#good house machinery makes me feel accomplished

[sintiva]

is it crazy to ask for a vacuum for my 21st

[lizbethborden]

My boss is not detail-oriented and does not have a lot of interest in/respect for paperwork. He doesn't submit important forms on time and messes up processes for other people. We'll get reminders in a chain including both of us from our overboss about a bit of paperwork or housekeeping that needs to be done, and I'll be the one who responds and affirms the need and takes responsibility if it doesn't get done, even if he's the one who hasn't pulled his weight. He won't submit his expense reports on time, which gets the company card frozen, which means we can't get our transportation paid for; now I have to do the expense reports, for which I receive no credit/acknowledgment. I have to follow around behind him and submit those missing forms so that people can get their jobs done. I have to schedule reminders, send group messages, take notes at every meeting and make to-dos, submit tickets, follow up on tickets, emails, and messages from the team--oh, and also, he considers me "an extension of himself," meaning I also have to do hiring, sometimes totally solo with no formal training in our company's processes, issue disciplinary actions, manage issues with the schedule, and mediate between members of the team if they are having challenges.

He has some good instincts for sure. He's made some good choices. But I'm reminded of that observation that women tend to do the drudge work--the daily grind, the minutiae that keep the "house" going that are commensurately so, so much less fulfilling for being so small and for never being done done--whereas men tend to do bigger projects or once-a-week jobs that give them a sense of accomplishment, result in a visible change or improvement, and don't interfere with their day-to-day. When we had terrible staffing issues and he was physically working on the floor almost every day, then I understood why he seemed to struggle catching up with details and communicating information. Now we don't have that problem and I'm stuck wondering what he's doing all day, because it's not all the stuff that I'm doing, so I can't figure it out! The way he talks about and portrays himself seems to imply that he is nonstop grinding until the wee hours of the morning--quite literally I'll get emails at 3, 4 AM where he says "this is the only time I had to sit down today..." etc. Like, is that true, though? What have you been doing? I guess I should take the functioning machinery of the business as proof that whatever he's doing, on some level, it must be good; and I don't want to fall into the trap of assuming that because I don't "see" the work, it's not happening.

It all makes me feel frustrated, trapped, and lonely. Functionally, I'm a glorified secretary. I've already given myself a deadline for when I want to either be moving up or moving out from this job, but the day-to-day is so frustrating even knowing that I have an endgame.

[blessed1neha]

Marana Karaka Sthana

Marana Karaka Sthana is a house, According to a planet's placement in a horoscope, the contribution required of it in the Marana Karaka Sthana is in opposition to the planet's inherent characteristics. Due to this very paradox, the planet feels quite uneasy and would prefer to pass away than help with such household chores. For various planets, the Marana Karaka Sthana, or Death Signifying House(s), are as follows:

For Sun :12th H is Marana Karaka Sthana for Sun, as it is the king, and MKS for him is its placement in the 12th House of compromise and surrender. Because a king finds it extremely difficult to part with his realm, wealth, and other possessions.

For Moon : 8th H is Marana Karaka Sthana , When the Moon enters the eighth house of longevity/death, which represents the mind and the material world, he feels like passing away because these are the very things that make him uncomfortable.

For Mars : Marana Karaka Sthana is 7th H for Mars, When asked to contribute for romance, love, and sensuality, the planet of aggressiveness and war gets quite uneasy in the seventh harmonic.

For Mercury : Marana Karaka Sthana is 4th H/7th HMercury When told to stay at home in the fourth house, the planet of tangible accomplishments, work, play, and accomplishments becomes extremely unpleasant. Additionally, Mercury, a eunuch planet, becomes extremely uncomfortable with the scenario in 7th H when told to contribute for marriage and procreation.

For Jupiter : Marana Karaka Sthana is 3rd H When Jupiter, the planet of righteousness, world peace, and wisdom, is instructed to act aggressively and take up arms in the third House, he gets quite uneasy.

For Venus : Marana Karaka Sthana is 6th H Venus, the planet of love, sensuality, and passion, becomes quite uneasy in the sixth house of celibacy when asked to contribute as a celibate.

For Saturn : Marana Karaka Sthana is 1st HSaturn the significator of disease and sins when told to give good health and character to a person becomes very uncomfortable in 1st House.

For Rahu: Marana Karaka Sthana is 9th H

When asked to give to the righteousness (dharma), guru, and temple (religious location), etc., Rahu, the planet of deception, deceit, and irreligion, becomes quite uncomfortable with the labour. But regardless of the circumstance, everyone must fulfil their karma, just as every planet in a chart must.

As a result, the following significant events take place:

1. The planet's houses suffer greatly since the lord (owner) is unable to provide for and maintain its own home (s). He spends too much time at Marana Karaka Sthana at the job he despises (MKS).

2. The planet's Naisargik Karak Tatwa (Natural Significance), which is detrimental to the native, suffers. At some point in their lives, natives experience suffering comparable to Naisargik Karak. For instance, Mars is the Naisargik Karaka (Natural Significator) for a number of things, including younger brother, land and property, aggression, fire, initiative, engineering in general, police, security, and the military, as well as logic and rudimentary machinery. If Mars is in Marana Karaka Sthana (MKS), the native will eventually experience suffering in one or more of the areas.

3. A planet becomes extremely disturbed and continues to act and behave in accordance with his fundamental nature when he is imprisoned in a house he despises and is regularly told to perform something he loathes. As a result, the planet fundamentally behaves poorly for the home it is placed in, namely in MKS. Every planet therefore responds differently depending on its fundamental character. Mars, Saturn, Rahu, and Sun are examples of naturally bad planets (kroora grahas) that respond harshly. As a result, the seventh house of marriage and relationships, the first house of health, the ninth house of luck, the tenth house of dharma, the twelfth house of bed pleasures, and the twelveth house of dharma all suffer greatly. Natural benefics like as Venus, Jupiter, the Moon, and Mercury act somewhat kindly, but they all have negative effects on the house in which they are positioned.in MKS. Sun is the King and provides employment for everyone in society. The sun also bestows wealth (in the form of 12 Adityas he gives us everything). If Sun is in Marana Karaka Sthana (MKS) in Rashi or D-10, the local may not always have a job, riches, or boss because other variables may also be detrimental to these qualities. It may also result in a native losing a significant amount of fortune in the future.

[kevinszabojrplumbing]

Understanding Everything about the Need for Junk Removal Services

Junk removal firms can safely and efficiently dispose of your junk. A multitude of firms will effectively gather any useful products. This may consist of materials like steel springs and fibre stuffing. To create a brand-new mattress, these companies will join it with several other recovered mattresses. The majority of rubbish removal firms around work similarly.

Collecting all of your household waste, such as used furniture, dated documents, and other used items that are classified as waste, is known as rubbish removal. 

Ensure the firm provides the services described in the contract for the price. Watch out for businesses that can bill you extra for any extra services rendered throughout the removal procedure.

We all want to get rid of the accumulated rubbish in our homes, but it's not as simple as throwing it in the waste and taking it outside. A large amount of rubbish may require the professional assistance of a junk removal service to be removed, especially if it includes outdated furniture, doors, or other such items. It is normal for us to be persuaded to work with the company that charges the least; everyone wants to avoid incurring additional costs.

This is why rubbish removal professional thinks routine junk and waste pickup is more important than ever. Effective waste collection enhances the environment's health, making a living and working areas cleaner. For instance, office waste and yard waste may both be recycled. All you need to do is to get in touch with the right junk removal service so that you can enjoy living in a clean estate. 

Accurate disposal of recyclables

Do you wonder where your waste will end when tossed out? Determining what rubbish is recyclable in your location may be challenging. Because of this, hiring a company to handle your neighbourhood's waste disposal makes sense.

Complete Junk Removal

You can have a tonne of waste to get rid of. You will want the assistance of a professional waste removal company near me, for instance, if you have recently completed a DIY project or even a major makeover. You may rely on a company you engage in to remove waste from a certain location. They'll arrive at the time you've chosen.

Cash savings

Saving time equates to financial savings. Hiring junk removal services is important because business owners must keep their place settled and rubbish-free. The service providers keep the place well-managed and give you a peaceful mind to enjoy living. 

Environmentally Conscious

There are a few things to keep in mind while learning about recycling and when getting rid of rubbish. Products that are harmful to the environment are possible. As a result, you must ensure that they are appropriately disposed of. Junk removal in your neighbourhood might be good for the environment if you work with a reliable company.

This will guarantee that dangerous materials are distributed to the appropriate locations. They might also look through your waste to see whether anything can be recycled. Additionally, they might give these items to nearby charities, preventing trash from going to the landfill.

Very accomplished

Many of the vehicles have plywood sides and advertise low-cost junk removal services. The best thing about hiring experts is that they have the proper tools to help you. The tools can prove to be beneficial in generating quick results and also do not cause any harm to anyone. 

Saving important time

It can take much time when it comes to getting rid of junk. Hence you need to be very careful. Do not feel shy and ask as many questions as you can from the service provider to understand what services will be the right ones for you. Also, you can discuss the correct amount of budget that will be the best for you.

Conclusion

Junk removal services like Goodbye Junk are regularly in high demand. Therefore, you might be able to haggle for a considerably lower price if you wind up with a house full of waste. The basis for this will be the kind of machinery or objects you want the company to take away. As a consequence, you can decide to use these removal services. They provide a way to contribute to reducing pollution. They do this because they stop dangerous pollutants from harming the environment.

 Companies that recycle and remove rubbish are multiplying every day. The fact that most of these removal companies recycle is one of the wonderful things about the rubbish removal sector. In other words, you won't only help keep all of the energy and natural resources around. Additionally, you will aid in ecological restoration.

Guest Contributor: Charlie Krasl

[ledenews]

Fluharty Fights the Fight for All Northern Panhandle Residents

There’s too much “me” in Charleston and not enough “we,” Del. Shawn Fluharty insists. “And as a Democrat, I’ve never been a member of the majority party,” the lawmaker said. “But it’s different now, and it’s not the good kind of different.” Fluharty was first elected to one of two seats in House District 3 in Ohio County, but now he’s running for re-election in the newly formed District 5 thanks to the single-delegate redistricting. He was elevated to Minority Whip in January 2021 and served as minority chair of the Workforce Development Committee during the past year in Charleston. Although Fluharty is just one of 22 Democrat members of the House of Delegates, the delegate makes sure his opinions are heard during the chamber’s floor sessions. W.Va. Del. Shawn Fluharty “I have always believed that we should have the fight and let it be an open fight on the battlefield, and if you lose, you lose, and if you win, you win. But at least have a fair fight,” the lawmaker insisted. “But that’s not how the process has been recently. It’s much different than when I was first elected in 2014. “I think a lot of it has to do with national politics trickling down to the states and even to the local levels,” he said. “Things have changed, and that’s my number one problem with the way things are going down in Charleston right now. We’ve really lost the process, and I feel that’s why a lot of people have lost faith in government.” Fluharty gets heard, that’s for sure, and frequently he makes the local news. “The fight is simply doing what you feel is right for the people in your district and throughout the Northern Panhandle. That’s how I’ve looked at it on Day One. That’s why I’ve fought for things like medical cannabis even before it was politically popular to do so,” Fluharty recalled. “I remember people saying that we could never have medical cannabis here, and, well, here we are with medical cannabis. “Taking those difficult positions is part of the fight, and when you know what you are doing is what your constituents want you to do, you have no doubt,” he said. “You can win or lose an election as long as you can sleep well at night and still have your integrity. If that’s the case then I’m OK with it, but I’ll never shy away from fighting for the people in my district.” "Bluto" is a rescue from the Ohio County Animal Shelter and the incumbent has had him on the campaign trail the past couple of weeks. Good Ideas. Bad Ideas. An angle taken by leaders of the National Republican Party involves broad stroking all Democrats as spend-crazy liberals, but throughout Fluharty’s legislative career he has searched for revenue generators that would benefit not only the state’s coffers but also Mountain State residents.    Medical cannabis is one of them, and sports and iGaming are two more. One little-known effort of Fluharty’s involved Amendment II, one of four constitutional proposals that will appear on the ballot in West Virginia. Property Tax Modernization AmendmentTo amend the State Constitution by providing the Legislature with authority to exempt tangible machinery and equipment personal property directly used in business activity and tangible inventory personal property directly used in business activity and personal property tax on motor vehicles from ad valorem property taxation by general law. “Putting personal property taxes in there? That was my idea, that was my proposal, and that was my amendment on the House floor, and it passed 98-2, so, yes, I can get good things accomplished even though I am only one of 22 Democrats in the House,” Fluharty said. “I know there are a lot of people who are against it, and I know their arguments have merit, but they would not have been able to vote for or against it if my amendment was discarded because of my party. “In its original form, it included only the Business Inventory Tax, but now it involves the residents of West Virginia,” he said. “So, we’ll see what the voters say about the four amendments that’ll be our ballots.” Despite the pandemic, Fluharty remained active with local non-profit organizations. W.Va. Gov. Jim Justice, however, has campaigned against the constitutional change an approved Amendment II would allow because he is promoting the idea of a step-by-step elimination of West Virginia’s income tax. The governor, in fact, has informed residents that he believes lawmakers in Charleston have forgotten about the people in the Northern Panhandle and that GOP supermajority should not be trusted. While the governor’s criticism may be new for Mountain State Republicans, Fluharty has grown used to ignoring what he calls, “Justice’s games.” “Let’s just say I probably will not get a Christmas card from Jim, but that’s OK. I get plenty so it’s OK. I’ll survive,” Fluharty said with a broad grin. “Seriously, it depends on the issue as far as how I’m getting along with Gov. Justice, but there have been times when he has taken the time to listen and learn, and medical cannabis is one of those issues. “The governor has his views of the world, and I have mine. We agree on a few things and disagree on many things, but that’s politics. There’s nothing wrong with that,” the lawmaker said. “At the end of the day I’d still shake his hand and tell him good game, but it still depends on who won and who lost. That always matters, and that’s why I fight so hard for the people of my district.” Read the full article

[captaincravatthecapricious]

Things You Said When it was Over

Somewhere else, anger, a truce, and fight, and a happy ending

cw Jon's typical level of wanting to die but not actually wanting to die, fighting, mentions of vomit but no vomit, mentions of stabbing, mentions of stitches, losing time

Spoilers for 200

Let me know if you enjoyed!  Stop back in a week for another fic. I am accepting Things You Said prompt list prompts for Jon, Martin, and/or Tim!  I have two prompts in my inbox and both have been back written, but if you are wondering if I have ignored your prompt, chances are I have not!

