contract ends, if he doesn’t feel it’s fruitful, he can do whatever he wants with Chaos Machine, while having a strong bedrock of existing product and notoriety under it. Stick To Your Guns is a limited vessel and reliant on its current clout ladder. Jensen will be able to walk wherever he wants after this. Jared will not. Not as a producer. Not with a media company. He’ll be back to being an actor seeking casting that has some production experience. Which he should, by now, after being in acting for like 20 years. Maybe Stick To Your Guns will survive past and Pedowitz will order another series aimed for a similar demographic to also be on the CW. Because Stick To Your Guns isn’t going much of anywhere else. It even platforming Walker on HBOMax is a CBS-WB agreement for how they’re peddling product with the Netflix deal broken. It’s not gonna actively create content FOR HBO.

Add in Walker being on the CW, and being all but uncancellable as a CBS product on the CW, he’s tied in for at least 88 episodes or until catastrophic failure, whichever comes first. That means 4-5 seasons with its current episode format. That means Jared will have spent his entire professional life on the WB/CW, known as a “stupid teen network”--while, at worst, Jensen may produce content for that network while also handling things for HBO and other WB platforms and performing on other media throughout. 

Jensen and Jared both stayed true to SPN as a production--neither can be faulted for how much of their lives went into that and it’s generally an attribute. But one chose to step forward, out, and wider and the other just stepped laterally in the same space and that IS noticeable on a professional level. Again, that’s just reality. That’s going to be looked at by future media agencies. It just is. No amount of hollering on tumblr about the great AA conspiracy against Jarpad is gonna change that.

Jared has officially niched himself into a role where after this he’s pretty much gonna be forever cursed to play The Dad On That New Teen Show unless he does something DRASTIC after this. Period. Like end of story. That’s reality. Short of absolutely embarrassing collapse of Walker he’s not walking out of the show before he’s 43-44. Jensen was already shuffling contract work with his current clients at 41. And came out more independent for it. 

[wiypt-writes]

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch 8: Old Friends, Not So New Tricks

Summary: When a familiar face turns up asking for Katie’s expertise, she finds herself confronted by another familiar face, this one being one she would rather never have had to see again.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

Warnings: Language! Blood and SPOILERS if you haven’t seen Agents Of SHIELD….

A/N: Once again huge thanks to @angrybirdcr​ for her edit here, and the new banner for the next couple of sections of the story as we head forward through the next few parts of SSB...

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 7

O/S: Phobias

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

November 2013

There’s a fine line  between success and failure. And that last mission had well and truly teetered its way along the edge. The team had been split up after a catastrophic coms failure leaving Katie and Evans badly compromised.  They had just about got the situation under control after some quick thinking from Katie and very sharp shooting from Evans, when Steve had broken every protocol in place and run head first into a gun fire to get them out, putting himself in danger.

And Katie was livid at him.

“We had it under control!” she said, her voice raised as she stormed through the corridor away from the hangar, people turning to look. They’d been arguing about it all the way home.

“Yeah, well, it didn’t look like it from where I was standing!”

“Damned it Steve!” She spun to face him. “You weren’t standing anywhere, you were running, head first into the crossfire without even thinking about what was going on!”

“The last thing I heard was that you were surrounded-”

“This is EXACTLY what I don’t want you to do!” Katie groaned as she ran her hands over her face “Run in there without a second thought for your own damned safety or anyone else’s.”

“What do you mean anyone else?” Steve’s nostrils flared.

“You left Rumlow and Rollins completely uncovered,” Katie shook her head, “to come and save me. I’m not a fucking princess that needs rescuing Steve!”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Steve’s voice was loud, displaying the anger he was feeling inside at her attitude. 

“I’ll talk to you how I want!” She snapped back. “You know everyone gossips enough about us as it is and we’re almost seven months down the fucking line…”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“…and yet you STILL give them fuel!” She threw her hands out to the side, bringing them back down to her combat outfit clad sides with a slap. “Oh look at Nova, needs her Super Soldier Boyfriend to bail her out!”

“For the last time…” Steve hissed between his teeth, but Katie completely ignored him.

“If you can’t remain objective when we work together then maybe we shouldn’t be on the same team.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t if that’s how you feel!” He practically snarled, as he took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders back as his hands dropped to his belt buckle, eyes blazing. 

“Glad we understand one another.” Katie spat back, before turning on her heel and heading towards the armoury to change, ignoring his shouts.

****

After debrief, for the first time in ages Steve left work alone. He was in a foul mood, and practically wrenched his apartment door off its hinges. In part he was pissed at Katie’s attitude, but in others his anger was directed at himself because deep down he knew she was right. He’d utterly lost it when he’d heard she was in trouble and hadn’t been able to do anything else but rush in there to help get them out. It was ridiculous, she was a trained agent with a shot on her like you wouldn’t believe, and the amount of times they’d been in bad situations before…but something today, something about the way she’d sounded on the radio had gotten to him and he’d abandoned all thoughts of professionalism and gone after his girl.

Sighing he threw his keys down on the kitchen side and grabbed a beer from the fridge before making his way into the living room, toeing off his boots as he want. He dropped onto the sofa and let out a loud moan of frustration, his head lolling back against the cushions. He hated that they’d rowed, this was the first big argument they’d actually had. Sure they quibbled about small things, the fact he made her sleep on the right hand side of the bed at his because it was furthest away from the door (just in case anyone got in), the way he was a bit of a neat freak and when she did stay for more than a night his apartment looked like a whirlwind had been through it (Ok, he didn’t actually mind that so much in truth), the way she tried on every fucking outfit she owned before they went out (maybe not every outfit, but close enough…), the way he often went for a run first thing in the morning and she’d get pissed he wasn’t there when she woke up because…well, because….but all that was stuff he adored. The normal part of being with someone you were comfortable sharing your life with.

As he took a pull from his bottle his eyes rolled to the right and fell on the large photo frame on his wall. It was one she had made him for his birthday.

“Open the big one first…” She instructed, nodding to the gifts that were piled on his sofa.

He did as he was told without saying a word, picking it up and resting it on his lap. It felt like a photo frame. As he peeled back the wrapping paper he realised that’s exactly what it was. It was large with glossy pine edges to match the furniture in his apartment and filled with photos of him all from his life before the ice and his eyes grew large as he took in the faces that looked back up at him. There was a photo of him and Bucky as kids, another as teenagers, then one of them in the army- the one of them laughing that Katie had said she loved. His eyes began to mist over as he saw a few shots of his parents at their wedding in Ireland, on the steps of their tenement building at Brooklyn, one of him and his mom when he was a small boy, then he spotted one of him and Howard along with various shots of him with the Howling Commandos and finally one of him, Colonel Chester Phillips and Peggy. And at the bottom of the frame, on a silver plaque was engraved a quote from the Wizard of Oz- ”A heart is not judged by how much you love, but by how much you are loved by others.”

“I thought it was a shame to just keep them in a box.” Katie said gently as she sat next to him. “I wanted you to see them every day and remember you meant as much to them as they did or do to you.”

His fingers trailed over the various faces in the frame as the memories flooded his brain and he felt a lump in his throat at the wave of nostalgia crossing over him, and also at the utter thoughtfulness that had gone into her gift.

 “I picked what I thought were the nicest ones.” She continued and he was aware her tone was growing nervous. “But we can swap them if…”

“Katie,” his voice was croaky as he cut her off and looked up at her. He was right, she was biting her lip, worried that she had upset him but nothing could be further from the truth. He moved to take her face in his hands and he kissed her, hard. He pulled away and looked at her speaking with utter honesty and sincerity “This is amazing, Darlin’. Thank you so much.”

Letting out a sigh, Steve’s eyes dropped from the wall to a smaller frame on the sideboard, this one contained a photo of him and Katie a ‘selfie’ of the two of them at the Top of the Rock, taken when they had gone back to New York to visit Tony one weekend in October. He loved it, the pair of them grinning like idiots, Katie wearing a baby blue sparkly beany and matching scarf, her smile genuine and him looking like a loves-struck idiot, pressing a kiss to her cheek as he glanced at the camera. She had the same photo in her living room too.

No, he couldn’t go to bed without sorting this out. Abandoning his half-drunk bottle of Sam Adams, he shoved his shoes back on, grabbed his keys and headed out.

****

Katie didn’t even stay for debrief, more to piss Steve off than anything. It was petty, yes but she was absolutely raging at him. Their relationship had been the talk of the Triskelion for months, and for that reason, they had behaved nothing but professionally on missions, wanting to prove to not only everyone they worked with, but to themselves, that they could remain objective in their work and that them being together wouldn’t compromise the way they behaved in the field. 

And now he had fucked that.

She ignored his call which came just as she got home and throwing her phone onto the sofa she grabbed a glass of wine and ran herself a bath, turning her music up loud. She lay back under the bubbles, gently humming along to the music. Music was her thing to calm down to. She’d always played piano, right from the age of four when her mom had taught her, and she wasn’t bad at it either.

The mellow sounds of John Legend’s ‘Ordinary People’ faded into the opening notes of ‘Only One In Color’ by Trapt, and Katie paused, smiling. This song took her years back, to nights in London with colleagues in bars, and then a concert in Orlando in 2009…and Steve, it took her back to Steve and one rainy afternoon in August.

Katie shimmied around, folding laundry and dropping it into the basket as she sang, loudly. It had been ages since she’d done this, just danced around her apartment like an idiot. She turned round to grab the final load out of the machine and screamed as Steve was stood in the doorway, arms folded, leaning against the frame, that annoyingly cute smirk on his face.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“Jesus, how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough” He grinned, crossing the room and wrapping his arms around her. He nuzzled into her neck and the two of them stood there, still, listening to the song that was playing.

“What is it?” Steve asked, pressing a kiss to the spot just below her ear..

“It’s called Only One In Color, by a band called Trapt.” Katie replied, turning her head to look at him. “It kinda reminds me of you actually.”

Steve smiled as they listened for another second before he moved back, his hand taking hers as he raised it above their heads and spun her round, playfully as she laughed, before he pulled him to her.

“Dance with me.”

“What, here? In my apartment?”

“Our own private ballroom.”

“You’ve never danced before.” Katie looked up at him. “You told me.”

“I know, Peggy was right.” He took a deep breath and looked at her. “I was waiting for the right partner. So, what do you say? Teach me?”

“You know I don’t really know a lot of steps.” Katie felt a smile spread across her face as Steve placed his free hand on the curve of her waist and she began to lead them around on the spot, her right hand held in his left, her left curling up and over his right shoulder. She watched Steve, who was concentrating so hard that his brows pinched together slightly, a look that was incredibly endearing.

“Stop over thinking it.” She said gently, looking up at him. “Listen to the music and just let go.”

So he did. He let go, listening to the melody and the words, smiling a little as the lyrics hit home, really making him think about the woman in his arms. She had brought colour to his life, given him a reason to keep going in this world he had found so strange and, well, daunting. As he found his rhythm, he felt the smile pull even broader on his lips. He raised his head from where his eyes had been focussing on his feet and his girl beamed up at him, squeezing the hand that she held.

“See, it’s not that hard is it?” She giggled. Steve returned the grin and shook his head.

“Surprisingly not.” He admitted. They continued to revolve around the space in the doorway between her kitchen and laundry room and Katie lay her head on his chest, Steve’s face automatically turning down slightly so his cheek was resting against her hair. After a minute or so Katie felt him move and instinctively she looked up and could do nothing but smile as they stopped dancing and their mouths drifted closer together. Her hand slipped up, fingers stretching themselves into the short hair at the nape of his neck as his lips met hers, his hand creeping across her back, large palm pressed firmly against her spine. 

They never made it to the bedroom, they made it as far as the couch before they were both naked and going at it like a couple of horny fucking teenagers. And since then it had been ‘their’ song.

Katie sighed and drained her wine glass before she set about washing her hair and climbed out of the bath. She dressed in a pair of shorts and a hoodie before pulling her damp hair back into a French braid and had just settled on the sofa to watch TV when the buzzer to her apartment went. Picking up her phone to look at the security camera she took a deep breath and realised it was Steve.

“Sweetheart let me in. My key card is at home.”

She gave no response.

“I’m not going till you do, you know I could do this all day. Or all night.”

Still no response.

“I mean it’s a pretty interesting buzzer.”

With a groan, knowing full well the stubborn little shit in him would do just that, she pressed the button to let him in. Half a minute or so later the alert went again to signal he had requested access to her floor. Once more she tapped to accept and turned her attention back to the TV. She didn’t look up as the elevator door in the panel in her wall slid open, keeping her eyes focussed on the television as he strode into the room, heading straight for her once he’d hung his jacket up on the hooks to the right of the elevator.