Being unwound hurts.  Unwound.  Rewritten.  Removed.  Pulled and crumpled and twisted and extracted.  Spun in with a web of tapes.  

Masses of crinkling magnetic strips.  Unsure where voice, and web, and body, and blood intersect.  

Woven and ripped through that careful crevasse.  

And it hurts.  Much more than being stabbed.  With that awful scratch and skittering of strands being eaten by an eager, hungry machine.  

As time and entities and two people are chewed through and eaten with all the care of a faulty cassette player.  

It’s a shriek of static, the thrumming whine of machinery wound wrong.  The deafening scrabble of unknowable and terrible things going Elsewhere.  Loud enough that the explosion doesn’t even register.  Just a background whine to the overpowering white noise of the end of the world moving.  

And Jon wakes up.  

With a gasp.  Small.  And so painfully normal.  Like his POTS flaring up and waking up in the break room.  Again.  

That hasn’t happened since the world ended.  Since things went wrong.  

A strange thing to reminisce about.  POTS isn’t something he thought he’d miss.  And… well… he doesn’t?  Didn’t?  Doesn’t know the tense to use because there was that slim, slim chance that everything is actually okay.  The smallest, most fragile idea that things are back to that idyllic normal of the safehouse.  

He doesn't move for a while.  Focusing on breathing.  It's cold.  He isn't sure if the air is cold or if he's experiencing cold himself, or if this is just a new way of feeling pain.  He can't tell.  

His chest hurts, but he can't make himself check for blood.  Moving is still a little too beyond him.  

He wants to open his eyes, and look for Martin, but he doesn't want this to go away.  Because if he's alive, then Martin must be too, right?  Martin was much more likely to survive this.  Not being... you know, stabbed?  

But what if only Jon is somewhere else?  What if this is somewhere Martin couldn't follow?

In that case, Jon would rather not be alive at all.  If he doomed all the other universes because he couldn't go through with it in the end... if he gave it all up for Martin... he can't live with that.  He can't.  More than not wanting to, he just... Can't.  

Then again everything is... kind of numb so he can't actually be sure that Martin isn't there... but he is never that lucky.  Jon never gets the privilege of the best case scenario.  

Breathing still hurts.  But he doesn’t think it hurts in the “breathing around a knife” sort of way.  Then again, after bearing witness to the pain of Everyone on the planet, a single wound is hardly a drop in that ocean with all the other pain just Gone.  

“Jon!  Jon!  Can you hear me?”

He cracks his eyes open, and is met with the safe house ceiling.  Eyes struggling to focus, trying to find the source of the voice that certainly sounds like Martin, but Jon is too sore to move.  The force of it hitting him out of nowhere, without him even trying to lift a finger.  Senses filling the void of 7 billion people screaming with the voices of scars and joints and exhaustion and hunger.  

The best response he can manage is a wheezy groan.  

Wheezy?

Does he need his inhaler again?  Did Martin pack that even?  He hasn’t needed it… since… the world ended.  

Everything’s blurry.  Where did his glasses go?  

“Oh thank Christ!”  

Jon makes to sit up, but stars burst in his vision, and his arms give out.  

Martin’s hands fluttering around him.  Flying to his chest.  

Jon carefully reaches for his chest also.  There is a hole in his shirt.  Well.  A lot of holes, but he’s only looking for one.  

He feels tacky blood on its way to drying.  And as he carefully probes further, he finds a tidy line of stitches in slightly sticky thread, that he has a sinking suspicion is spider’s silk.  A final gift.  A thank you.  He wants to vomit.  

But Martin’s hand catches his, stopping him from potentially hurting himself.  Jon stretches his free hand to cup Martin’s cheek.  He finds it wet.  

It occurs to him that Martin has been crying.  Is crying?  Jon can’t tell.  His face is too far away to see more than the fuzzy outline.  (Not that Martin’s face is actually far away, Jon just has shit vision).  

Crying, present tense, Jon assesses, when Martin shakes with a suppressed, silenced sob.  “How could you do that Jon?  Fuck!  I mean… I knew you would.  But how could you do that?  You Lied to me.  You could have Died!  And I know you didn’t.  But Jon, I… I can’t.  You Promised me!  You Promised!  I…  How could you make me do that?  To you?  How could you?  I…  Jon, how could you?”  Martin’s crying too hard to get anything else out, and Jon still hasn’t managed to find enough breath and energy to speak.  

Jon whines.  Too exhausted to even sign.  

Martin’s hand on his chest.  Still trying to keep the blood in, even when there is no blood trying to get out anymore.  Martin’s usually warm hand icy (Jon hopes with fear, and not the Lonely, but he can’t know.  Firstly because he can’t break another promise, Secondly because he doesn’t think he can Know anymore, and thinking about trying makes his stomach drop.)  

And Jon just… can’t.  He rolls on his side away from Martin.  Curling up tightly.  Against the angry words and the guilt, and the rest of the guilt, and the pain in his body.  He’s doomed infinite worlds.  He’s betrayed everyone who ever cared about him… who he ever cared about.  He caused so much pain and he sat back and watched.  It seared through him the entire time of unknown and uncountable quantity that made up the apocalypse.  

All the words that he could never say, the guilt he could never express, all his own fear that had been just as much a meal for his god choking him.  

And he braces for the hate and the rest of the yelling, and everything else he deserves.  Everything he brought upon himself, one poor choice after another.  

Squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself gone and wills that if he doesn’t just vanish out of everything that Martin will get done yelling quick so maybe Jon can grovel some comfort out of him, even if it isn’t forgiveness, it will be better than the aching nothing that has been threatening to overtake him since he tasted the bitter words of the false statement.  

Martin more than deserves his anger, but Jon can’t take it.  He’s literally held together by spider silk.  He’s worn and tired and battered.  Guilt plunging deeper than Martin’s knife ever could.  

Not that he’s not grateful for this time with Martin.  Not that he doesn’t deserve every centimeter of guilt piling up on him.  He deserves all the hate.  And all the anger.  

He’s spineless, and he knows it.  He Almost did the right thing, but he couldn’t.  And he almost lost everything he cares about.  And now he probably still has.  And… and what?  What now?  Martin elected to stay with him despite it all, on one stupid, slim chance that things could be okay, but how can they be okay ever again, with this aching hole of fault and blame and regret and shame pulling at his core.  And he wants to be pulled open and rip it out.  He wants to enjoy what he has, but he can’t and Martin has every reason to hate him.  

He’s lost time.  

Martin’s calling his name, and his limbs are stiff and numb from bracing for an impact that never came.  

“Jon.  Christ.  Jon!  I’m… I… I didn’t mean to scare you.  I… I don’t hate you.  I love you, I promise.  …I’m… angry.  And we need to talk about this.  But… but I think that should wait until you’re up for talking, and I’m up for not crying for ya know, more than five minutes at a time.  ….And Fuck.  I just… well.  You owe me a good screaming at, too.  And Goddamn it, you were just doing what you thought was right… and you tried to tell us… tell me.  I’m not saying you were right, because you weren’t… but I’m not saying you were wrong.  And.  Well.  We’re both here.  Please.  I’m sorry for yelling.  Can I touch you?”

Jon nods jerkily.  Because he can’t stand the distance between them.  He doesn’t care if touch can get him hurt, he’d take hurt over the space between them.  

Martin holds him like he’s precious and Jon cries.  

Harder than he has in a very long time.  

And when he’s done he’s empty and shaking and filthy.  

They shower and sleep.  In the morning they can shout at each other for broken promises and wandering off, and not communicating enough, and not listening when the other is trying to communicate.  And one leaves in a huff, and one cries himself sick in the bathroom, and there is hugging and a trip to town for tea and figuring out if this is the universe they saved or one of the infinite they doomed.  And there are years for the aftershocks of those arguments to bounce around, losing energy in the form of heat: tea, hugs, hot showers, overeager workouts, kisses a little too rough, hugs a little too tight, a strange combination between fierce affection, and things a little too much to make them feel like they are accomplishing something.  

And they can grow whole once more.  

And they can grow old.  

[pizzarollsareokayiguess]

Close Enough? (Kuvira x Reader)

This is a Kuvira imagine, reader and Kuvira are not established. K? Also, this will be sad :D questionable ending. if you want more, ask and you shall receive <3

TW: blood, spoilers for LOK Season 4  WC: 2620

Kuvira’s reign across the Earth kingdom had started to slow as she was met with resistance from Zaofu and the Avatar. Dealing with them had been easy, beating Korra had been easier, and now she was on her way to Republic City, to rightfully claim the district as official property of the Earth Kingdom. 

Kuvira felt powerful having so many people support her, especially when it came to her. Y/n had been there at the beginning, supporting Kuvira and boosting her esteem so much so, Kuvira’s own motivation took the step forward to claim the Earth Kingdom. Locked eyes, lingering touches, shivering shoulders made up the tension between the two; with the passion of war, it made it all that more bitter sweet. So why did Kuvira feel this way? She knew that y/n was loyal, perhaps the most loyal of them all, and yet the little voice in her head was screaming that something, somewhere, someone was going to betray her. Zhu Li was kind of a given but y/n? Trusting, beautiful, y/n? 

Kuvira’s relationship with Baatar, in her eyes, was political: losing him would be surprising, considering how strong his feelings were against his own mother. Could he be persuaded? Hopefully not, but yet here we are.

Kuvira’s hands were formed into fists as she listened to his pleading. Leave this? Now? We are so close, why would I give up now? Why would I when the last piece of the puzzle is in my hands?

Aiming the spirit weapon towards his location was easy. Pulling the trigger was even easier. But the voice in her head was now a full roar, claiming that no one was loyal, no one was on her side. So as the war machine rebounded from the shot it took, Kuvira straightened her shoulders and looked to her left. Sitting in one of the command chairs, was y/n. Back straight, hair gleaming, Kuvira wanted to swallow her whole, wanted to take her existence and keep it to herself. Y/n might have been lying this entire time, and Kuvira didn’t want to lose her to the avatar. That is one thing she couldn’t stand for, losing this war was not an option and Kuvira would do anything to reach her goal.

“Y/n.”

Snapping her head towards Kuvira, she stood and walked over, placing herself to the left of the platform. Looking her in the eyes, Kuvira stood even taller and her plan was falling into place. This will be easy.

“Come with me for a moment.”

Kuvira commanded the remaining soldiers to stay in their positions and alert her if there are any changes. Knowing the efficiency of the spirit weapon, she doubted that the avatar would have survived the latest shot.

Stepping off of the platform, Kuvira and y/n walked down into the belly of the weapon, where the roar of the machine made the thundering in her heart a little lighter. They came to a stopping point and y/n’s shoulders relaxed. It was just the two of them, perhaps this was a pre-game to victory? Kuvira was faced away from y/n and she could see where the muscle tensed in the uniform that Kuvira wore. Where the metal framed her shoulders and where it flared at her waist and constricted at her knees. She wondered how long it would take her to map every freckle that Kuvira had. Not knowing how many, she wondered if she would have the opportunity to ever count. Is this going to be it? She snapped her eyes back up when Kuvira turned around, crowding her space.

“It’s happening. The end is near and victory will be ours,” Kuvira murmured.

Their eyes were locked and their breaths were shared. How y/n craved to get closer.

“You’ve done wonderfully, I can’t imagine any other trying to accomplish what you have,” y/n whispered. 

Kuvira smirked, “Oh? Tell me, y/n, what have I accomplished?”

Y/n shivered, hearing her name come from her lips was a taste of heaven that she wanted every drop of. She wanted more, she craved more, so she easily answered, if only to savor every drop.

“Conquering the city-states, making the lords bow to you, creating a super weapon that is extremely effective, and should I mention the fact that you won against Korra?”

Toe to toe, their noses almost touched, their breaths were clouding each other and y/n jumped at the feeling of gloved hands fiddling with her own. Oh. Oh Oh-

“I could stand to hear more, if you’ll humor me,” Kuvira whispered.

Y/n took the jump and linked her left hand around Kuvira’s, and she looked her straight in the eyes. She could smell the metal and lavender that left Kuvira and y/n thought she would erupt. 

“Taking apart Zaofu to create something for yourself in a direct response to Su, you are incredibly powerful and what I wouldn’t do-”

Kuvira brought her face to y/n and latched herself to her lips. Her right hand clutched the back of her neck and she squeezed, playing with the hairs that rested there. Her left hand traveled from y/n’s hands to her lower back, pulling y/n forward. 

Y/n felt conquered and completed and finished, any word you could think of, her brain had fried with the machine and her insides turned to jelly. Being placed in Kuvira’s arms and kissing her was something that Y/n yearned for. Her center throbbed and she looped her arms around Kuvira’s neck. She wanted all that Kuvira could give her. Even if Kuvira left her now to take out an entire city, Y/n could live with that, her spark of life had turned into an inferno and had burned her inside out. She wanted to share that fire with Kuvira and as if the devil had knocked on her door, Kuvira licked her bottom lip and Y/n was so easy. She would let Kuvira do whatever she pleased, even right here on the machinery floor. She was entranced by the whole essence of Kuvira. She whimpered when her lip was bitten and she sighed when Kuvira seemed to ravage her being. Closer- She needed to be closer-

Pain.

Wha-

What is that?

Heat radiated from her side, what is-

Y/n’s eyes snapped open and she pulled herself from Kuvira. Kuvira had a grimace on her face, her eyebrows drawn together and lips tightened into a line.

Y/n’s breath stuttered and she looked down, red was encompassing her right side. She had been- Kuvira?- Why would she? Kuvira stabbed her? What?

Kuvira metal bended the weapon back into her sleeve and caught Y/n as she started to get dizzy. She lowered her to the grated ground as Y/n clutched her jacket, hissing in pain. Lips red, cheeks flushed, your eyes are so pretty like this..  Kuvira held y/n’s head in her lap as blood dripped from her wound. Pity, how distraught you look. The voice claimed victory and screamed in her head. See? How easy? The avatar will never touch her and the city will be yours. Just flatten the republic and you’re as good as gold.

But it wasn’t easy. Kuvira’s eyes watered but never flushed.

“I had to, for you, for me. I have to finish this now, I hope you understand.”

Kuvira placed her head gently on the ground, taking advantage of y/n’s stunned silence. Wiping her eyes, she left y/n there and composed herself to rejoin the bridge. Scaring the officers on deck, she ordered them to continue, they had a city to recapture.

Then a hummingbird got too close to the sun.

Her chance at freedom was disabled.

And the avatar, as always, brought balance to the world.

…

Her whole body hurt.

 It would start as a dull throb and then crescendo into a sharp point that radiated from her right side. Y/n was stunned, when she said that she would let Kuvira take over the world, she didn’t really expect to be a martyr. But did she really believe in Kuvira still? The blood that was staining her uniform said no, but the stuttering of her heart and the tears on her face said otherwise. She was gonna die in the center of destruction, how fitting. At least it was warm. . . She closed her eyes to the rhythm of a stepping behemoth and took a breath, knowing her fate was just the same as Baatar. They were both foolish, loving someone who couldn’t feel anything and yet thinking, I’m different. I can change her, she will love me, right?

Look how that turned out.

A shrill screech interrupted y/n’s pity party and she opened her eyes to see Su and Lin Beifong. Their determined eyes meeting hers. At that moment, she was made priority number two; number one being the destruction of the spirit weapon. Once the Beifong sisters had wreaked havoc with their metal bending, Lin dropped down to y/n. Gently placing her arms around her shoulders and her knees, Lin rejoined Su. The trio was then tossed around the metal tavern surrounding them before they tethered themselves to the wall. When the spirit weapon finally descended and crashed to the ground, y/n had passed out from blood loss. Stepping out from the carnage, the sisters stopped the bleeding enough that it wouldn’t cause a mortal end. Once they were satisfied with her steadying heartbeat they placed her with the other wounded. Then, they turned to finish the war. 

. . .

Y/n had heard that Kuvira surrendered after she witnessed the power of the one and only avatar. To be honest, y/n was shaken to her core after finding out that Korra created another spirit portal. The avatar was so powerful- she created a rip in space and caused two different worlds to mesh together in a brand new location? Holy Avatar did y/n regret being on the wrong side. 

Repercussions were being made of course. Baatar Jr was to spend life in house arrest for his involvement in the spirit weapon. After being seen by water benders, y/n’s trial was next, and she entered the courtroom in a wheel-chair. Although the wound didn’t sever any major organs, it was a major stress to the body and her back muscles were cut clean through so major movements weren’t recommended. That wasn’t the worst of it.

The hurt that clouded her heart had leaked to her eyes and her brain and she felt numb. Her brain kept going in a loop, kuvira’s eyes, blood, floor, kuvira’s eyes, blood, floor,- y/n was stuck in a mental carousel that try as she might she couldn’t get off of. She could sense the person behind her who was pushing the chair and when she looked up, she could see the council in all their respective colors and robes. She stopped moving and two officers stepped up behind her. But she didn’t try to escape. What was the point? She would take the punishment and move on. What about kuvira, don’t you wanna know why? Did it matter? Did the heat spread to her too? Move on. move on. move on?

The shuffling of papers interrupted the parade of self-pity that y/n seemed to be the mayor of and she dragged her eyes away from her fiddling hands to look up. Korra was there too. Should y/n bow? Korra saved everyone’s lives and without her-

“-without knowing the direct involvement of the individual before us how can we decide her fate?”

“She didn’t help with the weapon? What about the seizing of the city states? Anything?”

“Baatars testimony proves negative on the first but other witnesses say that she is seen on several occasions with Kuvira herself.”

y/n flinched. Pain pain pain 

“Well, Beifong, your jurisdiction houses the inmates, what say you?” The woman in question sighed and y/n wished she could sigh too without being condescending. Jail or home? Not that hard of a question.

“Community service. Either with the water benders or the rehabilitation of the city. I don’t want this one near my jail.”

. . .What the hell is that supposed to mean? Is she not good enough for jail? For Beifong’s jail? Rude.

“Then it’s settled. Y/n L/n, you are hereby sentenced to 25 years of community service, provided by the council before you and supervised by the United Republic of Nations. Dismissed.”

Y/n nodded and bowed her head to show respect to the leaders that handed her fate to her. Much better than house arrest. 

. . .

Y/n heard later that Kuvira was given a second chance, because Korra saw something in her that she saw in herself. Kuvira was sent to Zaofu to live out her house arrest with her adoptive family. Baatar is there too? Is she allowed to ask? Did he give her a second chance? Would y/n? Y/n was stationed near the infrastructure creation center in the city. She was there to help rebuild. Lin was her only visitor. Y/n’s family was disgraced that she chose the wrong side and she didn’t have any friends besides Kuvira, who happened to be a couple flying bison away. Lin would ask her how her wound was doing and Y/n would tell her. Then Lin would end the visit by insulting y/n’s bending and then she’d leave. It was nice. Y/n had a feeling that Lin felt sorry for her, did she know that y/n was betrayed by the one she thought she loved? Did Lin know that the inferno that raged within her dwindled to a flicker of heat? Sometimes it seemed that way when the silence got too loud but then Lin would go back to insulting her. She needed that routine. She probably would have been lost without it. 

Y/n was back to moving again and on a nice, sunny day in republic city; she was just about to finish the base to an apartment complex with the other volunteers (If you want to call them that, y/n faintly recognized some of the earth benders from Kuvira’s forces). When Korra had pulled up near the site on her polar bear dog. Jumping off of the animal, Korra waited until the supervisor started talking to her. After several beats, the supervisor nodded and shouted across the field, summoning y/n towards him.

Meeting them on the edge, y/n respectfully greeted them both before questioning the avatar’s presence. 

She sighed, “Many of the soldiers lived in Zaofu before the war, you were one of them. The metal domes are in grave need of assistance and since you are tasked with community service, it seems fitting that you return there.” “Is that all? I thought this was supposed to be a punishment? Wouldn’t going back home be a little too comfortable for me?” Not if Kuvira’s there, laughing with her eyes closed, hair frizzy from the day, freckles winking in the sunshine.

“Su requested it. Said, ‘that your greatest potential was misplaced with love that had nowhere to go’” Korra sighed.

Y/n felt like she got slapped in the face by the avatar. That would’ve been better. Of course Su knew y/n, she practically raised the child. Su saw the wandering eyes and the yearning sighs, she wasn’t stupid. 

And yet, here she was, extending a hand of forgiveness, a hand withered by betrayal, a feeling that y/n knew quite well.

Should she take it?

[charincharge]

Cruel Summer, Part 24

cruel summer masterlist

AN: We’re almost at the end of this thing. One more chapter and an epilogue. Thank you all for sticking with me and this story. You make me feel like a Queen. Ok, without further ado...

All Rowan wanted was one Aelin-free day to wallow. He even called in sick for the first time in his entire gods damned life to accomplish it, but no – it seems the universe has other plans for him. He can’t escape her. Even on his day off, she manages to appear and twist the knife into his stomach a little further.

The door slams too loudly beneath his touch as he exits his truck, and Manon has the good sense not to ask him if he’s okay. He’s obviously not okay. And he knows when he’s been played. Manon specifically asked him to come inside to help with a drunk girl, not telling him said drunk girl was Aelin.

His chest tightens when he thinks about the way she backed into him to avoid that smarmy creep pawing at her, leaning into him, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She belongs at his side. He knows she does. If only Aelin would admit that, too. If only she saw him as a viable option. A real partner.

Manon flashes him an apologetic smile, but Rowan simply shakes his head as his roommate and her girlfriend disappear behind her bedroom door.

Rowan should get to bed, too, but he slept all day in a depressed fit, and after seeing Aelin, he’s feeling far too agitated to sleep.

Instead, he pulls out his camera and hooks it up to his computer. He’d planned to do this earlier in the day, but instead of being productive during his day off, he slept the pain away. Rowan drums his fingers against his thigh as he waits for the machinery to connect. The photos upload quicker than he thought, and before he knows it, he’s scrolling through hundreds of photos. All of Aelin.

His front tooth nearly pierces the skin of his lip as he bites down onto it, as if by keeping his mouth shut he can hold back the onslaught of emotions threatening to bubble up from his tightened chest. He wishes he had a drink. He’s too sober for this.

Rowan scrolls through, wondering which photo he should edit first. He’s overwhelmed by each photo as is passes his vision. She’s so stunning. Her turquoise eyes pierce through the screen, and the spun gold of her hair glimmers in molten waves in each photo, no matter the lighting or photo composition. There’s a reason he couldn’t stop photographing her, and it’s because the camera loves her. He sighs loudly. He knows that’s not the only thing that loves her.

His heart thuds painfully against his ribs as he stops his scrolling. Because nestled in the swaths of photos of her, is a single photo of the two of them. It’s the only one they ever took. The entire summer. The only proof that they were actually together. That their relationship ever existed.  

He’s hesitant to click on it, but he can’t stop himself. The enlarged picture hits him like a punch to the stomach. He remembers the night so clearly, wanting to cheer Aelin up and taking the first steps to have her reconcile with her family. He remembers how beautiful she looked in the buttery twilight with the beginnings of the setting sun behind her, reflecting the metallic ring around her dilated pupil. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, couldn’t resist leaning his face against the smooth skin of her shoulder, breathing in her floral scent and snapping a picture.

He’s knocked over by the way her eyes light up as they look at him, her smile nearly blinding. Joy oozes off the photo, jumping out of the screen, and despite his mood, Rowan can’t help loosen the tooth that pierces his bottom lip, release his feelings and smile. They did exist, and he’s never been more grateful for the tangible evidence. He wants to print this photo and frame it, no matter what happens in the future. He wants to remember them just like this. Wind-tousled and blissfully happy, attached at the hip and in disbelief that they could ever feel this kind of contentment with another person.

He works for an hour, adjusting the color levels and editing the photo. There’s something soothing about returning to the methodical process of changing the lighting and adjusting exposure, getting rid of shadows, until all that remains is a perfect shot of the two of them. By the time he’s finished, he feels somewhat better.

Rowan pauses, admiring his handiwork, impressed at how quickly his editing skills came back to him. He forgot how natural it is for him to sit at a computer. It’s his second language. Before he has time to second guess himself, Rowan opens up an email.

mailto: aelin.ashryver

sender: rwhitethorn

subject: (no subject)

I emptied my photo card and remembered you wanted this one. I have… a lot more of you if you want them. Just let me know.

He attaches the photo and immediately clicks send. He doesn’t want to reread what he said. He’s sure he sounds like an idiot, and he’s positive she doesn’t want the photo anymore, but he can’t not send it to her. He needs her to see it. To have that concrete proof, too. To remember them.

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashes over Rowan, and he glances at the clock. 4am. He groans. His alarm is going to go off far too soon. And he absolutely can’t call in sick again. He closes the laptop and places it next to him, and he’s asleep before he even has time to change out of his clothes.