“You were gonna watch this without me?” Hesaid gently, nodding to the episode of ‘Brooklyn Nine-Nine’ that was playing as he dropped down next to her.

“Yes.” She replied simply, her arms folded.

Steve fought the smile spreading across his face at her childishness. He knew if she was mad the worst thing he could do was laugh at her and make her think he wasn’t taking her seriously. So, he took a deep breath and turned so he was facing her on the couch, arm resting along the back.”

“I know you’re pissed at me.” He sighed. “But come on Doll, I hate fighting with you.”

“Then stop being a dick.” She snarked back. Steve took another deep breath and looked at her as she continued. “You know what it’s like at work, everyone has constantly analysed everything I do because, hello, Howard Stark’s daughter, and today…”

She trailed off and Steve looked down at his hands and shook his head. “I know. I didn’t mean to make it look like you couldn’t handle yourself.”

They fell into silence and Katie exhaled sharply, deciding to meet him half way. She knew he hadn’t meant to make her feel like he had but, there was also a part of her that had been scared. Not just for her and Evans, but seeing Steve rush in, headfirst with no regard for his own safety just to get to her had really frightened her. Despite his enhanced nature, he wasn’t invincible.

“You need to trust me when I’m out there.” She spoke, her voice was softe.

“I do trust you, you know that.” He looked at her. “But I’m not gonna apologize for looking out for you, Sweetheart. It’s my job. Both as your Captain and your man.”

“I get that, I do.” Katie sighed. “But you put yourself in danger today, running straight into the middle of a fire fight…can you imagine what I’d have done if you’d have been…”

She trailed off, swallowing and took a deep breath before she continued and her words hit Steve. He hadn’t considered she had felt as worried about him as he had her.  

“We have to remain objective, and if that means you can’t just abandon the team for me.”

“I know, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He said finally.

She looked at him and took a deep breath, the anger dissipating at his apology and moved to give him a hug, her arms round his shoulders as he wrapped his around her back and pulled her clumsily into his lap.

 “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did.” She sighed as she lay her head against his.

“Forgiven?” He asked and she looked down at him, he was giving her his puppy dog eyes. She rolled her own, she couldn’t stay mad at him, especially when there was a small part of her that couldn’t help but adore the fact he cared so deeply for her that he’d rush in, head first with no regard for anything else.

“Captain Dumbass.” She grumbled, before giving him a soft kiss.

“Guess so.” He chuckled. And when she didn’t protest he gently tapped her thigh, and knowing what he wanted she shifted off his lap so he could lay down flat on the sofa, allowing her to drape herself over him like  blanket, head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her back, legs tangling together as they settled in to watch their programme.

*****

Katie hadn’t been in the office for five minutes the next morning when she got a message to say Fury wanted to see her. In the years she had known the director, she still found it hard to get a read on him and this time was no exception. She stepped into his office and he nodded to her, and without a word got straight to business, leading her over to the screen on the wall by the sofas.

“I was wondering what you made of this.” He said nodding to the large screen on the wall. The photo displayed was of a tree trunk, cut in half and running down the middle was a long, tube like shape, with some markings on it. The photo zoomed in and Katie frowned.

“These look like the markings on Thor’s hammer.” She looked at the Director.

“Funny you should say that.” Fury nodded. “Because the Spectrographic signatures match the readings from Thor’s hammer too.”

“So whatever was in that tree was Asgardian?”

Fury nodded. “It looks that way, Nova, yes.”

“Where was it found?”

“That’s a trunk from a Norwegian spruce in Trillmarka National Park, Norway.”

“Figures.” Katie bit her lip.

“How do you mean?” Fury looked at her.

“The legends of Thor, they all have origins in Norway. When I asked him about it, Thor explained that Asgardians visited Earth thousands of years ago.” She explained. “They roamed Norway, mingling with the old Norse people, but back then, because humans couldn’t understand the concept of people from another planet, these, well, these aliens were revered as Gods.”

Fury gave a noise of understanding.  

“So who took it?” She asked. “Has Thor been back since the whole incident in Greenwich or…”

“I wish he had, then I wouldn’t really give a shit.” Fury sighed. “This thing has gone AWOL. According to my team on the ground, it was taken by a woman and a man, very much of Earth”

“Great.”  Katie rolled her eyes, before she continued, her tone laced with sarcasm. “Because every time something alien lands in human hands that ends well.”  

Fury gave a snort and pressed a button on a remote and she turned her attention to the TV on the wall of the office. It was screening a news broadcast, footage of a riot. The runner on the bottom of the screen identified the location as Oslo.

“The rioting has left twenty injured and three in a critical condition. Reports indicate that the group of about a dozen was led by this man and woman.”

A picture of the culprits filled the screen. The man was tall, dark haired, dark eyed and had a short beard. The woman, in contrast was slight, blonde and with icy blue eyes.

“And although their motive was unclear, the message was spelled out on the streets of Oslo, for all to see”

“It looks like the item has given them powers beyond those of normal humans.” Fury spoke as the newscast panned over to a fire on the street, this time an aerial view. The fire spelt out the words “We are Gods”.

“So what do you need me to do?” Katie asked, looking at him.

“I’m gonna need you to work with one of my field teams.” Fury continued, looking at her. “My best field team, actually. I want you to help them track these guys down. You have a decent knowledge on Asgardian and Mythological history and the team could do with someone with a little background on the subject.”

“Sir, if these people are as powerful as this report is saying, shouldn’t we consider at least trying to contact Thor, possibly the rest of the Avengers?” Katie looked at him.

 “No.” Fury’s response was instantaneous. “I don’t want the Avengers involving. It would attract too much attention.”

“With all due respect, they just set a street on fire. I dare say it’s already attracting a fair amount of attention so whats-“ She trailed off as Fury looked at her, an expression on his face that Katie knew extremely well having seen it several times before. The expression he wore when he was about to drop a bombshell. “Oh, what are you hiding Nick?” She frowned.

“I want you to understand that you’ve been kept in the dark about this so far for a reason. And I know you’re going to get emotional, but if you could refrain from throwing that coffee you’re holding, Nova, I’d appreciate it.”

“Dark about what?” She pressed, her tone irritated. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

Agent Fury pressed a button on his phone on his desk. “Alright, you’re up.” And with that the TV snapped onto a different channel and she turned to see a familiar man sat in a chair on the screen.

Katie didn’t throw the coffee, instead it slipped from her hands as her mouth dropped open and the entire room swam in front of her eyes.

“Sorry, boss. The God rabbited” 

“Just stay awake. EYES ON ME!” 

“No. I’m clocked out here.” 

“Not an option!” 

The room came back into focus again and she looked from the screen to Fury, then back. “This…this is impossible.” She stammered.

“I’d have said the same thing myself not long ago.” Phil Coulson gave a shy little smile.

Katie found herself floundering for words before the anger at the lies and deceit bubbled up.

“No, you…you died! I was there, I saw it!”

“Excellent medics.” Fury concluded.

“They took you away, in a body bag!” Katie’s voice rose to a yell as she ran her hands over her face, unable to believe what she was seeing. She’d cried, mourned the loss of one of her friends, a man who had been her mentor. She looked at Coulson on the screen, and then away again, her eyes misting up slightly.

“No one knew I’d pulled through until after New York.“ Coulson spoke softly “I spent months recovering in Tahiti. It’s a magical place.”

“I want your word that you will not reveal Agent Coulson is alive to anyone.” Fury spoke and Katie turned to look at him, her face curling up in an angry sneer. “I debated long and hard about pulling you into this but we need you.”

Katie eyed the director, chin jutting upwards as she glared at him. “Don’t you ever get tired of the lies?”

“I have no option.” Fury’s face was stern. “I can’t risk the Avengers falling apart.”

“I’m not lying to them for you.” She shook her head “No way. A team is built on trust. Without that you have nohing.”

Fury looked at her for a moment, before he sighed. “That wasn’t a request, Agent Stark. If you tell anyone I’ll remove you from service.”

“So now you’re blackmailing me?”

“I’m merely pointing out your options.” Fury replied simply.

“You are unbelievable.” She shook her head. “Fuck you. Fuck this.”

She turned to walk out of the door before Coulson’s voice rang across the room.

“Katie, please. We wouldn’t be asking this of you if it wasn’t urgent, but we really do need your help

The use of her first name, not her code name, made Katie stop in her tracks. Taking a deep breath she spun back, fire in her eyes as she glared at Coulson’s image on the screen. “Why should I?”

“Because, ” Coulson continued, “you’re the only one I trust enough with this.”

Katie ran her hands over her face, torn between wanting to leave and her desire, sorry, duty to help. In the end her duty won out and she felt her shoulders slump as she looked back towards the two men, giving them both a curt nod.

“Fine, but that does not mean that I’m happy about this. Any of it.”

“You’ll rendezvous with the Bus in Oslow.” Fury instructed, ignoring her emotion completely. “There’s a Jet being prepped to take the new shift of mobile STRIKE team members out as we speak. You can go with them.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged. With a final roll of her eyes she made to leave the room before Fury called after her.

“Agent Stark.”

“What?” she demanded as she spun round, fixing her eyes on his.

“I’m sorry.” He sighed, shaking his head. “But I had to do it.”

She swallowed, before she turned and left, not trusting herself to respond.  

*****

Steve was looking for Katie, he knew she’d been to see Fury and was eager to find out what it was about. After asking a few agents if they’d seen her he finally tracked her to one of the kitchens where she was sat, hugging a cup of coffee like her life depended on it, staring down at the table. He frowned, she looked absolutely beat.

“Sweetheart?” He asked tentatively as she looked up at him. His frown deepened when he saw her face. She looked distraught. “Honey, what is it?”

One look in his eyes and Katie knew she couldn’t lie to him, she didn’t want to lie to him. Fuck Fury, fuck all of this.

“Coulson…he…” She stammered, looking up at Steve, her eyes wet.

“What about him?” Steve frowned.

She took a deep breath, tears now rolling down her face. “He’s alive, Steve, he’s fucking alive.”

And then the dam broke and she began to sob. Steve instantly went into autopilot, pulling out a spare chair and moving it close to her so he could wrap his arms around her as she cried into his tevlar clad chest, his own mind whirling at the news.

Eventually she calmed down to tell him everything. And Steve listened, not saying a word, simply holding her hand, his thumb skating over her knuckles as she spoke. He did, however, make an angry noise that was half way between a snort and a growl when she told him Fury had threatened to sack her if she told anyone.

“I honestly thought I’d seen it all, that nothing life threw up would ever surprise me again.” She sighed looking at Steve as she finished explaining.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong.” He smiled softly and she spluttered a watery laugh through her tears, remembering what she’d said to him the first time they had met. “There’s my girl.” Steve reached over to gently brush her cheek with his hand. “I like it better when you smile.”

“Sorry, but I’m so angry. Fury is lying, again! Has he learnt nothing from everything that’s happened over the past few years?”

Steve didn’t say anything, merely studied her face for a moment and then both of them turned their attention to the door when one of the Junior Agents appeared.

“Agent Stark, Director Fury asked me to tell you we’re wheels up in an hour.”

“Thanks.” She nodded, sniffing before she looked at Steve. “I don’t even have time to pack.”

“You got some stuff in your locker, right?”

She nodded. She always had a few days’ worth of clothes in her locker and toiletries to hand, just in case. She ran her hands over her face and stood up. “You know, I don’t even know who I’m meeting!” She shook her head. “Other than Fitz and Simmons, I’ve no idea who Coulson has on The Bus.”

“Whoever it is I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Steve assured her. “And I know it’s shitty but they asked for you for a reason.”

“Suppose I best make the most of it, seeing as it will be my last mission, you know, on account of me telling you.”

“It won’t come to that.” Steve shook his head “I’m not gonna tell anyone I know.”

“Fury always finds out.” Katie sighed. “Tony is right about him. His spies have spies.”

Thirty minutes later she was walking to the hangar, suited in her SHIELD cat suit, Steve carrying her holdall for her as they walked. The Captain didn’t like this, he hated that she was effectively being manipulated and he would have loved nothing more than to give Fury a piece of his mind but he couldn’t, because he wasn’t supposed to know. They reached the bottom of the jet and Katie turned to him as he handed her bag to one of the agents who nodded to them both.

“I’ll call you as soon as I can.” She promised as Steve looked down at her and nodded

“Make sure you do.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not sure how I’m gonna cope without my best girl.”

“Your best girl?” She teased. “How many others do you have?”

“One or two.” He shrugged. “But they’re in different states, so, they don’t count, right?”