His dreams are vivid, a whorl of colors and pictures and feelings. Unsurprisingly, everything is Aelin. He sees her on that dance floor, dark eyes pulling him in, her clothes like a second skin over her curves. He imagines himself with her, hips pressed together, arms tangled and pulling each other close enough to breathe the other in while the music pounds overhead. Their lips are like magnets, meeting again and again, without a care in the world for the busy club around them, not caring who sees or watches as her lipstick smudges all over his face. Her phantom hands caress his face, and he feels hot all over.

Rowan wakes in a tangle of his sheets, sweaty and breathless. He’s shocked to see he’s up before his alarm has gone off, a rarity, especially given how late he went to bed, but his adrenaline pulses through him, ensuring he’s solidly awake. He groans and opens his eyes, looking around his room, immediately snagging his sights on his closed laptop. He’s sure Aelin hasn’t emailed him back. It’s barely been four hours. She’s surely still sleeping off her hangover, but that doesn’t stop himself from opening the computer and checking.  

His heart jumps when he sees an email waiting with the word Ashryver. But upon a second glance, it’s an email from a different Ashryver than he was expecting. His stomach knots as he reads the email. This can’t be good.

mailto: rowanwhitethorn

sender: evalinashryver

subject: Urgent – Meeting Today at 2PM

Rowan,

Apologies for the late notice, but your presence is requested for a one-on-one meeting today to discuss your employment. A work matter has been brought to our attention that requires immediate discussion. Your manager has been informed that you are to report to our home office for your lunch break at 2PM today.

Best,

Evalin Ashryver

Rowan reads the email three times, his pulse racing faster each time he rereads. An email from Aelin’s mom, wanting to discuss a work matter that requires immediate discussion? That can only mean one thing – the Ashryvers somehow know about his relationship with Aelin, and now with only four fucking days left of his employment, he’s going to be fired. As if the Ashryvers needed another reason to dislike him.

He groans loudly and lets his head fall to his keyboard in frustration. This is the last thing he needs. He’s already feeling awful. He doesn’t feel like defending his love life to the parents of the girl who just brutally discarded him. At least he can tell them in all honestly that things are over.

Rowan tries to take his time in the shower, hoping it’ll calm him down, but the warm water just makes him feel overheated in his own skin. He can’t bring himself to stand in the shower any longer, starting to feel ill. He brushes his wet hair and puts on his cleanest uniform before heading out of the house. The least he can do is look composed.

He arrives at the park a full thirty minutes before his shift. He walks into the employee room to make himself a cup of coffee; he’s going to need some extra caffeine today.

Lorcan and Elide are already in the kitchen, completely wrapped up in each other. Rowan laughs softly at them, the picture of perfect summer love – Lorcan’s hands in Elide’s back pockets, and Elide tugging at Lorcan’s neckline, impatiently trying to bring his lips down to her level.

The pair jumps apart quickly at the sound of Rowan’s laugh, but he waves them off, insisting he doesn’t mind. The smile drops off his face when Lorcan turns to him with a serious expression, though, reminding him of why he’s at the park so early, and what awaits him later today.

“You don’t know what she wants to talk about, do you?” Rowan ventures to ask, and Lorcan shakes his head.

“Sorry, man.”

Elide looks confused, and Rowan fills her in on the ominous email he received this morning. Elide’s brow furrows, trying to come up with an alternate reason that Evalin Ashryver would need to talk to him, but even the optimistic girl is at a loss.

Lorcan slaps his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”

Rowan isn’t as confident.

Minutes feel like hours as Rowan spirals into dread mode. He spends the morning letting people onto the swings, but nothing is distracting enough to keep his mind off the impending conversation about his employment. Despite Rowan’s decision to move back to Wendlyn at the end of the moth, he’s calculated his move down to the last dollar and really needs this final paycheck. It’s not like he’s been able to save this summer. He’s barely made minimum wage. He spends the morning frowning away, lost in a maelstrom of possible outcomes of this conversation – each one worse than the last.

When 1:45 rolls around, Lorcan pulls Rowan off his shift and tells him to head to the Ashryvers’.

The sinking feeling returns to Rowan’s stomach when he checks his phone and sees that on top of everything, Aelin hasn’t replied to his email.

Instead of walking, Rowan gets into his truck and drives to the Ashryver Estate. He doesn’t want to risk getting sweaty and gross walking along the beach, and he definitely wants to be prompt.

For the first time all summer, Rowan parks at the head of the Ashryvers’ driveway. He takes in the large house, which suddenly looks scarier than ever. It’s funny. He’s been in this house about a hundred times since May, but it’s still as imposing as ever.

On the front stoop, Rowan pokes his toe at a loose stone and shoves his hands in his pockets. He doesn’t know what awaits him on the other side of that door, but he knows it’s not good. Sweat beads down the back of his thick uniform polo under the hot August sun overhead. He tugs at his collar, trying to give himself some room to breathe. But he’s finding it quite difficult. He’s been on the other side of this door plenty, but he can’t help but think of all the times he used Aelin’s window as his entrance. If her parents know about that... His stomach clenches with nausea. He’s kept Aelin’s secret, yes, but he’s been so incredibly disrespectful to her parents. He wasn’t brought up this way. His mom would absolutely smack him if she knew this was how he conducted himself this summer. He juts his chin out, ready for his chastising. He knows he deserves it. Rowan lifts his hand out of his pocket and hovers it over the thick wood paneling of their front door. If he waits any longer to knock, he’ll be late, and he knows arriving late to this meeting is the absolute worst thing he could do to Evalin Ashryver. Well, besides sleeping with her heiress daughter and sullying her good name. Rowan rubs his hand along his face. He is so utterly fucked. He can’t wait any longer. Rowan knocks steadily in three even raps. The door swings open, and Rowan swallows nervously as Aelin comes into view, looking worse for wear. He was expecting Evalin to answer the door, and Rowan feels even more off-balance at this twist. He doesn’t know why he didn’t expect Aelin. She looks even more surprised to see him, and Rowan doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so out of sorts.

She tugs at her tangled, unbrushed hair, which is falling out of her low ponytail, swollen eyes filled with confusion. Remnants of eyeliner and mascara darken her bottom lash, making her bloodshot eyes even more prominent, and her skin is pale and clammy. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was very, very sick. He watches as Aelin pulls her robe closed tighter, hiding her thin tank top and shorts from his view. “Rowan?” She croaks, her voice barely a whisper between them, echoing in the marble foyer. “What are you doing here?”

Rowan looks down and takes note of her large furry slippers. He can’t help but smile.

“Those are cute,” he says, pointing at her feet, and Aelin’s nose scrunches up as she tries to hide one slipper behind the other.

She wipes at the dark circles under her eyes, and Rowan recognizes that she’s feeling self-conscious about the way she looks. Not that she should. Even hung over and disheveled, Aelin is the most beautiful person he’s ever seen in his life.  He’s about to reassure her when Dorian ambles out of the kitchen, a foil wrapped food in hand.

“What’s up?” he asks, and Rowan shrugs tersely as Dorian wraps his arm around Aelin’s shoulders. Aelin looks up at Dorian, eyes wide and unblinking, clearly still out of sorts. “Your burrito is ready,” Dorian says in a soft aside, nudging Aelin in the ribs. She licks her chapped lips and gives him a small smile.

“Do you want some lunch?” Aelin asks Rowan, her words filled with nerves. Rowan is anxious to talk to Aelin, of course, but he remembers that he’s not here to chat with her and steadies himself as he shakes his head. Rowan thinks she looks disappointed, but he can’t be quite sure.

“I’m actually here for a meeting. With your mom,” he clarifies. “Is she around?”

Aelin’s mouth drops into a soft circle as she begins to ask why. He’s about to answer her and maybe ask for any intel or advice when Evalin appears, looking even more austere than usual in a dark blue dress, her hair neatly pinned back in a perfectly coiffed chignon and a strand of pearls around her neck. Her heels click clack along the marble floor until she reaches Rowan. She greets him with a warm hug and a wide smile. “Rowan. Right on time.” She squeezes his arm lightly. “Let’s chat in my office, okay?” she says firmly, and Rowan has no choice but to nod. Aelin clearly doesn’t know what’s going on and looks as confused as ever. “Mom?” “Aelin,” Evalin chides. “When you finish your …” she pauses dramatically and nods at the foil in Dorian’s hands. “…breakfast, can you please go take a shower? I can still smell the vodka coming off your skin.” “But...” Evalin’s glare silences her daughter immediately, but it doesn’t wipe the look of confusion from her questioning face as she nods. Satisfied, Evalin leads Rowan into her office. Rowan remembers the room well from his tour with Aelin all those weeks ago, but it somehow seems even more daunting now. It’s clear the room is rarely used, despite the armchair by the window and the large mahogany desk at the center of the room. Rowan looks up and up and up. The built-in bookcases threaten to swallow him hole, with bindings going up to the ceiling. Evalin trails slowly to the desk and leans against the edge, rather than sitting in the large high-backed chair behind it. She points to a smaller chair for Rowan to sit in, and he takes his place immediately. Evalin’s face is tight with a forced smile, and he's sure any second now he’s going to receive a verbal lashing.

“So,” she begins, and Rowan sits up straighter. “It’s my understanding that your last day at the park is on Saturday,” Evalin says, and Rowan nods, his throat too tight to verbally respond. The room creaks and settles, the dark wooden floors also seemingly holding its breath to see what Evalin has to say.

Evalin pauses and holds a single finger up. Rowan watches with interest as she walks to the far bookcase and pushes slightly. The wall cracks open, and Rowan remembers the number of secret passageways and hallways Aelin led him through in their tour. So, he’s not entirely surprised to see Aelin and Dorian, crouching in the entryway of the hidden tunnel.

“Children,” Evalin scolds, and Aelin and Dorian are quick to scramble to their feet.

“Mom…” Aelin peers over her shoulder, trying to get a better look at where Rowan sits, but Evalin isn’t having any of it.

“Rowan and I are in a private meeting right now,” she says. Aelin looks like she wants to object, but Evalin pays her no mind. “No one likes a snoop.” She ushers them into the study and leads them toward the door without a word.

“I swear, she has super-sonic hearing,” Dorian mumbles, and Evalin smiles.

“I do,” she says, causing Dorian to blush. Rowan doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so flustered. It would be amusing if he weren’t sure he was about to be on the receiving end of Evalin’s wrath himself.

“Don’t let me catch you back there again,” she says sternly, and Dorian and Aelin reply with yes ma’ams in unison. Aelin looks over her shoulder one last time at Rowan before departing, and Rowan wants nothing more than to chase after her, but he’s stuck in his chair.

Evalin returns to her spot, leaning against the desk and crosses her arms. “Now. Where were we?” Rowan waits in silence. “Oh yes. Your employment coming to an end.”

Rowan’s stomach sinks. He’s about to get fired. He feels like he has to speak up, defend himself. But he’s not exactly sure what to say. So, he just babbles.

“Mrs. Ashryver, Evalin, ma’am…” He tugs at his hair, trying to work out his nerves, and barrels forward. “I’m so sorry if I’ve disrespected you or your family. It wasn’t my intention at all, but I would really love to finish out the week at Playland. I know I’ve overstepped my bounds, but I promise it won’t happen again. Ever.”

Evalin quirks her eyebrow at him and nods succinctly. “I understand why you would think you overstepped your bounds,” she says. “But, you didn’t.”

Rowan pauses, holding his breath. “I didn’t?”

“No. In fact, I was discussing it with Rhoe, and we both very much appreciate your initiative.”

Rowan lifts an eyebrow in confusion. “You do?”

Evalin laughs warmly, her smile reminding him so much of Aelin suddenly as her turquoise eyes crinkle with happiness. “Yes.” She crosses her ankles and leans forward.

Rowan pauses again and crosses his arms. “I think I’m confused,” Rowan finally admits, and Evalin laughs even more.

“I can see that.”

“So I’m not getting fired?” Rowan asks hesitantly, and then it’s Evalin’s turn to look confused.

“Fired? What on earth for?” She shakes her head. “No, of course not.”

His brow furrows. “So, what are we talking about?”

“Are you still interested in pursuing a career in tech?” Rowan nods slightly, his thoughts bouncing around and wondering what the hell Evalin actually wants to talk about. If not Aelin… “I have an opportunity for you.”

Evalin pulls out a packet of papers from behind her on the desk and hands it to Rowan. He looks over the printout and then looks back up at Evalin, who is still smiling at him.

“I brought your app idea to the Playland board, and they were very impressed. They’re going to start a development team. It was a smart idea,” she chuckles. “In fact, I’m annoyed with myself that I didn’t think of it first.” He looks over the papers in his hand again. It’s the breakdown of the app he pitched over dinner. He can’t believe it. Evalin clears her throat. “I don’t know what your employment plans are beyond Sunday, but we’d love for you to join the team.”

Rowan’s mouth drops. He’s actually speechless. Of all the things to he could talk about with Evalin Ashryver, this didn’t even make it to the bottom of the list. Never in his wildest dreams did he think she would take his idea seriously, much less pitch it to the board and then offer him a job there. His stomach churns slightly.

“The only catch is—” Rowan holds his breath as he wonders what the strings attached to this offer are. “The job starts in two weeks, and it would be in our offices in Adarlan.”

Rowan exhales, an onslaught of feelings attacking him. He can’t process what she’s just said.

“Adarlan….”

Evalin nods. “I understand that it would be a significant move, but we’d help with the relocation costs, and—”

Rowan stops her, thinking about showing up in Adarlan in two weeks, the place where Aelin lives. An awful thought crosses his mind.

“You’re not just offering this to me because I’m… friends with Aelin, are you?” he asks nervously. “I don’t want to take a job I haven’t earned.”

Evalin frowns and pats at her pearls. “Rowan, you have more than earned your spot on this team. It was your idea. But if it makes you more comfortable, you can interview with the head of the team. He’s meeting with a few other candidates in the next few days. I’ll tell him to add you to the list.”

Rowan nods. “I’d like that.”

“Excellent,” Evalin claps her hands happily. “Look out for an email from Malakai or his assistant to schedule the interview for this week. In the meantime, please send me your resume, so I can forward it along.” She pauses and looks at Rowan seriously. “Now, would you care to tell me why you thought you were being fired?”

Rowan coughs, and he can fill blood filling his cheeks with embarrassment. “Not particularly,” he mumbles.

Evalin chuckles again and sighs loudly. “I’m sorry if my email was scary,” she apologizes. “I didn’t want to give away the surprise, but now that I think about the wording, I may have misled you.”

“It may have taken a few years off my life,” Rowan says, causing Evalin to burst into laughter. “But thank you,” he continues, “I’m incredibly grateful for this opportunity.”

The study door cracks open and Rhoe pokes his head in. “Ah, did I miss it?” he asks, entering and clicking the door shut behind him. Evalin rolls her eyes at her husband.

“You did.” She looks at her watch and then back at him. “I told you. 2pm, promptly.”

“I got distracted by burritos,” Rhoe admits, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Who knew Dorian was such a good chef?” He pauses and looks at Rowan. “So, did the Ashryvers recruit a new coder?”

“Not officially,” Evalin answers for him. “Rowan, ever the humble and upstanding young man, has insisted upon an interview.”

“Ah, of course,” Rhoe says with a soft smile. “I told you he wouldn’t just accept a job offer.”

Evalin’s eyes twinkle at her husband. “Yes, I know. You know everything, darling.”

She kisses him lightly on his cheek before looking back at Rowan.

“Alright, well, I have other meetings to attend to, sadly,” Evalin says, “But I look forward to hearing about your interview.” She shakes Rowan’s hand firmly and heads out of the study. Rowan starts to follow her, but Rhoe holds him back for a second.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Rhoe says, and Rowan is immediately caught off-guard.

“For what, sir?”

“Don’t look so shellshocked, Rowan,” he says with a soft laugh. “We’ve loved getting to know you this summer. Having you around has been a treat. I know it must be hard to be away from your own parents, on the other side of the country. But, I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you how proud of yourself you should be. This app was a phenomenal idea. You’ve proven yourself to be intelligent, driven and…” Rowan can feel heat rising to his cheeks at Rhoe’s praise. He watches carefully as Rhoe pauses and lowers his voice, looking around conspiratorially. “And… don’t think I don’t know who’s kept that smile on my daughter’s face all summer.”

Rowan’s heart thumps in his chest. Rhoe knows. Oh god. Rhoe knows.

“I…uh…what?” Rowan stutters, unsure of how to respond. Luckily, Rhoe laughs and slaps a hand onto Rowan’s shoulder.

“Don’t look so petrified, son. I’m happy for you both.” Rhoe looks sincere, but Rowan’s stomach clenches at an awful thought.

“That’s not why you offered me this job, is it?” Rowan asks softly. He has to know. He won’t take it, won’t even interview for it if they’re offering it to him because of his relationship with Aelin.

“No no no,” Rhoe assures him. “My wife is not the most observant human on the planet. She has no clue. You and Aelin can tell her whenever you’re ready.”

Rowan rubs his hand against the back of his neck, needing something to do. “Well.” He coughs lightly. “I don’t think there’s anything to tell anymore.”

“That’s a shame,” Rhoe says, his voice sad but a small smile making an appearance on his face. Rowan wonders what Rhoe knows that he doesn’t. But he’s too overwhelmed to think about that just yet.

“Thank you for this opportunity,” Rowan says again, and he means it.

Rhoe shrugs him off. “I did nothing. This was all Evalin,” he says with a smile. “And, Rowan? You created this opportunity all yourself.”

Rowan nods and smiles stiffly as Rhoe leads him back out to the foyer.

A freshly showered Aelin sits on the stairs, finishing her final bite of burrito, and she stands quickly upon seeing her dad and Rowan. Rhoe pats her head as he passes by, giving Rowan a sly smile.

“So,” she says, and Rowan replies with the same sentiment. “Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” she asks.

Rowan wants to tell her. He really does. But he’s too overwhelmed with possibilities at the moment. He doesn’t want to tell her anything that isn’t real. He can’t risk seeing her reaction to this news. Not when it could possibly break him.

“It was nothing,” Rowan says, and Aelin’s brow furrows, knowing he’s lying to her. I mean, he had a legit meeting with her parents. And no one has told her a thing. He knows she’s dying for information, but he just can’t tell her anything yet. “Where’s Dorian?” he asks, trying to change the topic.

“Showering,” she says, flicking her eyes upwards to the ceiling. “Do you want a burrito? They’re amazing…” she asks, but Rowan shakes his head.

“I should get back to work,” he says, looking at the time. He can’t believe how long they were in there talking.  

“Right.” Aelin sighs and follows him to the door. “Hey, Rowan?” she says, stopping Rowan before he reaches for the door handle. “Thanks for last night,” she says. “For rescuing me.” He nods stiffly. “I know that wasn’t your idea of a good night.” He shakes his head, laughing softly. No it wasn’t. “And Rowan? The picture? Thank you for sending it,” she says quietly. “I love it.”

Rowan smiles. “I do, too.”

Aelin bites her lip and twirls her long, wet hair around her fist. “You’re really not going to tell me what my parents talked to you about?”

“Nope.”

“You’re torturing me on purpose,” she says, and Rowan laughs.

“Maybe.”

He averts his eyes, not wanting to look at her, knowing he could break at any second. But Aelin seems to accept his reticence.

Aelin sighs. “I deserve that.”

Rowan wants nothing more than to talk with her and tell her everything, ask what he should do, what it would mean for them, but he knows he needs to think about this without her input.

“Ok, I really need to leave or I’m going to be late,” he says, and Aelin gasps.

“Right! Of course. Go.”

Rowan leans in to her hug her, on autopilot, without even thinking about it. And he can feel Aelin’s sharp inhale of breath as he wraps his arms around her shoulders and mindlessly brushes his lips against the top of her head.

“Sorry…” he says, pulling back quickly.

“It’s fine,” she chokes out, and Rowan flees the premises before she can say anything else.

By the time he gets back to work, Rowan’s imagination has run off without him. He can’t help but think of all the ways his life would change if he were to take this job in Adarlan. Would he be able to pursue Aelin, even if he was still working for her mother? Would they have to tell her mom? Clearly her dad knows, but for some reason, Rowan thinks he’s more amiable to the idea of Rowan than Evalin is. Or, was this whole job opportunity a ruse to get him to be a more acceptable partner for Aelin, one they wouldn’t be ashamed of? Doubts and confusion plague his thoughts as he rips tickets.

When Rowan receives the email from Malakai’s assistant later that night, asking to interview the following afternoon, Rowan is more unsure than before.

So, Rowan does what he should have done as soon as Aelin ended things with him, he calls his mom to tell her everything.

Dora wakes from an early evening nap to answer his call, and Rowan immediately feels guilty, but Dora is more than happy to talk to her son. He explains his situation to her, getting more and more tied up in his emotions as he goes, and when he finishes, Dora is silent on the other line.

“Mom?” he asks, and Dora sighs loudly.

“My sweet boy,” she clucks. “You know I would love nothing more than to have you back home with me, but… you need to do this.” She pauses. “No matter what happens with Aelin, this is the beginning of your career. With an app you thought of yourself and are going to get made. Rhoe was right. You should be very proud of yourself. I know I’m proud of you.”

“Doesn’t it feel like cheating though?” Rowan asks. “Like if I hadn’t been seeing Aelin, I never would have gotten this chance, and I’d be moving home with you.”

“Baby,” she laughs. “That isn’t cheating. It’s called networking. And yes, you were in the right place at the right time, but it doesn’t make you any less deserving of this. You deserve this so much.”

Rowan sighs. “But…what if Aelin gets upset that I followed her back to her hometown. I’ll feel like a crazy pathetic stalker.”

“Fuck what Aelin thinks.”

“Mom!” he says with a laugh. He’s never heard her swear so casually before.

“This is about you. And she should support you, even if she doesn’t want to date you.”

Rowan hesitantly agrees. It’s not like Aelin works for her parents. In fact, she’s told him many times she never wants to, and hates going into the Ashryver offices. And Adarlan is a big city. The chances of him accidentally running into her are slim.

Feeling slightly appeased, Rowan thanks his mom and preps for his interview. His feelings for Aelin aside, he wants this. He just hopes he can start believing he deserves it, too.

~*~*~*~

tag list:

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@alifletcher2012​

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@mymultiversee​

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@throne-of-frost

[sir-phineas-lost]

Follow-up post

So I got a reply to my comment about the ableism in Ironwood’s character arc by @swapauanon and then they immediately blocked me. Since I am sometimes a petty bastard I decided to make a separate response anyway.

The first thing I would like to point out is that this person does not actually address my points in any way throughout this lengthy rant. My comment was all about the behind-the-scenes comments from the creators and they only responded with in-text examples and their interpretations of them. Those are important sure, and I will talk about those, but they don’t exactly come off as arguing in good-faith right from the get-go.

Okay, so I don’t TYPICALLY acknowledge RWDE’s beyond blocking them, but I think it’s important to separate how Ironwood views himself versus how the writers view him.

Because Ironwood’s entire downfall is his misunderstanding of how humanity works. He denies his own humanity, and sees maiming his vulnerable flesh and replacing it with unfeeling machinery as ridding himself of his own human weaknesses.

Except at the end of the day, he can’t cast off his VERY human soul, and his refusal to acknowledge that he can’t and SHOULDN’T do that are ultimately what leads to his downfall.

I have seen this “Actually it is just Ironwood himself that is ableist” argument before, and I don’t think it holds any water. While it is true that he begins to see compassion as a weakness, he never expresses the views you say he does about his own machine parts. And if you want to talk about how Ironwood sees himself vs how the writers see him you really can’t do so without talking about framing and subtext. When we get scenes that emphazize Ironwood’s machine parts to make him look intimidating or use his passive superpower (described as “hyper-focus” by the creators themselves) to shut off his empathy, that is the writers telling us that these physical aspects of Ironwood makes him less human.

Meanwhile, what V8C12 was TRYING to convey (even if it was horrible in its execution), was that it’s one’s SOUL that defines them, not the body that houses it. 

Literally NO OTHER CHARACTER with mechanical parts added to their body views themselves as less human.

[...]

Penny doesn’t angst over not being human, she angsts over being treated like a soulless tool. (Which is why I don’t like that they turned her human. Had they set up that she’d wanted to be human back in Volume 2, it would’ve been one thing, but they don’t establish that Penny wanted to be human until AFTER her mechanical body has been discarded.)

So here they outright contradict themselves. They start off saying that no other character views themselves this way, and then go on to say that Penny does (but only after she has been turned human). And like, points for admitting that scene was bad, but they seem unwilling to consider that maybe the fact that the writers did include that scene tells us something about the way the show at large views disability. They seem to think they can just write it off and move on like this instance of Penny absolutely seeing herself as inhuman can just be ignored. it also disregards that this isn’t just Penny expressing how she feels about herself. When Penny gets her human body she expresses surprise that hugging someone makes her feel “warm inside” even though she has hugged people countless times before. This is not a villain saying that having machine parts makes you less human and being proven wrong, this is a hero saying outright that “wow, my mechaniocal body made me unable to appreciate this simple human interaction, but now that I have a flesh-body I can”. Things like this is why I do not buy the argument that it is only Ironwood who thinks being part machine makes you less human.

Mercury doesn’t angst over the loss of his legs, he angsts over the piece of his soul his father tore out.

[...]

While Yang DOES lose her arm and angst over it, she doesn’t view herself as less human because of her prosthetic.

The closest we get to a LITERAL “cybernetics eats your soul” story is with Cinder, and she doesn’t have ANY cybernetics, just a parasitic leash that’s slowly consuming her flesh and threatens to eventually consume her mind if she doesn’t get rid of it. And if/when she does, I imagine she’ll replace that with a mechanical arm.

(I moved a few parts of their post around here because it made more sense to me to talk about these quotes together)

I feel like this highlights how much this person completely ignores the core argument of what makes the themes in RWBY ableist. They focus way too much on the literal and whether the characters “angst” over their humanity. But like I have said before, thie main issue here is theme and subtext.