She gave a laugh as she shook her head. “Jerk.”

Steve chuckled and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “You know you’re the only one for me, Doll.” He dropped a soft kiss to her lips. “Just go do what you gotta do. I’ll be here when you get back.”

He kissed her again, this time a little longer, although both still well aware that they were in the middle of a very busy hangar, surrounded by a lot of people. Sighing, Katie pulled back and allowed herself to melt into his arms for a quick hug before she stepped back.

“I love you.” She said gently.

“You too. Be careful.” He looked at her, his features verging on stern with his warning.

“I’m always careful.” She grinned, walking backwards up the ramp, wanting to look at him for as long as possible.

“Well that’s just an out and out lie.” He raised an eyebrow, hands dropping to the buckle of his belt.

She grinned, blew him a kiss and then disappeared into the main part of the jet. Steve watched for a second as the ramp shut before he turned and left the hangar.

*****

The flight over to Oslow wasn’t too long. Katie used the time to do as much reading up on the item they were tracking as possible, going through all the files that Coulson had sent her. Eventually they docked with The Bus and her and the other agents made their way to the Air Lock. The doors shut and the capsule took them down a level before the frosted glass doors opened and there, stood in front of her, was Phil Coulson. The other agents pushed past, clearly fine at the sight of a dead-not-dead man in front of them.

There was a moment’s hesitation, where Coulson and Katie simply looked at each other, and then Katie’s anger boiled over and she stepped forwards, slapping him, hard across the face. The agents who were milling around all paused as Coulson’s head snapped to the side.

“Guess I deserved that…” He said, turning his head back to look at her as everyone hastily carried on with their jobs.

As Katie stared at her old mentor, her anger melted away and with a little sigh she threw her arms around him.  Coulson squeezed her back, before Katie moved a little to look at him, before she spoke for the first time.

“Good to see you again. Not dead, I mean.”

Phil gave a chuckle. “You too Nova. Come on, the rest of the team are waiting in the lab.”

He led her down the hall, Katie following, her eyes taking in her surroundings before Coulson stopped at the end of a corridor, near a door to a room that she could see had a glass wall.

“Now, before you go in, there’s something else you should know.” Coulson turned to face her and she looked at him, letting out an angry groan.

“What now?”

“I want you to know, Fury didn’t want me to tell you as he didn’t think you would come, it wasn’t my decision to keep it from you.”

“Keep what from me?” Her temper was flaring again. “I swear to God AC I am this close…”she held her fingers an inch apart, “to losing my shit!”

Coulson hesitated for a moment and then opened the door to the lab. As they walked in six people all looked up from what they’d been watching and turned to face them. One of them was a dark haired girl she didn’t know and next to her were Jemma Simmons and Leo Fitz who Katie knew from the labs when they had worked with Lawson. Then she spotted Melinda May, an agent only rivalled in fighting skills by Natasha.

And then a pair of familiar dark eyes met hers as another familiar face looked up from a tablet.

“Oh for fucks sake!” Katie muttered and she turned to Coulson who shrugged apologetically.

“Good to see you too.” Ward grinned as Katie folded her arms and glared at him.

There was a moment’s pause as the two simply stared at one another, Katie’s teeth grinding together in irritation, before the girl with the dark hair spoke. “Okay, so this is awkward…”

“And this is Skye.” Coulson spoke, breaking up the tension. “She’s a…”

“Hacker.” May supplied, at the same time Skye replied, “consultant”

Katie was really struggling to keep her temper under control now, so missed the irritated glare Skye shot at May. First Coulson, now this. Fury was going to absolutely get the full Stark-slash-Supernova explosion when she got back.

“So, shall we get down to business?” Coulson asked, spotting the look on Katie’s face, realising she needed to focus on something else. “What have you got?”

“We’ve managed to identify our thieves.” May spoke as Sky pressed something on the tablet she was holding. A close up of the woman’s face appeared on the holo-projector in the middle of the room.  “Her name is Petra Larson”

“And this is Jakob Nystrom, her boyfriend. Both thirty.  Leaders of a Norse Paganist hate group”

 “And their numbers are growing thanks to what happened in London and the internet” Sky scoffed. “Yay internet,”

“Norse Paganist?” Simmons questioned

“Obsessed with anything derived from Norse mythology, stories of Asgard, yada yada.” Skye explained. 

“And now a weapon.” Ward gestured to a long object on the table which Katie hadn’t noticed until that point.

“Is that a 3-d print?” She asked, instantly captivated by the item, looking at Fitz who nodded. “May I?”

“Of course…” He said. Katie picked it up and turned it over in her hands, testing the weight as she scanned it up and down. The detailing was exquisite.

“The scan accounted for only one side.” Fitz explained. “There was too much damage to the tree for a complete reproduction”.

“But, see here, it’s clearly broken on both ends.” Katie held it up. “So there are more pieces.”

“Yeah, two at least” Fitz responded, nodding.

“Which means Sid and Nancy may be looking for a complete set.” Ward spoke as Coulson turned to Katie.

“The markings. Just as you said on the call they’re Asgardian symbolism.”

She looked at the item in her hand and nodded. “Similar to Thor’s hammer.”

“Yeah, hard to translate with our limited knowledge.” Couslon shrugged.

“You should give your buddy the God of Thunder a shout.” Sky spoke “He gets his powers from his hammer, right? What if this is his nail to the hammer?”

“He’s off grid.” Coulson looked at her. “And if he has a cell-phone, we don’t have the number.

“I told to get him a pager.” Katie muttered as she peered at the rod and then something stirred in her mind, and she began racking her brains. There was something similar about this, something that she’d seen or read before, if she could only remember what.

“So,” May looked at Katie, “SHIELD’s investigations are on the trail of Nystrom and his followers.”

“We’re charged with identifying the object and finding any other pieces before they do.” Coulson finished.

Katie nodded, still thinking. “If this acts in the same way as Thor’s hammer then that’s a sensible task.”

And then she trailed off as it suddenly hit her exactly what it was she’d been trying to remember.

“No, it can’t be.” She muttered as Coulson looked at her questioningly. She nodded to the item in her hand and then looked back at him. “I could be wrong but this…this could be a piece of the Beserker Staff.”

“The what?”  Ward frowned.

“It’s from an old legend that a great warrior, from another world came to Earth” Katie spoke, recalling the research she’d done once upon a time. “He had in his possession a magical staff but he loved Earth so much he never left, and he broke the staff into pieces and hid them.”

“Any idea on where?” Coulson asked.  Katie shook her head.

 “Well our Pagan friends certainly seem to have some advantage on that front.” Ward sighed. “They found this thing in a hundred and fifty square kilometres of Norwegian forest.”

“Guys, what if it called to them with magic?” Sky asked, her eyes going large and excited.

“Called to them?” May shot her a ‘be real’ look in response.

“We know it’s Asgardian, so the rules are a little bendy here.” Skye pressed.

“Just because we don’t understand something yet doesn’t mean we should regress back to the dark ages, talking of magic and fairy tales” Simmons shook her head and Fitz scoffed his agreement.

“Actually, that’s exactly what we need to do.” Katie looked around as the idea came to her.

“Excuse me?” Simmons asked.

Ignoring him, Katie turned to Agent Coulson. “Remember when we first found the hammer in New Mexico, and I told Fury to consult with an expert on Norse Mythology to fill the gaps.”

“Elliot Randolph,” Phil nodded.

“We should speak to him, he’ll know more about it than me.”

“Alright.” Coulson nodded, looking at May. “He’s a professor at the University of Seville. Set the course, let’s pay him a visit.”

“Shouldn’t take us too long.” May shrugged “But it is getting kinda late. By the time we get there it will be past eight in the evening local time. Can I suggest we head out first thing tomorrow morning?”

Coulson nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a plan. Okay team, lets wrap it up here and get something to eat. Think we’ve earned it.” He then turned to Katie, gesturing with his head for her to follow him out of the room.

He led her down a few more corridors and to a flight of steps which led up to the upper deck of the large airship.

“The Accommodation is probably a bit smaller than you’re used to, but…”

 “If it’s that bad imma find a hotel.” She shrugged as she followed Coulson down the corridor.

“What and miss all the fun?” Phil looked over his shoulder. “I’ve had the gin bar stocked specially.”

“Yeah, for the record that isn’t going to take away from the fact that I’m utterly pissed at you and Fury”

“I know you well enough Nova to not even hope that would be the case” Coulson snorted as they turned right. Eventually they reached the living area and Coulson led her to one of the spare rooms.

It wasn’t as bad as Coulson made it out to be, a bed that was slightly bigger than a single but not a full double, with a small wardrobe and a small basin to the side.

“This isn’t so bad.” She turned to Phil who was watching her a little cautiously.

“Glad it meets your approval.” He nodded, leaning in the door way before he took a deep breath. “Look, I really am sorry about all of this. I wouldn’t have-“

“Let’s just find that thing and then I can go home.” Katie cut him off, not in the mood for anymore apologies or explanations. She had a job to do, and the sooner she did it, the sooner she could get back.

“That’s the plan.” Coulson nodded. “I’ll be in the bar in an hour or so, got a few things to sort out before but, well, it would be nice if we could catch up.”

“Yeah, maybe.” Katie replied. There was a pause before Coulson gave her another curt nod.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

With that he turned and left and Katie’s eyes fixed on the now empty doorway. With a purposeful stride, she moved forward and pressed her palm to the pad at the side, the door sliding shut with a slight click.

Katie turned around, looking at her bag which had been placed at the foot of her bed and with a loud, angry groan of frustration she flopped backwards onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

***** Chapter 9

**Original Posting**

[venialsun]

to begin with, take warning (1/3)

[read on ao3]

1 | 2 | 3

Dick watched Damian physically try to not show his nerves on his face for a full ten minutes—with the success of a trained actor and the failure of a nervous fourteen-year-old playing it off to his older brother—when he caved. They had just driven past the Welcome to Gotham! billboard with “u sure?” and “go back to metropolis cuck!!!” graffitied in looping, hot pink script on the side. It’d be another twenty-five minutes of traffic before they made it to central downtown, and Dick could only stand so much of not-twitchy, not-nervous, I’m-above-this Damian before he burst into laughter and caused some problems.

So he said, “It’s okay to be nervous.”

And from the passenger side, feet up on the dash, looking at his phone, Damian snapped, “I’m not nervous! What is there to be nervous about? It’s an American high school. Big deal. Last week, I stopped a planet-wide catastrophe that would have killed billions in another galaxy, and every night, unless you don’t know, we fight actual monsters and supervillains who actively try to kill us. Some have even succeeded. This is nothing.”

“Yeah,” said Dick, “maybe don’t mention all that on the first day.”

“I know that.”

“And I think you mean ‘my friends and I went to space and stopped a war.’ You know you have to give them credit, too.”

“They’re not my friends,” said Damian. “I work with them. Father isn’t friends with every member of the Justice League, yet he’s worked with near every one of them on League missions. They are my colleagues.”

“So what you’re saying is that you are organizing and leading team missions?” Dick could not keep the amusement out of his voice. “What happened to ‘Teams are unnecessary and a waste of time’? What about the Titans? I know they invited you back.”

“Timothy leads the Titans,” said Damian. “And there’s no room for two Robins on the same team.”

“Mm, don’t know about that, but I also know neither of you would play nice long enough to really try. So no team, okay,” Dick agreed, “and you just happen to be having adventures with other underaged heroes of no relation to you on a periodic basis. And they’re not your friends.”

Damian blinked away from his phone—success!—and scowled. “I do not get your obsession with making friends, Richard,” he said.

Dick splayed his hands on the steering wheel. “I’m glad to see you hanging out with kids your own age, is all. It’s good for you.”

Damian snorted and looked out the window. Gotham’s littered streets and the growing mob of early-morning commuters blurred gray in the smog. In tones of great solemnity he said, “That’s what this whole thing is about, isn’t it? I am going to school to learn how to maintain a secret identity and cultivate a normal public persona. I will be surrounded by kids my own age, and I will be sure to make connections that I will treasure for the rest of my life. These next four years will be the happiest of my life, I know it.”

Dick laughed, and Damian smirked.

“Alright, smartass, I get it. You’re Damian Wayne, haver of too many titles and not leader of any teams, and you’re not nervous about going to high school. I believe you.”

They stopped at a light. Gotham Academy was a few blocks ahead. If they walked, they could be there in ten minutes. Driving as they were in the morning congestion, it would take at least fifteen. Dick didn’t mind. He hummed to himself, waiting. Damian went back to his phone. The light turned green. Dick eased his foot off the brake. They advanced slowly and made it to the front of the line of cars, when the light blinked yellow, then red, and they stopped again.

Damian said, “Father says you were a good student. Well-liked. Studious. Only Robin’s duties caused problems.”

“Bruce said that?” Dick rolled his eyes. “Of course, he did. School was fine,” he said, “though I was mostly focused on being Robin and then the Titans at the time. It was nice, I think. It seems so long ago. But it was hard to have a life there when the most important parts of my life were somewhere else.”

“Wait, Grayson,” Damian said, gleefully, “were you unpopular?”

Dick chuckled, and the light turned green again. “I don’t know what you mean, Dames. I didn’t have that much trouble, and I had a good group of friends. But sometimes I thought it was all a waste of time, time I should’ve spent being Robin. It wasn’t easy hiding parts of myself from my classmates. Keeping the secret meant I couldn’t really be myself or talk to anyone about anything other than school.”

“Until the Titans,” said Damian.

“Until the Titans,” agreed Dick. He glanced at Damian, still with his marginally tense shoulders. “If it counts for anything,” he said, “I don’t think it was a waste of time now. I’m glad I went. I think this is a good thing.”

“Tt,” Damian tutted, but his look was speculative.

“I won’t lie to you and say you will love school. But give it a chance. You might end up liking it.”

“Ever the optimist.”

Dick pulled up into the line of cars for day student drop-off. Gotham Academy stretched across the block, its front tower looming darkly over them in the morning fog. Teenagers in uniform and cheery-looking adults were wandering about, huddling in groups or directing the flow of foot traffic to the entrance and around the side of the façade.

“Got your schedule? Know where you’re going?” Dick asked.

Damian glowered at him.

Dick chuckled. “Right, right, ‘course you do. So I’ll pick you up at four o’clock, okay?”

“And not a minute later,” threatened Damian. And then he set his shoulders, got out of the car, slammed the door, and marched away like he was going into battle.

Dick couldn’t help himself. As he pulled away, he rolled down the window and shouted, “Have a great day at school, Damian! Love ya!”

Without turning around, Damian flipped him the bird.

A whistle blew, and in the rear view Dick saw an upset-looking woman, probably an administrator, point at Damian and loudly scold, “Young man!”

Dick winced, sympathetic yet unrepentant, and merged back into traffic.

Whoops.

•

Yanez knew this would happen, but she had thought it would be at least until midday. Homeroom hadn’t even started. She was busy alternating between threatening her teachers to smile and look happy to be here and smiling half-encouragingly, half-threateningly at students and shepherding them away from their hormonal clusters, when Headmaster Hammer cut a line through the crowd and headed straight to her. A sour-faced Damian Wayne kept pace behind him.

“Good morning,” she greeted, raising an eyebrow, and silently prayed for patience. “Can I help you?”

“Principal Yanez,” said Hammer. He motioned Damian in front of him. “Your student is in need of a reminder of our disciplinary code of conduct.”

Yanez did not miss the emphasis on your. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Hammer was still smarting over his demotion from Grand Headmaster of Gotham Academy, with the full powers that entailed, to “Grand Headmaster” of Gotham Academy, a purely honorary title that delegated tasks to the grammar, middle, and upper level administration that Gotham Academy had been divided into. She ignored him and looked down at the dark-haired boy in front of her. He glared back, defiant.

Ah. One of those.

“Damian Wayne, right?” she asked. “Isn’t it too early to be getting in trouble on the first day of school?”

“That depends on your definition of trouble, I suppose,” Damian said. To her surprise, he had the barest hint of an accent. British, maybe. He stuck out his hand. “You must be Samantha Yanez, the Head Principal for grades nine through twelve.”

Bemused, Yanez shook his hand. “That’s me.”

“I can only hope you are better than your predecessor,” said Damian. He glanced at Hammer and managed to make it seem like he was looking down his nose at him, despite being a full foot shorter. “He left much to be desired.”

“Note that down, Principal. Another perfect example of abhorrent and disrespectful student behavior,” said Hammer.

Yanez frowned. “What happened? Perhaps we should take this in my office.”

Already Yanez could see the curious bubble of students starting to form, talking behind their hands or blatantly recording on their phones.

“Certainly,” said Hammer. “It will help expedite the expulsion process.”

“That remains to be seen, Headmaster,” said Yanez.

She led them back to her office, past the crowds of mingling students and through the arching stone hallway that had been commandeered for the clerical staff. She took a seat behind her desk and indicated for them to sit. She tried not to be too annoyed when Hammer went instead to stand behind her, looming over like a gnarled skeleton.

“Okay,” she said. “Damian. Why don’t you explain to me why Headmaster Hammer has brought you in here? He’s threatening expulsion, but I only reserve that option for the most extreme of cases. Think this merits that?”

“Hardly,” scoffed Damian. “My brother was dropping me off and I flipped him off.”

“You—you flipped him off? You put your middle finger up at him?”

“Yes.”

Yanez barely resisted the urge to laugh and glanced at Hammer. His expression was thunderous. She looked back at Damian and waited, but he did not elaborate. “Why did you flip him off?” she asked.

“He is an embarrassment to me.”

“All brothers are embarrassing to their siblings, especially younger ones. Is there more?”

“No.”

“He has treated every administrator that tried to correct his behavior with rancor and disrespect,” said Hammer.

“Hrm.” Yanez steepled her fingers together. “Headmaster Hammer, could Damian and I have the room? I’ll take care of this. I’m sure you are very busy, and I know Principal Trammer could use the help with the elementary kids.”

Hammer scowled—Yanez knew he hated dealing with the primary school kids—but did not argue and took his leave.

When he was gone, Yanez took a moment to study the young boy in front of her. Petulant and angry, dark-haired, brown-skinned, and light-eyed, something tense and haughty in his shoulders—he looked every bit like any of the troubled kids Yanez had taught over her decades-long career. And yet nothing like them at all. There was something different in the set of his chin, the sharpness of his gaze, his crossed arms, like he was looking for danger and ready to meet it.

“Do you want to be here, Damian?” she asked.

Damian’s mouth twisted. “In this room, wasting my time? Not particularly.”

“Well, we can agree on that,” said Yanez. “But I meant here, Gotham Academy.”

Damian shrugged. “My family insists this will be an enriching opportunity.”

“They’re probably right. But I have looked at your records. You tested out of most of the core subjects, and your home-schooling portfolio is very impressive. Yet you are signed up for the standard ninth-grade honors track. When your Father and I met this summer to discuss the terms of your enrollment, he told me you insisted on it.”

Finally some of the animosity slipped from Damian’s face. He seemed intrigued. “You spoke with my father?”

“Only the once and very briefly,” said Yanez, “but yes. He said re-enrolling at Gotham Academy and coming back to school was your idea.”

Damian scowled.

“So I believe some part of you wants to be here, wants to be a student. Is that accurate?” she asked.

“I already regret it,” Damian muttered.

Yanez smiled. “Not the resounding yes I wanted to hear, but I’ll take it.” She reached into a side drawer and pulled out a quarter-sheet of yellow paper and scrawled down a few details. “If you want to be here, then being a student means abiding by some ground rules. Respect others, respect yourself, respect the school.”

“My respect is earned,” said Damian, “not freely given because of some archaic code of conduct.”

“Then you’re already miles ahead of most of the people in this building,” said Yanez. She handed him the slip of paper. “Respect is earned, yes, but you have to give people the chance to earn it in the first place. That means holding off on rude gestures and comments when it can be helped, which is most times. I am giving you two days of community lunch tutoring for flipping your brother off on school grounds and insulting the administrators.”

“Community lunch tutoring?” Damian echoed, scanning the slip.

“It is similar to detention, but instead you tutor other students and help them with their assignments. Report to the technology atrium during your lunchtime today and tomorrow.”

“Sounds dumb,” said Damian. “Why not just expel me?”

“For expressing your feelings and saying mean things to grown adults?” Yanez chuckled and shook her head. “Damian, this is a high school. If I expelled every bratty kid with no respect for authority and a penchant for dramatics, I would be out of a job. If you want to flip people off and bad-mouth teachers and administrators, that’s your business. It is not in my power to stop you, not fully anyway. You’re a smart kid. If you want to be a delinquent then at least be smart about it. If you get caught or the wrong adult overhears you, then you and I will be meeting more often, the repercussions will not be as merciful, and I will have to do a lot more paperwork. And Damian?”

She waited until she had his full attention, and he looked up, curious.

“I hate paperwork,” she said. “Don't let it come to that.” She waved a hand. “Now get out of my office. You’re late.”

next ->

[citadelspires]

Ducktales AU Concept Because My Brain Runs On Concepts I Can’t Finish:

Dewey actually waits for the signal to start the boat and they actually leave for Cape Suzette without Donald finding out. He believes they’re ready to be left alone for small periods at a time and while he is still hired on with Glomgold the obvious complications there happen and he simply just goes back to whatever he was doing, because Scrooge wasn’t reinvigorated by the kids and never ended up going to Atlantis in the first place. Cut to the ambiguously set point of over a year later, and we get the return of Della from the moon, but to a drastically different world than the one she comes back to in the show. (For the sake of the au I’m just gonna say the moon invasion doesn’t happen cause the point of this is to focus on the characters and the imminent and impossible to stop moon threat would actually be impossible to stop in this au). I’m just gonna go through the characters and where they’d be at in this setting.

The first, and arguably one of the most affected is  Scrooge: He never got back into adventuring due to the absence of the kids pushing him back into the business. He continues to be profitable and avoid Glomgold’s attempts on his life but he’s generally less cheery and interested in the world than he is in the show. He cares about money and he only cares about money. Everything and everyone else are a second thought to him. Like she does in canon Della makes for McDuck Manor immediately upon return to earth only to find that the only one waiting for her is Scrooge. He opens the door to find her and his initial reaction is joy at seeing her but a secondary reaction he feels poking at the back of his mind is one of shame that this is the state he’s in for her to return to, particularly when she asks him where her kids are and he just tells her he doesn’t know. There’s a look of betrayal in her eyes when she realizes that he just abandoned everyone and cut off every aspect of the life he used to have and she doesn’t even try to hide it. Scrooge wants to offer to come with her to find them but something holds him back and he doesn’t. She runs off to find them herself and despite everything he wants to the contrary Scrooge just goes to his office like he would any other day, knowing that the person he’s been missing for over ten years now is finally returned after he thought she was dead and here he is acting like nothing is different.

Launchpad is fun because he never has any reason for Scrooge to find out he’s a pilot. He tries to mention it to Scrooge occasionally, like we see in the first episode, but just like in that episode he’s always ignored. Not that Scrooge would have any adventures for Launchpad to take him to anyway. So Launchpad continues being nothing but Scrooge’s driver. And that’s enough for him because he’s Launchpad you know? And he still looks up to Scrooge a lot, but he’s never given the opportunity to grow close to him, or anyone really. Fittingly enough for Launchpad, he’s just been living life on autopilot for a couple years, not really expecting anything to ever change.

Webby has two distinct directions you can go and I chose to go for the sadder one. She continues to be shut in the mansion. I choose to take her speech in the first episode about how she hasn’t ever left literally and say that Beakley kept her there her entire life. The possible other direction I mentioned is one where she only grows more anxious and hopeful to see the outside world and she’s basically just even Webbier than she already is. But that’s less angsty and enjoyable for me to mess with so instead I’m gonna go with she hit this wall at some point in the year or so between when she would have met HDL and when Della comes back from the moon. The weight of being alone starts to get to her and she starts to wonder if all her optimism and hopes are just a poor defense system put up to let her pretend she’s gonna have a better future than the life she’s got. She also makes continuous attempts to interact with Scrooge but the more he lets age settle in and distance himself from adventures the less she feels engaged with his existence. He starts to feel to her not like an idol or a model to live her life by but like a living, breathing symbol of how her hopes and positivity are shallow and baseless. Cause Scrooge McDuck was the only thing that kept her going for years and this is nothing like the hero she read about. But that’s the thing. She’s only really read about him. As far as anything heroic goes. So she reaches the final breaking point of all of this and decides that Scrooge is a fake and leaves behind her signature bright, bubbly attitude on life. This is the state she’s in when the story starts, to the point where a scene happens at some point after she gets drawn into the plot where she’s been outside of the manor now and Dewey offers her a hamburger and she says it looks disgusting.