Mercury doesn’t “angst” over his legs, but that doesn’t erase the subtext inherent in the fact that he still lost his legs (and presumanbly the piece of his soul) at the same time as he joins team evil.

Yang is probably the best take on a disabled person with a prosthetic in the show. I will give it that. I don’t think there is anything particularly wrong with how it has handled this storyline, but I do think it sets a certain expectation for how it thinks a “good” person should handle their disability. Because Yang basically deals with her lost arm by seeing her prosthetic as an “extra”. She creates a distance between herself and it instead of seeing her mechanical arm as actually part of herself. Again, nothing inherently wrong with that but combined with the Penny-nonsense it creates a pattern of seeing machine parts as inherently inhuman and “lesser”.

The point about Cinder is where the argument relies too much on technicality. Sure, Cinder’s new arm isn’t cybernetic, bhut it is still a prosthetic and it is unambiguously presented as evil and corrupting.

So, no, it’s not the fact that Ironwood has prosthetics that makes him less human, they’re simply a symptom of his view of “soft” traits (kindness, empathy, forgiveness, and flesh), as weaknesses to be sacrificed for the “greater good”. Basically, while I know this term gets misused a lot, Ironwood embodies toxic masculinity. The idea that showing any emotion other than rage and pride is “shameful” and “unmanly”. The idea that brute strength matters more than strategy. That taking unnecessary risks to achieve your goal is “brave” and “daring” and not “stupid beyond belief”. Plus, I want to point out that WINTER HERSELF said that Penny (as a robot) was more “human” than her. 

Again, this completely ignores how Ironwood and his prosthetics are framed by the narrative. The idea that all of his flaws are based in toxic masculinity and have nothing to do with his disability is just not very supported by the text or by word of God (again, it was the creators themselves who said that losing his arm was “symbolic of losing his humanity).

And Winter’s words to Penny aren’t very positive either. The point being made there is that Penny was always human “underneeth” her robotics, which sounds good until you realize that this still frames her mechanical differences as negative. They are treated as a prison for the “real” Penny and the narrative explicitly tells us that they have made her unable to feel certain emotions.

It’s just that searing off that flesh after breaking his own Aura serves as a good visual metaphor for Ironwood giving up his “softer” traits to accomplish his goals, even if there was a better solution staring him right in the face (i.e. the rings were EXPOSED and he could’ve just nudged them out of alignment to get to Watts).

This feels like a really big reach on their parts to justify their idea of Ironwood as stupid on top of everything else. It relies on assuming things about fictional technology that was never explained in the show itself. I mean, if the rings are so easy to nudge then what is even holding them in place?

Either way it doesn’t really matter because the message of the scene is the same. If the point is to signal that ironwood is willing to give up his softer traits because he is also willing to give up his soft bady, then that also tells the viewer that being able-bodied and being capable of compassion/kindness/etc are synonymous.

It has nothing to do with the metal, and everything to do with the “Mettle”. 

I have no idea why they would bring up the fantasy neurodivergence the writers added in through word-of-God as if it somehow makes the show less ableist. “Mettle” as it is described by the writers, is not a character flaw. It is a chronic condition.

Edit: Seriously, I hope you realize that the hatedom makes it VERY hard for any criticism of the show to be taken seriously when the very VALID cricisms are downed out by “Adam should’ve been an anti-hero!” and “Fascism is good, actually!” leading to those of us with ACTUAL constructive criticism getting lumped in with you lot!

I am curious what they think “constructive criticism” looks like since apparently “Hey, constantly equating robot parts with inhuman behavior is shitty and ableist, please stop” doesn’t cut it.

Anyways, fuck this guy. If they want to be taken seriously maybe they should think about why they had to make such a long-ass rant to dismiss criticism of very basic ableist tropes.

[youarejesting]

BTS365 Prompts.Week 50

[Full Masterlist] [Prompt Masterlist] [Tag yourself here]

Please tag me in your work if you use my prompts. I want to see your work. Ever your Jester. Tell me your birthday and I will tag you on your special day!

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         Dec 10th - 16th

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Kim Seokjin - computer security @jooniesdimples70307

It wasn’t a good job. But you made sure to never steal from the innocent and the poor, you were very much a robin hood of sorts. You took a deep breath and dialed the next number. 

“Hello this is Kim Seokjin, how may I help you?” His voice was smooth

“Hello, Mister Kim Seokjin. I am calling from the post, it seems we have your package waiting in our holding center. I can get it sent through to you, I just need a few things just to confirm you are who you say you are. Could you tell me your full name and date of birth sir?”

With that information, you found his social media accounts and he was decently well off by the looks, but what caught your attention was how beautiful he looked. “Alrighty, I see you haven’t really spoken with us over the phone before as your details are quite bare, would you like to make a pin and perhaps some security questions to make it easier for you to identify yourself in the future?”

You were flicking through his photos on his Instagram rapidly and forgot you were on the phone. “I am sorry, sir I was distracted, would you like to go on a date, sometime?”

Min Yoongi - Apples

You grinned it was the perfect date, sweet and quiet, no large crowds, and very romantic. Yoongi had taken you to a farm, the two of you were wearing jeans, hats, and copious amounts of sunscreen. The two of you were given baskets and you set off in the rows of trees picking apples.

It was gorgeous and when you filled your baskets and carried them to the estate, the grinned leading you to the huge back porch where a sitting area of cushions and soft rugs and fabrics lay. “Take a seat and we will be with you in a moment.”

You smiled watching the sunset over the hills the animals on the green grassy planes made you smile, there were tiny white flowers scattered around the pastures. Just as you were admiring the view the waiter returned with a sweet apple cider and you were given courses of delicious tender meats and fresh vegetables. Dessert of apple pie made you grin happily.

Jung Hoseok - scary

Hoseok worked in a haunted house with you when he was in college, he hated every second of it. Mostly because it was more scary for him than any of the customers that stepped through the doors. He didn’t know why but when he saw the very same haunted house at the carnival he was currently exploring, he thought he would step through for old time sake. 

He was part way through when a zombie growled lunging for him he shrieked and the mask lifted “Hoseok, is that you?” You asked “It’s you right? Only one person screams like that”

Kim Namjoon - plant

Volunteering made Namjoon happy, he felt accomplished for doing something and in this case, it was planting trees. He loved trees, he took turns digging holes and placing the saplings and even watering. Whispering praises to each of them, “You are going to do great,”

A few volunteers gave him weird looks and walked away making Namjoon pout ducking his head low and working silently. That was until he heard you in the next row also planting saplings. “It might be tough and you might feel a little different but you’re perfect each tree grows differently and being unique is good.”

He didn’t realize he had been watching you until your eyes met, you said the next words while looking straight at him “Just like us humans, being different isn’t bad,”

Park Jimin - Ninja

Stealth, strength, speed, agility and knowledge. All the things one needed in order to become a ninja. Jimin was sent to kill someone but ended up stuck with you who was in danger. You were the opposite of everything Jimin trained to be, you were loud and chaotic, slow and liked to talk about celebrity couples within tabloid magazines.

Keeping someone alive was much harder. 

Kim Taehyung - Shoes

You just wanted to duck to the mailbox to check for a package, you slipped your feet into the nearest shoes at the door. Taehyung’s Gucci shoes. They were like clown shoes, he had bigger feet than you and you were trying to get to the mailbox. When you saw the package hadn’t been delivered you headed back to the house slipping the shoes off in the doorway.

“Were those my Gucci shoes?”

“Uh… yeah I was just checking the mail” You shrugged making breakfast, it was midway through breakfast when your phone told you your package had just been delivered and you slipped on the luxury brand shoes and raced out the door. “My package!”

“Put your own shoes on!”

Jeon Jungkook - microwave

Jungkook asked you to move in and you were happy, you had unpacked all your things while he was at work he said put it wherever you wanted. When Jungkook came home from work he came into the kitchen and kissed you sweetly. Eyes drawn to the cube of machinery in the corner. “What’s that?”

“the microwave?”

“I don’t like it?” he muttered and you suppressed a laugh understanding some people had different things they didn’t like and you respected this one. Even if it sounded silly.

You did however have a laugh after consoling him after the popcorn incident. 

[caranfindel]

Initial reaction 15.14: Last Holiday

Well, friends, here we go. Are you ready?

(I'm not. But here we go anyway.)

THEN: Cuthbert Sinclair. (Really? That's a deep cut.) Abbadon. Larry Ganem. (And S8 Sam, who is fucking gorgeous.) Oh, and God and Jack and all that stuff, in case you forgot.

NOW: Sam's in the library, doing research, and is distracted by some ominous noises. Ominous in a machinery-breaking-down kind of way, not in a monstery kind of way. Enter Dean, wearing an apron. "What's with the apron," asks Sam, "because it's only protecting your jeans, not the Red Shirt of Bad Decisions." At least that's how it sounded in my head. I mean, who only gets dirty from the waist down when they're cooking? (Well, that lends itself to all kinds of double entendres, doesn't it?) Or maybe Sam doesn't say that because he hopes the RSoBD will be destroyed in a tragic burger accident.

Seriously, Dean, that shirt is precious and you need to protect it, no matter what Sam thinks.

Dean complains that the pilot light keeps going out, and the hot water is unsatisfactory (and we know how he feels about his showers), and Sam reminds him that if the bunker was ever state-of-the-art, it was in the 50s. They exposition for us that Jack is hiding in his room. "Can you blame him?" Sam says. "His soul is back. Everything is hitting him. Everything he's done..." And Sam continues, but I'm sorry, I'm stuck here, thinking about re-souled Sam with everything hitting him. {sob} However, neither of the Winchesters seem to be thinking about this, so. Carry on.

The guys remind us that if Jack kills God, he'll have to kill Amara as well. Which I assume means Amara isn't going to get killed? Just saying. As much as I talk about foreshadowing (too much, please stop!) this show teases us with anti-foreshadowing with equal fervor. And Cas is apparently looking for Amara? What does he hope to accomplish? "Excuse me, but we're killing your brother, so you have to die too. Condolences. But if we follow canon - not that there's any reason to assume we will - you have to die at about the same time. So I need you to come with me while we figure out where he is and how to kill him."

There's another ominous noise, and Dean says "Oh, come on. Now the air?" I hope he means the air conditioning, and not the air purifying/exchange/whatever that Ketch shut off when he locked them in the bunker back in... whatever the BMoL season was. Hey, remember when the guys were locked in the bunker and they were running out of air and they wore single layers and goggles and got all sweaty and depressed? Because I've kind of never gotten over it. But I digress.

Sam is surprised that Dean expects them to fix it. "We've fought the devil," Dean says. "I've killed Hitler. I think we can handle a few old pipes." Surely this isn't the first time they've had to do some repairs around the place.

Deep within the bowels of the bunker, Sam reads some ancient instructions and complains that they can't just call a plumber. Dean refers to the bunker as the most "secretive, secure supernatural hideout in the world," which makes me laugh, because remember when Larry Ganem told Sam it was secure against all manner of evil? What a joke. Is there anything or anyone evil who hasn't been able to get into the bunker? My house is more secure against evil than the bunker, and all I have for protection is a circle of termite bait and a couple of ancient dogs.

They locate the "bunker grid control center thing thingy" (oh Sam, I adore you), complete with reset and standby buttons. Standby is glowing. Dean hypothesizes that it will work just like his computer, which needs to be shut down when it gets too many popups (I suspect you need some virus protection, dear boy), and slams down the reset button before Sam can stop him. Everything goes dark, but then starts up again, so Dean considers it a success. He calls himself "Meat Man" again and heads upstairs to finish cooking his burgers.

Time jump. Dean goes into his room, carrying a burger and a beer, and is astonished to find a middle-aged woman there. She's wearing a plaid wool skirt I owned in the 80s and is folding his underwear. "Oh, hello dear!" she says cheerfully. Dean yells for Sam.

Gosh, Dean, it's like this place isn't secretive or secure at all.

The horrified Shaggy and Scooby boxers are ~chef's kiss.~ Well done, someone.

Title card!

Library. The woman tuts at dust and wonders how they've lived in "this filth," which reminds me of an awesome Tumblr post which theorizes that faeries actually keep the bunker clean, and only first-born son Dean can see them. "Lady, who the hell are you," Dean demands, and is chastized for his language. He calls for Sam again, and gives him the story of how he walked into his room and found her "folding my underthings."

She explains that her actual name is indecipherable in "your tongue," but "Mr. Ganem called me _Mrs. Butters."_She's a wood nymph. And she's not in the woods, nymphing (thank you Dean) because she has more important things to do - she lives in the bunker and takes care of the Men of Letters. I.e., "my boys. My family."

Dean invites her to leave, but this is her home, and she's been here since "before the war." And she thinks it's 1958. "Well, I hate to tell you," Dean says, "but it's 2020." YES, DEAN, WE ALL FEEL THAT WAY ABOUT 2020. Mrs. Butters is horrified to learn all her boys are dead. And for some reason Dean tells her they were murdered by a demon instead of saying old age, or they went to a farm upstate, or whatever. She spots a photo of the last group of MoL, which we've never noticed before, and realizes that this is why they never came back from that last ceremony. When they didn't return, she decided to put the bunker - and herself - in standby mode.