Lena never got the chance to become friends with Webby and get her route into McDuck Manor. But that also means she never got the chance to learn about being good from the literal goodest person in the universe. She isn’t interested in doing the right thing and not hurting Scrooge or anything she’s just following Magica’s orders cause that’s what she’s being forced to do. But as part of the whole thing where she hasn’t got an in route into the manor she also hasn’t gotten any means of being successful in really any capacity in this endeavor. As a result Magica has... not. been kind to her. So while she isn’t evil she’s been living as magica’s meat puppet with the witch constantly in her head tormenting her for her failures for months on end and she was already morally ambiguous to begin with. So she’d take out Magica in a heartbeat if she could but there’s nothing that says she wouldn’t just explode afterwards.

Mark Beaks never had his B.U.D.D.Y. contested because Launchpad was never told about the self driving car and even if he had been he didn’t have the standing with Scrooge to make a difference and he didn’t have Dewey to help him make the declaration. As a result the product went up without any hitches. It was a massive success until BulbTech kicked in, turned evil, and suddenly it wasn’t. Anyone who could afford a B.U.D.D.Y. was using one, and the results were catastrophic. Not even Beaks had enough good press and money to pay for all that. He narrowly avoided prison but he was never taken seriously or given any chances to build up a company again. He still lives his life stealing technology and messing with inventions as he always did but now he does it a lot more illegally, a lot more dangerously, and a lot less sanely. Most devastatingly though, he gets like, no good press. People won’t even be caught dead following his twitter. He’s living his worst nightmare and he’s going to do whatever it takes to change that.

Gyro fires Fenton for leaking BulbTech on the internet and never looks back. He continues the work that Scrooge wants him to do and Fenton never drives him to push the envelope or do anything even close to what Gizmoduck becomes. He continues with his own dangerous projects and ideas but he does play it safe for some time. He’s content to just be making stuff, and Scrooge is content to just have stuff made for him. But he also never really gets to unleash that, well, part of Gearloose where he’s got a gear loose and it seems like he might just snap and make something really wild any day now.

Fenton never had to become Gizmoduck that iconic first time, so he just. Didn’t. The armor was left in its development phase as it was, and Fenton was never even considered to be the man in the suit when it reached testing. And it was only used for the menial tasks Gyro originally designed it for, as Fenton was the only one who had come up with the idea to use it for Gizmoduck at all, and he’s not there anymore, not that Gyro would listen to him anyway. Though it wasn’t as if Scrooge was in any state of mind to be hiring any superheroes in the first place. So Fenton continues trying to find some way to make a difference in the world with his intelligence but it... never really pans out.

Drake gets the role in the Darkwing movie, as in canon, as Scrooge is still interested enough in money to listen to the proposition for the film and try it out. The visit Launchpad has with Jim goes as his visits always do, and the fact that Dewey isn’t there to assist with Launchpad and attract Jim’s attention means Jim just gives up and leaves as soon as Launchpad faints, not even listening to what Drake is trying to tell him. So Jim never finds out about the movie until it’s already released, and Drake experiences no opposition in the filming, barely even remembering his one interaction with Launchpad at all. Scrooge cuts the budget for the finale but lets the movie go through anyway, despite his better judgement, mostly because he already spent the money. It’s a commercial and critical disaster and Drake’s acting career never gets off the ground, and he never has the inspiration to become Darkwing for real.

Donald continues to live just as we see him in the first episode, doing his best to support his kids while bouncing from job to job because he just can’t hold one down for any length of time. Life is hard for him but it’s the same as he’s always known it for the past ten years so he’s used to it, and having the kids with him is always enough for him.

Huey continues to make a name for himself in the Junior Woodchucks (i.e. robotics champion four years running) but he never really gets the chance to light the fire under his curiosity and love of knowledge. He learns as much as he can but it’s only as much as he’s ever been told he can. He learns within the boundaries of school and the Junior Woodchucks and that’s kind of enough for him because he never considers how much he could learn beyond the boundaries of how things have always worked. 

Dewey is as desperate to be famous and appreciated as he always is, and Dewey DewNight is most certainly still a thing, but it’s even less viewed and interesting than it is in canon. He’s not letting himself get disheartened but he looks at the way Donald lives on a boat and can’t hold a job and wonders if that’s what he’s gonna be someday. If despite all of his efforts and aspirations he’s going to end up falling at every turn and there’ll just be nothing he can dew about it. He doesn’t let it weigh him down too much but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t keep him up at night sometimes.

Louie is actually doing amazing. He’s living his best life. He’s lazy and scheme-y, still doing things like plotting that venture to Cape Suzette we see in that first episode, but he never has to wonder about his usefulness or place in the family, cause it’s just him, Dewey, and Huey, along with Donald. Donald is unemployed half the time, Huey is gonna be some big genius scientist guy sure, and maybe Dewey’s gonna get big someday but right now they’re just kids, and there’s absolutely nothing that makes Louie feel like that’s not enough. He doesn’t do as much here, there’s not any schemes that will make him rich or any Louie Inc, but the seeds of those ideas are still in his soul somewhere, he’ll find them when he needs them he’s pretty sure.

And that’s all the characters that I can think of to get into off the top of my head. I really just did this for fun so I don’t know if I’ll ever be doing anything else with it but these are all the ideas I got. Feel free to ask me about them or anything I’m just havin fun with it.

[romantichopelessly]

Roman’s List

Synopsis: This is 100% romangst, based on a single line from this latest video. That’s it. I do not apologize. I did not edit this. Goodbye.

Word Count: 1543

----

When Roman wrote, prose flowed from his mind like water from a tap. Steady most of the time and of questionable quality depending on the day, but flow it did. Verses came to Roman as easily as breathing. If one had occasional asthma, that was. Roman could pull out rhymes like so many dimes from his silver-lined pockets, even though his go-to metallic was gold.

Roman was a writer. Roman was a creative.

As such, Roman’s room was filled to the brim with notebooks. Notebooks filled with scribbles and ideas, sketches and poetry that never saw the light of day and love letter after love letter after diary entry. Notebooks that were as empty and clean as the day that he acquired them. Primed and ready to use in whatever way the prince saw fit, if he ever found the perfect use for a cherry red journal with a golden leaf pattern winding the cover.

However, there was one notebook that was not like the others. This notebook--plain and black, with a bound leather spine and a white satin built in bookmark--spent most of its time in the small crevice on the back of the prince’s mirror.

It was a difficult place to keep a journal, especially when Roman found something to put in said journal at least once a day, meaning that his poor innocent mirror was being moved far too often to excuse the elaborate hiding spot.

The journal contained a list. Roman, as a creative, was not one for making itemized lists. Really, that was more of Logan’s thing. However, this specific list had been ongoing for years now. If the notebook that the list filled was not imaginary, Roman would probably be on his third or fourth notebook.

Roman had started this list when Thomas was in his late highschool years. About the time that he was deciding what to do with his future, to be exact. The first entry was simple. A bullet point and a mistake. The first documented of many.

I lost us the lead in the school play. Thomas has decided to major in chemistry.

It wasn’t much, at the time. Roman didn’t even truly remember what it was that made him write down what was then seen as a colossal failure on his part. One minute he had been disappointed by Thomas’s decision to give up on his acting dreams, and the next he was huddled on the floor of his room, his reflection staring back at him from an awkward angle in his mirror, his breath coming in short gasps and chastisements running through his mind on a loop. Failure, failure, failure, failure, failure, failure--

When Roman came back from his spiral, his bright red glitter gel pen was already in his hands, and the words were already scripting themselves across the page of the notebook he hadn’t remembered reaching for. It was only when the mistake was written down that Roman felt the weight--or at least a very small part of it--release from his chest.

And there was the first on the list of Roman’s mistakes. Written neatly for future reference, to be looked back upon so that he would never ever fail Thomas in such a way again.

Of course, everyone knew that that was not the last time that Roman would let Thomas down.

The list grew slowly at first. Roman was still confident in his ability to be the perfect creativity for Thomas. He brought ideas whenever Thomas needed them. He encouraged Thomas’s passions, even though they were no longer a part of his career path. He pushed for Thomas to pursue his dreams in between engineering classes and organic chemistry papers, and for Thomas to pursue cute boys.

The only times the notebook was pulled out and Roman’s list grew longer was when the pursuit of dreams interfered a bit too much with Thomas’s work.

He never wanted to hurt Logan. Honest.

The notebook and the list was almost forgotten when Thomas finally gave up on chemical engineering and decided to become an actor. By the time Vine came around, Roman felt practically unbeatable. Sure, every once in a while he would do something that garnered the need of the notebook and its list, but more often than not, Roman was unstoppable.

He considered getting rid of the list.

On July 15, 2017, Roman’s list of mistakes nearly doubled in size.

After Virgil had revealed his name and Roman had apologized for making the anxious nelly feel so unwelcome as a part of Thomas, everything suddenly became a lot more clear.

He had been making mistakes for so long without even knowing it.

Every harsh name that Roman had ever aimed at Virgil was added to the list. All the times that Roman mocked his very real worries and sent Thomas out unprepared into the world were added to the list. Each time that he shot Virgil a look that made the anxious side flinch away--as if Roman were the villain, and goodness gracious Zeus above, if Virgil wasn’t the villain in those situations, perhaps he was--were added to the list. All the times that Roman doubted Patton’s judgement about his “shadowling” were added to the list. Entire years of Roman’s life were added to the list, because hurting Virgil was hurting Thomas, because like it or not Virgil did not, in fact, set out to hurt Thomas, and how could Roman have been so stupid to not realize that--

After that, Roman decided that he needed to be more cautious.

He needed to check himself. The list was kept for a reason. So that he could stop failing Thomas. He decided that he would be more open minded. He couldn’t chance hurting Thomas like he had with Virgil ever again.

So when Deceit revealed himself to Thomas, that was how Roman approached the situation.

Even with the list in mind, Roman still made mistakes. He got defensive around Deceit, modeling after Patton, and every night afterwards, Roman would add those names to the list. It was like Virgil all over again. Sure, it wasn’t obvious now that Deceit was another knight in shining armor for Thomas, but Roman had been wrong before. He had been wrong too many times to count now. He couldn’t take that chance again.

When the callback came up, even Roman’s list couldn’t advise him.

Deceit wanted to go to the callback. Patton was saying that that was wrong. Roman had never before made a mistake when agreeing with Patton. Patton was almost always right. He knew what was good for Thomas. On the other hand, shutting out Deceit was almost exactly like the previous mistakes that Roman had made in regards to Virgil.

And on the third pretend-it-doesn’t-exist hand, Roman desperately wanted to go to the callback.

He wanted it more than he had wanted anything in quite a long time. And Roman was a selfish creature. Selfishness had appeared in his list on more than one occasion.

So Roman did what he thought was best--not what he wanted, no, never what he wanted, the stakes were too large to risk yet another failure against Thomas--and Roman listened to Patton. He sentenced Thomas to the wedding.

A mistake was not added to the list that night. He had finally done something right.

Then along came the day of the wedding, and Thomas was hurting. Roman didn’t quite know how--of course he didn’t, he was too stupid to figure it out--but he knew that this was his fault.

Patton tried to make light of it. Good, caring Patton tried to fix Roman’s mess, and ungrateful Roman just kept messing it up.

Everything tumbled downhill after that. Roman’s progress was Humpty-Dumpty, and his fall came in the form of aggressive overcorrection of his actions and a nervous laugh at an admittedly funny name.

And a nail in the coffin.

A confirmation that this failure was the final nail in the coffin.

“I thought I was your hero?”

A shake of a head.

Roman sunk out to his room and shoved his mirror off of his wall without a thought to the fragile glass it was made of. He pulled out the notebook with shaking fingers and grabbed a pen off his desk with a complete lack of care.

CHOOSING THE WEDDING.

Listening to Dec Janus.

Not listening to Janus.

Skipping Logan.

Not watching out for Thomas

Laughing at his name.

Item after item was added to the list. The pages of the notebook crumpled under his careless hand as he gripped the pages with an intensity that he didn’t even know how to feel. The pages were wet, his tears hitting the pages and drying in rough patches on the paper.

He didn’t even know himself what the real mistakes were. He wrote them all down for good measure.

By the time that Roman ran out of energy, the list was almost incomprehensible. Words scratched out and doubled over, not following the lines of the notebook and in atrocious handwriting.

But it would have to do. Because Roman couldn’t afford any more mistakes. This list could not afford to get any longer than it already was. He couldn’t fail Thomas this catastrophically ever again.

[chipper9906]

If The World Was Ending

Pairings: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 7,888

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary: 

“So,” Dean gets out once he slams his glass back down on the table. “Last night on earth. Any plans?”

Castiel smiled fondly at the familiar words, tracing random designs on the side of his glass with his fingertip. “This one right here. If I only have a short time left here before… I like quiet moments like these. With you. Whatever time is left, I’d like to share it with you. If you’ll have me.”

They both liked to play this game. Throwing out words that could have entirely different meanings. Nervous looks exchanged between the two of them, wondering if the other is going to take up the offer that’s hidden, no, intertwined within words that are balancing on the line between “brothers” or “lovers”.

* * *

Inspired by the song "If The World Was Ending" by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels. Castiel and Dean share a moment in the bunkers kitchen, in which Castiel reveals something he's been hiding from the brothers.

‘But if the world was ending,

You’d come over, right?

You’d come over and you’d stay the night,

Would you love me for the hell of it?

All out fears would be irrelevant,

If the world was ending,

You’d come over, right?

The sky’d be falling and I’d hold you tight,

No, there wouldn’t be a reason why,

We would even have to say goodbye’

  - ‘If The World Was Ending’ by JP Saxe and Julia Michaels

* * *

The world was ending.

It was strange that such a thought didn’t instill Dean with an urgent sense of panic. At this point, it was a common occurrence in their lives. Some incident that could potentially wipe out most if not all life on Earth. Lucifer rising, the apocalypse, hunting down God’s first creations -which would happily eat the world, talking down Amara from plunging the world into darkness. Now…this; God. It seems… unfathomable. It’s not just the world ending, it’s all of them. Every version of Earth to have ever existed, every possible universe out there, an infinite amount of Sam and Dean’s… and God – or, Chuck – personally had it out for them.

They were ‘his favorite show’. Their entire lives, all of the lives of the other Sam’s and Dean’s - they were just Chuck’s playthings. A source of entertainment to keep him happy when he got bored of playing the father of creation. He and Sam… they had always tried to do what’s right. And sure, it didn’t always work out that way. More often than not, such catastrophic events would both be directly and indirectly caused by them in one way or another, usually in some desperate bid to save the other.  It’s a guilt that hangs over Dean’s head every day of his life – and he’s sure it does for Sam, too. But no matter what, they would do all they could to fix it. Now, he just thinks ‘what was the point?’ The whole time, through every struggle, every heartbreak, Chuck had been sat back with his feet up, probably a goddamn bucket of butter popcorn in his lap whilst he watched their misery, and he didn’t do a thing.

He’s God. He could have stepped in whenever, snapped his fingers, and fixed the world's problems. But no. Instead, he hid behind this ‘tired father’ façade, crafting a story about how it was best to stand back and let humanity figure itself out. It’s all bullshit. He wasn’t tired, he was bored. His playthings had lost their appeal when there wasn’t any evil in the world to challenge them, so he threw every shitty situation he could their way and watched it unfold. But now he’s bored of that, too. They weren’t following Chuck’s script anymore, and so their usefulness has come to an end.

Dean doesn’t know how far away the end is. It’s coming, he knows that. It’s not that he wants to follow Chuck’s script, but it feels like every move he makes, every action he thinks is rebelling from the plan set out for him only proves to be exactly what Chuck wants him to do. Hell, maybe there’s a script sat somewhere on whatever computer Chuck uses to write on now, flipped open to reveal a page where Dean is sat right where he is right now, hunched over the kitchen table with a glass of whiskey in hand and a half-empty bottle of whiskey opposite being his only company. Though, he’s sure it won’t be half-empty for much longer. It’s not like he has to care about liver failure anymore, right?

Soft footsteps pad down the bunker’s hallway, the muted sound bouncing off the walls and echoing down to the kitchen. Dean glances down to the black-coated watch sat snugly on his wrist, the two hands pointing to 2:34 AM. There was no way Sam would be up at this hour- unless he had gotten significantly better at quietening his deafening footsteps. Dean’s first guess was Jack. It wouldn’t surprise him if the kid was sneaking out of his room at early ass o’clock to down some of that cereal that Sam doesn’t want him eating (which is funny, since it’s always Sam who throws the box in their cart whenever they take a trip to the store.)

Dean catches a figure at the doorway out of the corner of his eye, only partly illuminated by the buzzing kitchen lights that spilled out into the dark hallways. Dean’s guess is proven wrong as his eyes land on a familiar tan trench coat, solemn eyes flicking up from the whiskey bottle to meet Castiel’s disheartened face.

“Good of you to join the party.” Dean rumbled, vaguely gesturing at the seat opposite the table for Cas to sit in.

“It’s late.” Castiel stated the obvious, not moving from the entrance of the kitchen. “Or, early, I suppose is more accurate.”

Dean hummed low in his throat in acknowledgment, tipping his nearly finished glass back and draining the last of its contents. Castiel’s eyes followed the movement of his hands as Dean let his glass drop back down to the table, pulling the whiskey bottle closer with his other hand and pouring himself a fresh glass. Castiel’s sigh was barely audible, but Dean could still pick it up. He was pretty good at stuff like that with Cas. Castiel shuffled closer to the table, gently lowering himself down into the seat Dean had offered like an old man with stiff bones would. Which, technically, Dean guessed he was. Cas was, what, a few billion years old? Explains why he treats Dean like a little kid sometimes. From his perspective, that’s probably what Dean is.

“Want some?” Dean offered, shaking the bottle in Castiel’s direction.  

Castiel hesitated for a moment, the word ‘no’ already forming on his tongue when he instead reached out a hand and took the bottle from Dean. Castiel pushed himself out of the chair, making his way over to one of the cabinets in the corner of the kitchen. Dean fixated on a random spot on Castiel’s back, listening to the clinking of glass and dishware as Castiel searched through the cabinet. He re-appeared back in the chair a few seconds later, an identical tumbler to Dean’s in his hand. Cas was quick to pour himself his own drink, sliding the bottle across the table back to Dean once he was finished. Cas was practically mirrored with Dean, slumped over the table as he nursed his own glass of whiskey, taking the occasional sip as the two sat in companionable silence.

It was deathly quiet. In some sort of typical drama movie, they’d hear the irritating ticking of a clock from somewhere within the bunker. There wasn’t even that. Well, if Dean strained his hearing enough, he might be able to hear the hands in his watch move with each passing second. Cas probably could – scratch that, definitely could. Dean’s not entirely sure how hearing all those little sounds doesn’t drive Cas crazy, but then again, Cas has probably had to deal with countless desperate prayers before. He’s probably learned to filter it out by now.

Dean shook his head sadly, the minute movement catching Castiel’s attention. “Aren’t you tired of this, Cas?”

“Of what?” Castiel’s voice grated out.

“Everything.” Dean responded, tapping a random rhythm against the side of his glass with his pointer finger. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, man. This half-baked plan where we juice Jack up and just… just fucking throw him at Chuck. I can’t keep pretending like I believe it’s going to work. That it’s all going to be okay.”

“Of course I am. Dean, I’m very tired.” Cas even sounded it. “And it probably won’t ‘all be okay’.”

Castiel’s honesty caught Dean off guard. Dean’s eyes met Cas’s briefly, finding nothing but the honesty his voice had displayed. Dean’s eyes dropped back down to his glass, letting out a breathy sigh before taking another sip of whiskey.

“ ‘S weird hearing you say that.” Dean said once the burn of the liquor subsided.

“Sorry,” The corner of Castiel’s lips barely hitched as he apologized. “I’m just having trouble picture a scenario where we win and come out completely unscathed.”

Dean nearly snorted into his drink. “Yeah, you can say that again.”

A thought crossed Dean’s mind, though it’s one that he had frequently thought of recently. He had been about to take another sip, the glass of whiskey raised to his lips as the thought passed over his mind. He placed the whiskey back down as he asked Castiel what was on his mind. “How are you okay with all this, Cas? I mean me, I… I’ll admit, I haven’t always treated the kid right. Even knowing what he did to… to mom, everything else, even what I nearly did to him, yet none of this sits right with me. You though… every step of the way, ever since Jack talked to you in Kelly’s freakin’ womb, you’ve done everything you can to keep him alive.”

“I don’t have much of a say in the matter.” It sounded like it pained Castiel to say that. “I don’t have much hope for us defeating God. If there’s anyone that has even a small chance, any being that might be able to take him down… Jack’s the only option we have.”

Dean smiled sadly at Castiel across the table. “Man… if five years ago you told me someday our only hope against God would be the devil's kid, then…” Dean paused for a moment. “Actually, I probably would believe it. Maybe ten years ago I wouldn’t.”

“And what if I had told you that we had the son of Lucifer living with us?” Castiel’s lips had curled into a subtle smile.

“I’d probably have to trap you in a ring of holy fire and check you haven’t gone crazy again.” Dean joked. “If you had also told me that I had come to care for the kid and seen him as one of our own, I would probably just have to stab you on principle.”

Castiel’s subtle smile had turned all soft and warm, which is kind of odd considering Dean was talking about stabbing him; but then when Dean remembered the way they met, it’s not all that weird.

“It’s been a strange journey, hasn’t it?” Castiel asked.

Dean chuckled dryly. “Bet you never thought you’d fall quite so far from grace, huh? One second you’re a soldier of God parading around a bunch of white hallways, and the next you’re sat in a dingy kitchen in a hidden bunker, sharing a glass of whiskey with me.”

“It’s certainly not something I would have envisioned back then.” Castiel admitted. “But I wouldn’t swap what I have now to get that back. There’s nowhere else I want to be than right here.  Perhaps under better circumstances, and perhaps with a little less weight on our shoulders.”

“Yeah, well – we probably wouldn’t be here if that was the case, would we?”

“No. No, I suppose not.”

Dean hesitated as he looked to the defeated expression plastered on Castiel’s face, something almost akin to disappointment hiding behind hazy blue eyes as they stared down drearily at the worn wooden table. This happened a lot with them. Words he wants to say, impulsive thoughts that make it to the tip of his tongue. And every time, they get pushed back. Second thoughts, fears of pushing things too far and changing things that he’s not ready for, and then the words never make their way out. Too many times where he’s lost Cas, always certain that ‘this time, it’s it. No more do-overs.’ He’ll agonize over the ‘what-if’s’, of all he wanted to say to Cas, but never could. And every time that realization will set in that he’ll never get to say those words to him, because he was too much of a coward. Because it was easier to stay as what they were, because he couldn’t handle the change. He’ll think about all the things he would say if he were still alive, and when Cas finds his way back to them to him, he chickens out once more. It’s a vicious cycle he wishes he could break.

“I hope you know it’s the same for me too, Cas.”

There. He got them out. Cas glanced up from the table at him, eyebrows furrowing until they were slanted towards the center. “What’s the same?”

“I mean…” Dean nearly choked on his words, filtering his mind so that what he said wasn’t too embarrassing. “This is where I want to be. I know I don’t say it enough to you, Cas. In fact, most of what I say is… it’s shit I don’t mean. Not really. I let my anger take over, and sometimes it takes me a while to see things how they really are.”

“I know, Dean.” Castiel interrupted gently. “You don’t have to tell me it again. I won’t forget that prayer.”

Dean coughed awkwardly, taking another sip of his whiskey to hide the flush he could feel creeping up his neck onto his face. “Good. I just… I don’t want you to think we don’t want you here.” We. We, We, We. Why cant he say it? ‘I.’ ‘I want you here. I need you here.’ “I don’t want to think about losing you again, Cas. When Jack was born and we lost you, I… They weren’t fun times, Cas. I couldn’t cope then, and if it happened again… it would break me, Cas.”

“You’ll find a way.” Castiels word dredged up an awful lump in his chest. Something about what he said just not sitting right. “You and Sam managed without me before. You’ll find a way to move on.”

“What?” Dean spluttered, straightening up from his slanted position. “Cas, what the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m just… being realistic.” Cas said, taking a moment to settle on his words. “There’s a chance we may not win this fight at all, and there’s an even greater chance that some of us aren’t going to make it out. I know it’s not really something in any of our control, but if it comes down to it, I’m ready for the end, Dean. All I had to live for was my mission. To watch over humanity. I’m still trying to uphold that mission. But you need to remember that I was given another mission, once - To save Dean Winchester. I’m still trying to do that. I’ll never stop trying to do that, Dean.”

“Then we have a problem, Cas.” Dean told him calmly. “Because I’m sure as hell not letting you throw yourself in the firing line again. Not for me. And you can bet damn sure that I’m throwing myself in the way if I see you try and pull that shit.”

“Dean-,”

“No, Cas.” Dean said sharply. “I can’t do it anymore. I’m not losing you… not again.”