But she also realizes that if these boys are like those boys, it's been a while since they had a home-cooked meal or celebrated a holiday. Or washed their clothes, as she makes a face. That's uncalled for, lady. We all know that Sam Winchester smells like rosemary and mint no matter how long it's been since he did laundry. Sam explains that they're not really "holiday people," which rings true coming from the guy who didn't want to celebrate Christmas and hates Halloween. (And only had one real Thanksgiving in his life and his brother still holds that against him but NO I'M NOT BITTER.)

Dean is more interested in what "standby mode" is. Mrs. Butters says the MoL used her magic to give the bunker "extra oomph," and snaps her fingers. Voila, extra oomph! There's some humming noises, the telescope alcove lights up (!), and an alarm sounds. Because the map table is actually a monster radar, and it indicates a nest of vampires 50 miles away. And gives the address. WELL.

{Sidebar: Why didn't the BMoL know the AMoL had this capability? Why was their focus on "you're not as good as us" instead of "you used to be as good as us; what happened?" Discuss.}

Do I care? No. Because look at these precious perplexed faces.

Dean's ready to go (and it earns him another stern warning about his language), but Sam wonders if they can trust her. "Look at her," Dean says. And I agree. She's a dumpy middle aged woman in a brown plaid wool skirt. She's basically me. And who could be more trustworthy, more concerned with the Winchesters' health and safety, than me?

Um. Anyway.

Not to change the subject or anything, but the pretty is strong tonight, y'all.

Dean suggests they give her the benefit of the doubt, and if it turns out she's not what she says she is, "then we deal with it." The music turns ominous. "What about Jack?" Sam asks.

Oh, Jack is actually in this episode? I thought maybe they were explaining his absence earlier, like they always do with Cas. (Because I always cover the guest star credits on first watch. Spoilers.) But it turns out Jack is actually with us tonight. Sitting on his bed, looking depressed. Dean knocks on his door and tells him they're going out, and there's a "probably harmless" guest making snickerdoodles. This sparks Jack's interest. It would work on me, too. I love snickerdoodles.

Impala. Sam's not sure it's a good idea to keep Mrs. Butters around, even if she is legit. He's concerned about Jack, but Dean brushes him off.

He'll be fine. I mean, I've been through worse and look at me. I'm the picture of health.

Ignoring your trauma doesn't make you healthy.

Sure it does.

Oh, Sam. Just listen to yourself. No, I mean, please. Listen to yourself.

Sam feels like Jack is hiding something, and I wish there were someone around who had also done awful things while un-souled, and remembered what it felt like to deal with that afterward. Someone sympathetic and empathetic. With soft puppy dog eyes and beautiful hair. Oh well. I guess Jack will just have to go unburden himself onto whoever he comes across.

Bunker. Mrs. Butters brings Jack a sandwich. He doesn't open the door, but she leaves it for him.

Vampire nest. A couple of vampires are watching Dark Shadows (so meta!) and drinking blood stolen from a blood bank. So, are these, like, maybe not bad vampires? Maybe they don't kill people? We'll never know, because Sam and Dean walk in and cut off their heads. And come home to... Christmas. Lights are strung all over, jazzy Christmas music is playing, there's a huge decorated tree and gifts, and Mrs. Butters has a tray of homemade cookies. "We are so keeping her," Dean says. Sam looks unsure.

Kitchen. Mrs. Butters tells Sam that since he and Dean have been so busy killing monsters, they haven't had a chance to celebrate anything. But I can barely pay attention to a single word that comes out of the woman's mouth because LOOK AT SAM IN THIS T-SHIRT. LOOK AT IT.

Single-layer Sam is something to celebrate.

She insists that Sam "enjoy the world you're fighting for" (which is never gonna happen, lady) and excitedly talks about all the holidays she wants to make up for. Then Jack enters, and her mood changes instantly. Even Jack's adorable little dorky wave doesn't melt her. "What are you?" she asks coldly.

Enter Dean, wearing a real-life version of the purple "sleeping robe" and nightcap he wore in "Scoobynatural." OH MY GAWD. I really hope this was a surprise for the rest of the cast.

And I also hope he's not really going commando underneath... or do I?

Mrs. Butters is distracted enough to decide that if the boys vouch for Jack, he must be okay. She hands Jack a smoothie but tells Dean he must have tomato juice due to his cholesterol. And she pronounces it the Patrick Stewart way, not the Mark Hammil way.

Before Dean can drink his to-mah-toh juice, the monster radar alarm goes off, and the guys rush off to prepare for a hunt. For future reference, when you leave the kitchen, Sam's room is to the right and Dean's is to the left. We next see the guys fully dressed, receiving sack lunches from Mrs. Butters. Dean's sandwich has the crusts cut off. {Sidebar: Sam never had someone to cut the crusts off his sandwich. Hold me. And also, how many reminders am I going to have of "Dark Side of the Moon" tonight?} She tells Sam the monster is a lamia, the blessed knives are in the trunk, and she just waxed the car so Dean needs to take it easy.

As the guys rush off, she turns to Jack and his smoothie mustache. "Well. What shall we do with you?"

NOTHING GOOD, I'M SURE.

As Jack helps wash dishes, he fills her in. Lucifer was his father, Mary was his family and his friend but he killed her. Mrs. Butters is very supportive, telling him "life gives us second chances and it's our obligation to hold onto them." And she presents him with another smoothie.

Montage! Thanksgiving dinner. More hunts. More sack lunches. Halloween (and even Sam seems to enjoy it). Fourth of July. (Yet another "Dark Side of the Moon" shoutout). A hunt requiring the grenade launcher and Thor's hammer from that episode whose title I can't remember! Sam's birthday! By the way, none of these holiday celebrations include Cas.

Mmmm. So worthy.

Time jump. Jack catches Mrs. Butters looking at something in a file cabinet and being very sneaky about it. He requests another smoothie to get her out of the room, and then finds what she was looking at. It's her MoL file, including a reel of film. The film shows Cuthbert Sinclar talking about File 5150 (aw, RIP Eddie Van Halen). The subject was actually recovered from the Thule (aw, "Everybody Hates Hitler") and we learn that wood nymphs "react violently when home or family are threatened." Sinclair says he "conducted a series of experiments designed to show this strange and magical being of our mission" and convinced her to join the MoL family. Huh. Wonder how he did that. Then Mrs. Butters demonstrates her devotion by literally ripping the head off a Thule. "Son of a bitch," says Jack, because he's been spending a lot of time with Dean.

Jack runs into the war room looking for Sam (and yes, I'm petty enough to love that he looks to Sam first), who is off getting ready for a "big date." Huh. Okay. Mrs. Butters offers him soup, but then Sam walks in, giving off some pretty strong Hot Professor Sam vibes (hello again, "Everybody Hates Hitler") with a sweater vest and tie, and I am thrilled with this development.

Thrilled, I tell you.

Mrs. Butters tells him he looks wonderful but offers to trim his hair (back off, lady, I will cut you) and Dean enters in time to make a weak Abercrombie and Bitch joke. Sam tells him Eileen's in town, and he's taking her out to dinner and "some privacy, something."

"Heavy on the something," Dean says, and we're going to talk about that later, I promise. But for now, Mrs. Butters tells Sam to take one of the old cars from the garage. Finally. Can we just make this permanent? Can Sam have his own fucking car, please? She produces a bouquet of roses from nowhere and sends him on his adorably anxious way. Then she tells Dean she found a broken TV in one of the rooms and fixed it. "The Dean Cave?" Dean is off like a shot. I wonder if that's the TV he smashed with a hammer, and if so, how did she fix it? (Also, hello again, "Scoobynatural.")

Jack is still unsettled. He follows her into the dungeon and tells her he saw the film. {Sidebar: The film showed her killing one of their enemies because she's protective of the MoL. Is it really that awful? Discuss.} "And how did that make you feel?" she asks. "You relished his pain, didn't you, Jack?" Oh, turns out that was a setup - she wanted Jack to see the video, so she could confirm that he was a bloodthirsty little monster. And do the Winchesters know how powerful he has become?

They should be scared of you!

I would never hurt them.

You have before, haven't you? Have you ever thought that Sam and Dean keep you in here, closed in, secure, because they're scared you'll do to someone else what you did to their mother?

Well, I mean. Now he has. She flings Jack into the wall. He tries to use the glowy eyes on her, but he finds himself powerless. She snaps the magic handcuffs on him. "You didn't think those smoothies were for your health, did you? Oh, I've learned a few things while I was doing the dusting around here. A little yarrow root, some ground jawbone for texture, and voila! You are as weak as a puppy."

Wait. That's all it took? To power down a nephilim, who is canonically more powerful than his archangel parent? So when the Winchesters were trying to take down Lucifer and AU Michael, all they needed was some yarrow root and ground jawbone? And the answers were all right here in the bunker?

(Sigh. Don't think about it. That way lies madness.)

(Also, canon! Ha ha ha ha.)

She tells Jack she's making the bunker safe again and getting rid of all the monsters. Like you, sweetness. Aw. Sad Jack.

Kitchen. Dean comes in looking for a snack and is immediately presented with some kind of grilled sandwich. She tells him to eat it, because he'll need his strength when they go kill Jack. Aw, that's the sound of a heart breaking.

Dean is disappointed that their good thing has gone "full Nurse Ratchet," and glances longingly at the sandwich he has to leave behind. He takes Mrs. B's knife and suggests they let Jack go and pretend this never happened. The only logical conclusion is that Dean is under Jack's spell, so he gets tossed into the dungeon too. Oh, cool. Does that mean Sam gets to be the hero and save them?

Spoiler alert: Ha ha ha ha no.

Hello, Demon Dean. That's the only other time we've seen this expression, isn't it? {Or is it simply the only one branded onto my brain? Discuss.)

Map table room. Sam comes in and is met by Mrs. B. "Bit past your curfew, Samuel," she says curtly. He's no longer wearing his tie. Hmm. So, let's talk about the Eileen situation. Isn't it weird that (1) Dean didn't know she was in town, and (b) she's not spending the night at the bunker? Wouldn't you think she'd be a house guest? I mean, she's not "in town" for the heck of it. The only thing that would bring her to Lebanon would be Sam. So why isn't she here seeing Sam? Is she just driving through on her way somewhere else? She can't even spend one night in the bunker? And the tie? If Sam removed his tie, doesn't that strongly suggest Dean was right about the "something" going on? Did they do it in the back of the old car? At a hotel? I have questions, friends.

Anyway. Sam asks where Jack and Dean are, since it's late and they should be sitting around the map table waiting for him to come home and not, like, in bed or anything. "Well, I have some good news, and some bad news."

HERE IS SOME GOOD NEWS INDEED.

Honestly, I like this look better without the tie.

Time jump.

So, Jack has taken over Dean's mind. And they're both downstairs, right now, ready to be killed by us.

You were always the smart one, yes.

Sam, who is the smart one, says he's going to go to his room and get his gun, and he'll meet her in the dungeon. "And we can... get to the killing." I LOVE HIM. {Sidebar: I have watched his fake relieved sigh several times and it makes me smile every time.} Once he’s safe in his room, Sam calls Dean and starts to tell him about Mrs. Butters.

Went psycho, we know.

Why didn't you call me?

Well, I mean I, you know, I figured you were "practicing your sign language."

And that's more important than coming to save you?

...

Dean?

It's been a while for you, man, you know?

Aw. Always the supportive big brother. {Sidebar: As long as Sam is doing something Dean thinks Sam should be doing. But I digress.}

{Sidebar: I love Dean, y'all know I do. Warts and all. He'd be boring if he were perfect.}

Dean suggests Sam shoot her, although they don't know if a gun will kill her because neither of them got around to researching it because they were distracted by Christmas and Thanksgiving and breakfast on Boxing Day. That's how you get killed, guys. {Sidebar: How much do I love that Sam calls it Boxing Day? For my Brit friends, that's not really a thing in the U.S., although it's gradually starting to become one. And I love it.}

Dean then suggests that putting the bunker in standby mode might put Mrs. B in suspended animation again. Meanwhile, Jack and Dean are stuck in the dungeon. Jack suggests using his power to remove the cuffs, but Dean points out that the power surge would catch Chuck's attention. But what power surge? Jack already tried to use his power against Mrs. B and it turned out he didn't have any.

Jack suspects there are other reasons Dean doesn't want him to use his power, and suddenly decides it's time for a deep conversation.

Do you still think I'm a monster? Okay, I'm just gonna say this, okay? Just get it out there. Jack, I'm trying, okay? I really am. But what you did, that's not easy to forget. Now, I was angry with you. For a while. And maybe I still am a little bit, okay? But I'm not gonna let some evil Mary Poppins take you out. You understand?

Okay. Good talk.

Sam shows up in the library looking for Mrs. B, and trying to hide his gun, as if he hadn't told her he was going to his room specifically to retrieve said gun. But Mrs. B realizes he's trying to kill her, and freezes him. She's not mad, she's just disappointed. She tosses him into a chair and keeps him there with the power of her mind, not with rope or anything, in case you were wondering. {Oh, hello, "Funeralia" and "The Trap."} She tells him that when the MoL first found her, she didn't realize how important they were. But Mr. Cuthbert explained it to her. And since Sam is her favorite, she's not going to give up on him. Yet. She's going help Sam the same way Mr. Cuthbert helped her understand. Well, that doesn't sound ominous at all.