Castiel’s jaw shifted ever so subtly, a shiny sheen to his eyes that Dean isn’t used to seeing. Dean was doing his best to catch Castiel’s eyes, but they were fixated on the glass in his hands. Castiel’s grip was so tight that his knuckles had begun to turn a milky white, and Dean wondered how close the glass was to shattering. Yet, Castiel didn’t seem angry. This was something else, and there was nothing Dean could do but wait for Castiel to say something.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

There it was. The world ending? Dean didn’t panic. Just those few words from Cas? It was like someone had poured ice-cold water over him, nothing but dread sinking down and spreading to every inch of his body. Those words never meant anything good. Dean let the silence between them stretch on for a moment more, knocking his drink back and swallowing down every last drop. It still wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough alcohol in this bunker, hell, there wasn’t enough in all of existence that would numb what was about to come.

“Tell me.”

Dean didn’t mean to bark the words as sharply as he did, but it was enough for Castiel to shrink in on himself and for a muscle under his eye to twitch as he cringed away from Dean’s harsh tone. “I didn’t want to worry you or Sam. We had a lot to deal with at the time, and things just kept getting worse after that. There never seemed to be a good time to tell you.”

‘At the time…’ Those were the keywords Dean picked out. This meant that whatever it was, Cas had been keeping it a secret for a while. At least, enough time to warrant those words. Dean didn’t say anything in response, waiting quietly for Castiel to continue.

“I thought it would be a kindness to hide it from you. Maybe it would make it easier… Now, I’m not too sure.”

“Cas.” Dean said as calmly as he could, considering the situation. “What did you do?”

“I made a deal.”

Dean closed his eyes, an odd mixture of a sigh and a groan escaping his throat. He tilted his head back until his neck couldn’t crane back any further. “What kind of deal?”

“To save Jack.” Of course. Of course, he would. “I did find Jack in heaven. I didn’t lie about that. Except… the Empty didn’t agree with the decision of Jack’s placement. It believed that, since Jack was part angel, he belongs to the Empty.”

“Couldn’t, y’know, the angels stop it?”

“No.” Castiel stated sadly. “Dean, there aren’t many angels left. I saw to that myself. We as a species are near extinction. I doubt the last few alive would be willing to risk their lives, to risk heavens destruction, to keep a Nephilim up there with them.”

“…Why would it risk heaven?”

“Heaven cannot exist without angels, Dean. We as beings are made from divine energy. We serve as Heaven’s batteries. Without us… it can no longer function. The destruction it would wreak on Earth would be catastrophic. Billions of souls would be cast back out to Earth with no way back. If that were to happen, the reapers may just have to place souls in the Empty anyway.”

“Alright…” Dean said tiredly, trying to massage away a throbbing headache he could feel building, rubbing across the pressure underneath his forehead.

“I couldn’t let that happen, Dean. I couldn’t let Jack be taken like that. So I offered myself to it, instead.”

If Dean clenched his jaw any tighter, he would probably crack a few of his teeth. But it was all he could do to stop himself from punching his fist through the wooden table, so it would have to do. “How long?” Dean croaked out, opening his eyes and feeling the harsh burn of tears building, fighting to speak past the lump that had appeared in his throat.

“I don’t know.” Castiel’s answer sent a new wave of iciness down Dean’s back. “It didn’t want me right away. The deal was… it said it would only take me once I allowed myself to feel happy. I don’t know what it means by that, but that’s when it said it would take me. So truthfully Dean, I don’t know.”

Dean didn’t say anything. Not that there’s really anything to say. At least, nothing that isn't a slew of curses and hate-filled words towards the universe. He’s already fighting against the impulse to take the glass in his hands and throw it against the concrete walls of the bunker as hard as he could and listen to it shatter into a million pieces. Just as the anger inside of him feels like it’s about to simmer over, it all seems to drain out of him as quickly as it had come.

Things are different now. It feels like there’s no time for anger. Especially not towards Cas, and especially not now. Something mystic was looming over Castiel, ticking away his seconds until it snatches him away. Only when Castiel finds himself out of the misery Chuck had forced upon them will the Empty take Cas away from him.

It wasn’t fair.

It wasn’t fair, and it’s not even him it’s happening to. How selfish is he for that? Cas is the one that should be moping. Cas is the one who has more than one powerful being planning his demise, and all Dean can think about is how this is going to affect him. Because it will. It will absolutely destroy him, just as it did before.

“We’ll find a way.” Dean croaked out. “We’ll get you out of this, Cas. We always do.”

“No, Dean.” Castiel shook his head woefully. “This isn’t something you can fix. Please, Dean. If… when it comes, don’t try and stop it. You can't fight the Empty.”

“You know I can't do that, Cas.”

“You’ll have to.” Castiel’s tone left no room for arguments. Not that it would stop Dean from trying. “Dean, the Empty isn’t something you can fight.”

“Me and Sam said the same thing about demons over ten years ago.” Dean pointed out firmly. “We found a way, didn’t we? Every being has its weakness, we just gotta find it.”

“Not this. Not the Empty. It’s… it’s not even in existence, really. Something that sits in between. The Empty was here before God, before Amara, before… everything.”

“How is that possible?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”

“So what’s it been doing all this time?”

“Sleeping.” Castiel answered.

“What?”

“It does just as every other being in the Empty does – sleep for eternity.”

“Okay…” Dean said slowly. “Okay, then… why is it awake now?”

“Jack.” Castiel responded. “After Lucifer stabbed me through my heart, it was just… blackness. Nothingness. Then I heard Jack calling my name, and when I awoke, I was surrounded by it. Jack hadn’t just woken up me, but the Empty too. And the Empty does not like being awake.”

“Jack woke it up, then?”

“Not purposefully. At least, I don’t think so. All I know is that the Empty could not return to sleep whilst I was awake. After I… proved I was not going to lay down and fall back asleep, the Empty decided the best course of action would be to throw me back out. I think the Empty may have held a grudge against me after that. It certainly wasn’t happy to see me again when I was searching for Ruby.”

Dean sighed heavily at the reminder of that day. “That was a stupid fucking risk you took, Cas.”

“I did what I had to.” Castiel defended himself.

“And what if the Empty decided to take you early, huh? What then?”

Castiel went suspiciously quiet after Dean said this, dropping his gaze back down to the whiskey bottle. Dean gave him a few seconds to pick at the corner of the label on the bottle before his patience ran thin.

“Cas?”

“It tried.” Castiel let his eyelids flutter shut as he answered. Perhaps to block out Dean’s reaction to his answer. “It seems that whilst Jack was in the Empty, a discussion was had between Jack, the Empty and Billy – or, I suppose Death now. From what the Empty and Billy know; you, Jack, and Sam are needed to help bring down Chuck and keep the universe functioning. Apparently… I am not needed in that regard. I am not a part of the plan, so… the Empty didn’t see any harm in keeping me there.”

“Jesus, Cas.” Dean cursed sharply. “If we hadn’t got back when we did - if Jack hadn’t returned your grace to you when he did…”

“It was fortunate timing.”

Dean knocked his glass out of the way with the back of his hand, letting it slide across the table until it bumped against the wall. Dean leaned further forward against the table, his arms crossed underneath him as he stared directly into Cas’s eyes. “The Empty’s wrong. You are needed.”

“No, Dean. I’m not.”

“Yes, you damn are.” Dean stated resolutely. “If I’m needed for this plan, then I need you here with me, too. That’s just how it works, Cas. So don’t you dare tell me you’re not needed. Because I need you.”

Castiel could really give Sam a run for his money with his puppy-dog eyes, especially with those damn baby blues of his. They were way too effective in conversations like these- they usually sucked all the arguments Dean had formed right out of his head. If he wasn’t as strong of a man as he was, looking at them for more than five seconds would probably reduce him to a puddle on the floor. “I’m sorry for causing you this grievance, Dean. But I’m not sorry for making the deal. It was the only option I had at the time.”

“I know, Cas” Dean reached out a hand to pat Castiel’s arm. “I want to be pissed at you for it, but I can’t. Me and Sam have made more deals that upset the other than I can count… It just… it sucks.”

“Yes, it does indeed ‘suck’,” Castiel raised two fingers to put quotation marks over the word. It was enough to get Dean to snort quietly to himself, the sound eliciting a rare, soft smile from Cas; with crow’s feet crinkling at the corners of his eyes and all.

“You never change, Cas.” Dean murmured into the whiskey glass he held to his lips.

“I tried not to.” Castiel replied. “You told me not to, remember? If the person I turned out to be was enough to see you smile that day, I didn’t want to change into anyone else.”

It hurt Dean- knowing he might not hear Castiel say those words again. Such kind words that made his chest feel funny and light, something he hasn’t felt in… in a long, long time. Though now, peering at Cas over his glass, he wonders if that feeling has been there this whole time. Dean wouldn’t put it past himself… Something like that would quickly be filed into the “don’t touch with a ten feet pole” file in his brain… which, now he thinks about it, is filled with interactions with Cas. The first time he saw him smile, the first time his gravelly laughter caught him off guard… The memory of his arm thrown over Cas’ shoulder, the absolutely baffled look on his face as they walked out of that brothel. Even then, Cas had no clue what was going on, but he was smiling – because Dean was.

How about that fact that Cas was willing to lead those crazy toothed leviathan freaks on a never-ending goose chase just to keep him safe in purgatory? Or, the time Castiel gave up everything he knew to help a pair of idiot brothers stop the Apocalypse? Or, perhaps the time he gave up his entire army, all for him? Or how Cas never stopped to help Sam find a way to get the mark of Cain off his arm?

Those were just scratching the surface of the stack of files stores safely away in his mind… When it comes down to it, Castiel has been there. Even when it’s led him to more pain than seems worth it, Cas has stayed by his side. And now, to think in the miracle he, Sam, and Jack make it through all this bullshit, he might not have Castiel there anymore? It’s unthinkable, is what it is. But he’s thinking about it. It’s why he finds himself reaching for the amber bottle in front of him once more.

“So,” Dean gets out once he slams his glass back down on the table. “Last night on earth. Any plans?”

Castiel smiled fondly at the familiar words, tracing random designs on the side of his glass with his fingertip. “This one right here. If I only have a short time left here before… I like quiet moments like these. With you. Whatever time is left, I’d like to share it with you. If you’ll have me.”

They both liked to play this game. Throwing out words that could have entirely different meanings. Nervous looks exchanged between the two of them, wondering if the other is going to take up the offer that’s hidden, no, intertwined within words that are balancing on the line between “brothers” or “lovers”.

Well, you know what? He doesn’t know how much time he has left with Cas.

The world was ending.

He’s gonna make the most of it, dammit.

Dean turned over his glass, already well aware he’s going to be cleaning off the ring of whiskey from the rim of the glass that’ll be stuck to the table. “I don’t know about you Cas, but I think I’m about ready to settle down for the night.”

 Castiel’s eyes followed him curiously as Dean stood from the table, kicking the stool back into its place and patting Castiel’s shoulder for good measure as he makes his way around the table. Castiel has to crane his neck to follow him, eventually having to twist his body around as he watches Dean make his way to the doorway to the kitchen. Dean stops as his foot hits the top stair leading into the hallway, casting Castiel an inquisitive look over his shoulder.

“I said I’m heading in for the night.” Dean repeated, that overwhelming fondness threatening to burst through his chest at the inquiring head tilt Cas gives him in response. “You coming, or what?”

Watching the change of expression on Cas’s face was always something to behold to Dean. Usually such small changes, but at this point, Dean could read Cas like a book. This time? He’s not too sure. The curious look dissolves away, eyebrows straightening back from their furrowed position. He recognizes the wide-eyed look though- that’s the tell-tale sign that Castiel is feeling nervous. He doesn’t know what for, though. Well, maybe he does know why Cas is feeling nervous, if the pounding in his chest has any say… Above all else though, Castiel has his warrior face on. The look before he goes into battle. The look that tries to hide what he’s really feeling, and Dean hopes that he can do something similar, because he’s not sure how much his face is going to give away before he’s ready to say. Maybe that’s a good thing…

Then, Castiel stands from the table. It’s agonizingly slow, the stool screeching as it’s pushed back against the concrete floor of the kitchen. Dean’s heart is in his throat as Castiel picks up the glasses and the whiskey bottle, wandering over to the kitchen sink and delicately placing the glasses inside. Dean didn’t think his mouth could get any drier, watching Cas as he cleans up and places the bottle back inside the cabinet Dean had got it from. He doesn’t know what to expect once Castiel is finished with these chores that, quite frankly, seem like they can wait. But when Castiel is coming at him – and fast- with that blank angel of the lord face, Dean briefly wonders if Cas is about to sucker punch him for the offer. Castiel doesn’t stop though. He crashes straight into Dean, the impact enough for Dean to stagger back a step. Castiel’s hands are wrapped tightly around his back, his fingers scrunched tightly in a death-grip around the back of Dean’s flannel shirt. Dean wraps his own arms around Cas, hands ready to do his usual friendly pat on the shoulder when he instead lets his fingers dig into Cas’s trench coat and pull him even closer. Castiel’s face is burrowed into the crook of his neck, warm breath fanning against Dean’s skin, with his eyes scrunched tight to fight back the tears Castiel can feel burning in the corners of his eyes, threatening to slip free at any moment. Dean let his head fall to rest at Castiel’s shoulder, his breath hitching as he takes in a smell that could only belong to Cas. That weird, otherworldly yet Earthly smell that somehow reminded him that Castiel wasn’t human, yet made Dean feel like he was home. Truthfully, Dean doesn’t know how long they stood there. What he can tell you, is that it wasn’t long enough. It’s never long enough.

“Come on…” Dean mumbled softly under his breath into Cas’s ear. He mourns the loss of Cas’s warmth wrapped around him the second Cas pulls away. Dean lets his hand trail down Cas’s arm as Cas releases him from their embrace, gently grabbing hold of Cas’s wrist and giving it a squeeze, tugging Castiel in the direction of his room. “Let’s go.”

Castiel lets Dean pull him down the hallway, guiding him towards Dean’s room as if Cas didn’t already know. It was more of a sign of permission, Dean thought. A gentle squeeze around Cas’s wrist to say “It’s okay. I want you here with me.” The many rich brown doors to the bunker slowly move across his vision as they amble through the dreary concrete hallways of the bunker, his fingers tightening their grip around Cas’s wrist with every step Dean gets closer to his room. His eyes dart to the side as he passes Sam’s room, and then Jacks. Another day, another situation, he would momentarily panic at the thought of either of them finding Cas in his room. Now? He couldn’t care less. Let them see him and Cas. Let them think what they’re going to think. Dean’s going to let himself be happy, just this once. And deep down he knows that they know Cas makes him happy - so they won’t care. They were all trying to find their little sources of happiness at the moment. That’s all there is, isn’t there? Especially in the lives they lead. When those rare moments pass, you’ve gotta hold on to them. And Dean sure as hell isn’t going to let Cas go until he’s ripped away from him.

The door to his bedroom never seemed so foreboding as it did right now. Dean only pauses for a split-second outside of his door before he gathers up the courage he needs and swings the door open. When he steps inside, he’s immediately met with resistance. Cas was standing as still as a statue, no longer giving in to Dean’s guiding tugs. His eyes were scanning the room like it was the first time he had truly laid eyes on it, and Dean could immediately spot the way his forehead had began to crease with worry. He gives Cas time to work through whatever it is that’s going through his mind right now, only raising a brow in question once Castiel’s searching gaze lands on him.

“Are you sure?” Castiel asks apprehensively. The second Dean starts to feel Cas trying to tug his wrist out of Dean’s grasp, Dean rubs his thumb softly over the surface of his skin. Cas hand immediately relaxes once more, a shudder running through his body as Dean’s thumb swipes across the pulse point on his wrist.

“You’ve gotta stop questioning this, Cas. Otherwise, you’re never gonna get through this door.” Dean replies with a small, comforting smile. “See, this is your problem, Cas. You don’t have faith.”

It doesn’t get the laugh out of Cas like he wanted, but it does at least get him a curl of the lips as the tension that Castiel was holding melted away. Castiel follows willingly now, stepping through the doorframe and into the room. Dean nudges the door closed with his free hand, and just like that, the world outside the door ceased to exist. This was all he knew to be real, right now: The guns hanging on his wall, the picture of him and mom sat atop his desk next to the typewriter, his collection of classic records, the much too comfortable memory foam mattress of his bed. The only irregularity in the room was Cas, stood in front of him with that searching gaze of his, and suddenly everything seemed like it was going to be okay. Because he has Cas, he’s right here. Because surely so long as he keeps a hold on him, nothing can ever take him away.

Right?

Dean sits down on the edge of his bed with a heavy sigh, wincing as he pulled his boots off his sore feet and throwing them somewhere out of sight. He pushed himself further up the bed until his back hits the headboard, twisting around to grab the pillow behind him and place it behind his back. When he turns back to face the front, he has to stifle a bark of laughter at the sight of Cas sat uneasily on the chair by his desk, turned to face Dean with his hands in his lap.

“Cas… What are you doing?”

“I assumed you had invited me in to watch over you.” Castiel replied like the answer was obvious.

Dean did snort this time. “No, you dumbass.” Dean insulted him fondly, patting at the empty space he had left next to him on the bed. “Your space is here.”

A look of what could only be described as “Oh” passed briefly over Castiel’s face as his eyes darted between Dean and the spot he was gesturing to. Castiel stood awkwardly from the chair, gingerly making his way across the room and lowering himself down onto Dean’s bed.

“Your mattress is much more comfortable than mine.” Castiel notes, placing a hand down on the mattress and pushing down to test its springiness.

“Memory Foam.” Dean answered proudly. “I got the only one in the bunker. I didn’t think the quality of a mattress bothered you anymore with your grace back?”

“I can still feel physical touches on my body, Dean. I may not need to sleep or eat, or the other often tedious human requirement, but I still enjoy some of them and are plenty capable.” Castiel said.

“Good.” Dean grunted, reaching out to his bedside cabinet and pulling out his trusty tape player. “That means you’re not gonna be a creep and watch me sleep tonight, right?”

“I can enjoy sleep.” Castiel said in answer. “But I enjoy making sure you’re safe more.”

“I’m safe, Cas.” Dean assured him, briefly turning from the cabinet to face Cas. “Let’s just… I don’t know, be like normal people for a night.”

“But… we aren’t.” Castiel’s voice was laced with confusion. “And I’m not even ‘people’.”

“You’re what you are.” Dean shrugged his shoulders. “And I wouldn’t want you any other way, Cas.”

Dean unplugged his bulky headphone from the player, grabbing the tangled-up earphones he had stuffed in the corner of his drawer. Castiel watches him amusedly as Dean meticulously untangles the mess of wires in his hands, occasionally having to hide his smile whenever Dean cursed in frustration under his breath. When he finally sorts the earphones out and plugs them into the player, he pops open the lid only to reveal there was no tape inside – either he had moved it to Baby or Sam, even possible Jack, had stolen borrowed it.

“Dammit,” Dean mutters, flipping the lid back closed and placing it back on the bedside table. “Give me a second Cas, I’ve gotta go get-“

Dean had begun to push himself up and off the bed when Castiel had placed a hand on his chest to stop him. Dean fell back onto the bed at Castiel’s gentle push, mouth open to ask Cas what he was doing. Castiel slid his other hand into the pocket of his trench coat, pulling out a tape of all things and holding it out to Dean, held between his index and middle finger. Dean’s eyes were immediately drawn to the white sticky tape placed on the side of the cassette; his own handwriting scribbled across in black sharpie.

‘Deans top 13 Zepp TRA XX’

“You know, you’re supposed to have this in your car, not your pocket.” Dean tells him as he takes the offered tape from Cas’s hands.

“I know.” Castiel replied, letting his hand drop back down to his lap. “I do keep it in the car when I’m listening to it. If not, I keep it on me.”

Dean shot Cas a confused frown as he pushed the tape into the slot. “Why?”

“So that I can have a little piece of you wherever I go.”

The cassette clicked and whirred as the tape began to spin inside the player. Dean held out the left earbud for Cas to take, waiting for Cas to pinch the small bud between his fingers before he popped the right earbud into his ear. The wire was a bit too short, meaning one jerk of the head and the earbud would probably pop out. Castiel solved the problem by scooching closer to Dean until his leg brushed up against Dean’s, the warmth from Dean’s skin tangible even through the thick layer of jeans covering him.

For a moment, all that came from the earbuds was a rough, distorted crackling sound. Then, the beautiful melody of ‘Thank You’ poured from the earbuds. Dean felt the muscles in his body relax as the familiar music surrounded him. It reminded him of long road trips with John in the Impala, when his dad would inevitably pop his Led Zeppelin tape into baby’s cassette player and drive for miles and miles, classic rock and baby’s purring engine as their soundtrack. Dean could almost hear the rhythmic tapping of John’s fingers against the worn leather of baby’s steering wheel, finding his own fingers tapping along with the music against his thigh.

Dean let his head fall back to the headboard, his eyelids drifting shut as the back of his head met the old and sturdy wood. Castiel peered at Dean from the side at the movement, smiling tenderly to himself at the sight of Dean so at peace. It was no surprise that this is where the tape picked up from - Castiel often rewound the tape to this song over and over again whenever he could take the time to sit down and listen to it.

Castiel’s gaze was drawn down to Dean’s tapping fingers – or, more specifically, his fingers that had now stilled. Dean’s hand twitched, and Castiel wondered for a moment if Dean had managed to fall asleep in the short amount of time they had been listening to the tape. Castiel takes a risk, reaching down hesitantly and letting his fingertips trail over the roughened skin of Dean’s hand. It’s not until he lets his fingers rest over the back of his hand that he feels Dean’s tense up under his touch – apparently, Dean had not fallen asleep. Castiel had already pulled his hand away, an apology on the tip of his tongue when Dean does the unexpected. He flips his hand over, palm facing up as it rested on his right leg. Castiel’s eyes flicker up to Dean’s face, but he still has his eyes shut – though, they aren’t screwed shut, which Castiel takes as a good sign. Dean didn’t look uncomfortable. In fact, he looked quite the opposite. It might have been the most relaxed he had ever seen Dean; apart from when he’s unconscious, but he isn’t too sure if that counts.

Timidly, Castiel places his hand back into Dean’s. Dean’s palm is warm and calloused from years of wielding weapons capable of taking down nearly every known creature, to years of running his hands over the well-loved steering wheel of the Impala. These were hunter's hands, and Castiel could barely believe he had the privilege to hold them in his own. Castiel’s breath hitched when he felt Dean’s fingers curl between his own, his thumb wrapping around the side of Cas’s palm and squeezing his hand tenderly.

The last of ‘Thank You’ faded away, soon to be replaced with ‘Rain Song’ - another particular favorite of Castiel’s (though truth be told, he loved all of them.) For a moment, he could almost pretend all of his problems no longer existed. He could pretend this was a different world, a different life. He wasn’t a disgraced angel of the lord that rebelled against God’s plan. He wasn’t the unexpected father who gave up the rest of his life so that their son could escape the Empty’s wrath. He was just… himself. He was Castiel, sat next to the one man who did what was supposed to be impossible; he made an angel feel.

Castiel didn’t know the words to use. He didn’t know if he could get them out, or if Dean would even listen to him. Dean was stubborn in that way, pretending that his death wouldn’t be coming so long as Castiel didn’t say his last goodbyes. He supposed it made it official when said out loud like that. The words ‘Thank You’ don’t seem good enough to explain his appreciation to Dean. Billions of years on this earth, and somehow this one man made twelve years of them the most important. All of this, the man he’s become, would never have happened if he hadn’t been chosen to dive into the depths of hell and rescue the gleaming soul that was falling asleep next to him.

He could still remember the flames. The burning. The screams of the innocent all around him. The stench of sulfur as he plummeted down. He lost many good soldiers that day, all willingly sacrificed for a mission they truly believed in. He hadn’t known, then. Of the effect Dean Winchester would have on his life. And yet, as he held a broken Dean to his chest, holding on so tight that he seared his handprint into Dean’s shoulder, he still yelled to the heavens in his joy.

Dean Winchester Is Saved

It had been a yell powerful enough to awaken a fallen angel. A yell that pierced through the minds of every angel, blocking out the multiple other voices on the angel radio with his own. It was the only message that mattered, at least in his own mind. Now, there aren’t many angels left. Soon, there will be one less. Again, he wants to scream to the heavens. He wants to shout to the universe of the wonderful man he has fallen completely and utterly in love with, he wants to yell to a caring God to please, protect him. Let him live the happy life he deserves.

But God isn’t listening. God doesn’t want good things for them.

So, he won’t think about all that. He’ll peel his trench coat from his arms and lay it over Dean’s slumbering form. He’ll pull off his suit jacket, neatly and carefully fold it so he doesn’t tug on the earphones, and place it on the foot of the bed. He’ll let himself sink into the memory foam mattress until it wraps itself around his body. He’ll let the corner of his lips lift when Dean’s head drops down to rest on his shoulder. He’ll rest his head against the top of Dean’s, and he’ll let his eyes droop, and he’ll let himself be pulled under into a gentle slumber with Dean’s hand still held securely in his own.

Because he doesn’t know if this is the last night they’ll ever get together. He doesn’t know if this is the end. If the world was ending.

He thinks he’s allowed to be selfish.

Just this once.