He's my favorite too! And I also think he needs to be hurt! See, she's basically me!

Dungeon. Dean is going to try to chop Jack's handcuffs off.

You're sure this is gonna work?

Let's say yes.

Aw. That was a perfect opportunity to bring back "maybe 90% sure." And it doesn't work - Jack is sent flying into a glassed-in cabinet that I've never seen in the dungeon before. Dean says "dang it" before remembering that he can use his big boy words, which is adorable. And then he gets an idea.

Upstairs. Mrs. B tries to convince Sam that Jack is a monster because he's Lucifer's son. Sam, of course, takes the opposite side of this debate. "Now, Mr. Cuthbert taught me that pain can be a wonderful teacher. Let's see if it can't correct your ways."

I SWEAR, Y'ALL, SHE IS ME.

Sam could sneer at her and say "I've been tortured by the devil himself; what can you do to me?" but we don't have that version of Sam any more. Mrs. B, without tools, yanks off one of his fingernails. {Oh, hello "A Very Supernatural Christmas!"}

Meanwhile, downstairs, Dean has a different theory on pain. It's just "weakness leaving the body," he tells Jack. We get a little "on three" bit, where he actually does the thing on one. And the thing is that he tries to cut Jack's handcuffs again, but this time Jack is strategically placed in front of the dungeon door. So when he's thrown back by the blast, he ends up breaking the door down.

Upstairs. Sam's been relieved of even more fingernails.

Downstairs. Dean takes a hammer (!) and smashes the reset button. Why doesn't he just push it with his hand? I mean, sure, we get the hammer, and the red lights and warning klaxon, and all of that turns me into Pavlov's dog {Hello, "Soul Survivor"}. But still. Seems unnecessary.

Upstairs. Mrs. B seems to be gone, and Dean bends over like he's untying Sam's wrist. But Sam's wrists aren't tied to anything, so. I got nothin'.

Downstairs. The runes that seem to hold Mrs. B in stasis light up, but do not stay lit. Well, that can't be good. And then the bunker grid control center thing thingy starts shaking and springs a leak. Ooops. Here she comes, complete with glowy green eyes.

Upstairs. Dean finishes untying Sam from the chair he wasn't tied to, and remarks on how gross his tortured hand is. Mrs. B shows up, yells that they've all been very bad, and flings them across the room. She's sure Sam will thank her someday for killing Jack, because it's so important to kill monsters and keep the MoL safe. It's why she couldn't go back to her forest. Sam explains to her that Mr. Cuthbert tortured her and used her, and Dean tells her Jack is going to save the world. Oh, okay then. The regular lights turn back on and Mrs. B tearfully says she misses the MoL so much.

Aftermath. Mrs. B heals Sam's hand and apologizes and all is immediately forgotten and once again, Sam gets to forgive his torturer and turn the other cheek. Yay! Sam, what was it you said earlier?

Gif stolen from @michaeldean

The guys send Mrs. B back to the woods, but first they have this conversation:

Sadly, without my magic, the bunker will revert to standby mode, so. Ah well, things were getting too easy anyway, you know? Who needs a monster radar? Or whatever that telescope thing is? It's an interdimensional geoscope. It's a what? I looked in it earlier; I didn't see anything. Oh. Well that's not good.

Holy crap, you guys. Interdimensional. It let the MoL look at the alternate worlds. And now you can't see anything because all of the alternate worlds have been destroyed. Gotta admit, this is an excellent little twist.

Jack presents Mrs. B with the photo of the MoL. "Oh look," she says. "The man who tortured me and kept me from my home, right here, front and center." Well, no, she doesn't. But I do.

Mrs. Butters gives them some last instruction. "Dean, eat your vegetables. And Sam, cut your hair. And Jack, go save the world." Well, I'm in favor of one or two of those things.

Try to tell me I'm wrong. Just try.

After-aftermath. Jack tells Sam that he doesn't know if he can kill God, since he was sidelined by a wood nymph "because I was stupid." He asks if Sam thinks he can do it.

"Jack, you're the only who can." No pressure.

Dean shows up with a truly awful-looking birthday cake for Jack. "I made it myself. Obviously." But Jack is thrilled because it's from Dean, and it means Dean loves him and has forgiven him, until the plot requires otherwise. He makes a wish and blows out his single candle. Fade to black.

So! There were parts of this that were simply marvelous. There were parts that were kind of dumb. There were parts that would have made me very angry if I weren't so tired and jaded. But the good parts were darn good, and the pretty was dialed up to 11, and we all know I'm a sucker for a pretty episode. And there was NO B PLOT. AT ALL. Thank you baby Jesus.

And let’s just refuse to consider the possibility that these were, in fact, their last holidays. Thanks.

Now I get to see what you thought about it. And, as always, please help me stay unspoiled for future episodes, including episode titles and casting info. {smooches}

[kanamesharisenwrites]

kh’s story snippet celebration sendoff, entry #3

Oh, I had so much fun with this twisted plunnie! And even though only the opening scene is complete, I did finish a first draft for the entire fic (which I’ve included). It’s rough and vague, but the whole plot concept is there!

Inspired by the story, The Ones that Walk Away from Omelas, by Ursula K Le Guin.

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Kakashi Hatake/Sakura Haruno Word Count: 2217 Genre: canon-divergence!AU, drama, angst Rating: M Warnings: brief profanity, abduction, manipulation, brainwashing, dark fic

... [ kingdom come ]

"Where's Sakura?"

"Gone, obviously." Sasuke laughs, bloody spittle coating his lips. He groans as he pulls his body off the ground. Swelling from a large contusion over his left eye mars his fair face; there is a matching one at the base of his skull. His right arm, severed and cauterized, lies in the dust a few feet away. "If he didn't kill her, Tobi probably took her. He likes shiny new toys."

Kakashi bristles and widens his stance as Sasuke walks towards him. "I want to know what happened. Now."

"Relax, old man, I'm not looking for a fight." Sasuke picks up his arm and throws it over his shoulder. "Sakura told me to get my head out of my ass and go home. That's what I intend to do."

Kakashi eyes Sasuke with suspicion, searching his demeanor for tells of dishonesty. "After all these years, you’ll forgive me if I doubt your word. It's all a little too easy, don't you think?"

"Easy?" Sasuke scoffs and levels Kakashi with a hard stare. "I knew she only wanted to join me so she could capture or kill me. I decided to kill her first – chidori through the heart." A smirk twists Sasuke's mouth, sharp and cruel, as he watches Kakashi flinch. "One stab and I'd permanently slice through those bonds Naruto rants about. Only it didn't work. Her chakra neutralized my chidori when she grabbed my arm." Sasuke shakes his head, and his smirk softens. "What the hell have you guys been feeding her, anyway? She's as strong as a fucking ox."

Kakashi shrugs. "Ask Lady Tsunade."

"Figures. Sakura managed this," Sasuke gestures to his missing arm, "with nothing but a chakra scalpel. Pulled the rest of it through her body like she was unsheathing a sword. Then she beat me unconscious with my own severed appendage. Last thing I saw was the hole in her chest close up like it'd never been there."

 "You were a fool to underestimate her."

"So were you."

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Shikamaru gives Kakashi his weekly “state of the village” report.

Kakashi asks about Sakura sightings; there’s been none.

Shikamaru turns to leave, but stops. Tells Kakashi he thinks it’s time to give up the hunt.

After Shikamaru leaves, Kakashi stares out the office window and wonders aloud why he’s still there when everyone important to him is gone.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Sakura comes to him in a dream. She’s older - ethereal yet weary-looking. She reminds him why he needs to stay, about the good he brings to the village, to the world. When she goes to leave, he chases her, promises to find her. She looks puzzled.

“Why, sensei? I was never lost in the first place.”

Kakashi wakes up in tears.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

When Kakashi makes his weekly trip to the memorial, Karin is there. He’s tired and his memory is fuzzy; he doesn’t remember her at first. When he does, he’s surprised. He didn’t think she’d stay in the village without Sasuke.

“Visiting Konoha, huh?”

“Hardly.” She huffs. “I never left.”

“Strange. I never see you around.”

“I keep a low profile. The village isn’t especially kind to Orochimaru’s castoffs.”

“Why do you stay, then?”

Karin pauses, her fingers hovering over Sasuke’s name. When she speaks, it’s slow, deliberate.

“Because that’s what he would’ve wanted. For me to carry on in his stead.”

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi dreams of Sakura again. She seems disconcerted that he acknowledges her - you weren’t supposed to know that I’m here, sensei - but speaks with him anyway. It’s a soft, gentle conversation, and it lulls him into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

He wakes up more rested than he has in a long time, but his mind anxious.

Sakura seemed too sentient for a figment of his subconscious.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Shizune comes to see him, asks how life as Hokage is going.

Kakashi admits it’s boring - too much paperwork, too little action. Village life has become too idyllic since the end of the war, to the point that it feels unnatural.

Shizune says she feels it too.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi starts dreaming of Sakura every night. 

He tells her silly stories about the new batch of genin trying to unmask him. She shares some of Tsunade’s most “creative” teaching techniques.

She asks him how the village is doing. He tries to explain how it’s so perfect it feels wrong, but can’t quite find the words. Her coy smile suggests she understands anyway.

He asks her to stop calling him “sensei.” She laughs and calls him “Lord Hokage.”

He thanks her for keeping his nightmares at bay. She asks him what his nightmares are, but he doesn’t answer.

After a few nights where he dreams they walk through the forest without talking, he finally opens up.

Before her, he dreamed about lightning and blood: his chidori through Rin’s chest; Obito crushed and plucking out his own eye in offering; Naruto and Sasuke’s lifeless bodies on the battlefield still holding hands; searching for Sakura in an endless maw of darkness.

Sakura holds his hand and cries. Her hand feels so real, so warm and solid, that it wakes him up.

In his next dream, he confronts her. Begs her to tell him where she went, what happened to her. Sakura goes pale. When she tries to speak, she writhes in pain as if the words she meant to say were choking her. She falls to her knees and looks up at him, still no words falling from her open mouth. But he sees it - the Root seal on her tongue. 

He wakes up angry.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi calls Sai to his office and asks questions about Root. Even though it’s been years since Danzo’s execution, Sai can’t answer and it leaves Kakashi frustrated as well as angry.

That night, Kakashi doesn’t dream of Sakura. He dreams of the absence of her.

He dreams about capturing Sasuke and bringing him back. Of entrusting Sakura's rescue to Naruto and Sai. Of their return, empty-handed.

He dreams of Naruto’s grief and anger and disbelief - that Root (Danzo) captured Karin, but found no trace of Sakura. Of Sai's silent lips and clenched fists.

The memories fall away and Kakashi calls for Sakura in the dark void of his dream until his throat is raw. 

She doesn’t come.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi sees Karin at the memorial again.

She seems agitated, on edge, but she extends a gruff invite to her place for tea.

He declines.

She tells him she lives in a small house painted yellow at the foot of Hokage Mountain, if he changes his mind. 

That night he dreams of Obito, of the Tobi mask falling away revealing his old teammate. Of cruel taunts - so, poor, tragic, Kakashi lost another kunoichi - and cryptic denials - come on, Kakashi, I’d need more than one Sharingan to capture that sweet little cherry - and unfounded accusations - sounds like an inside job, if you ask me. 

Kakashi wakes in a cold sweat.

Then he goes in search of Karin’s house.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Karin seems almost relieved to see him. She opens the door and he steps inside. Immediately, he can feel it; Sakura’s chakra signature rolls over him like a wave.

Karin leads him to the basement.

Sakura sits in a dingy, old recliner in nothing but a bra and training shorts. A crown of wires connects her to a wall of softly whirring machinery. She opens her brilliant green eyes and smiles.

“Kakashi!”

He turns to Karin. “Unhook her. Now.”

“It’s not as simple as that. If we--”

“If you don’t do it, I will.”

“No, you can’t!” Sakura screams. “If you do, the village will be destroyed!”

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi sits silently fuming in a meeting with the village council and the daimyo. They throw a lot of facts around: higher birth rates, reduced healing times for injuries, near elimination of sickness, increased shinobi numbers and quality, improved financial stability, etc. It doesn’t take long for him to realize.

“You authorized this project of Danzo’s.”

“Of course. How else do you think he got the technology to accomplish such a feat?”

“I suppose it’s pointless to petition for this project’s end.”

“We truly are sorry, Kakashi. We didn’t know your kunoichi was the one chosen for the experiment. But it has turned out so well for the village. I hope you understand.”

“I do,” Kakashi says. 

He walks out.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi visits Karin and Sakura again, asks them to tell him everything they know about Sakura’s situation: unhooking Sakura will reverse all the good her chakra network has accomplished.

Absolute, utter destruction, they say.

Kakashi seethes. “Danzo was a fucking liar.”

“Maybe.” Sakura shakes her head. “But I can’t take that chance.”

Kakashi storms off.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi summons Shikamaru.

“The safety of our civilians has been weighing on me.”

“You know something I don’t?”

“Just… been thinking. How many times has a significant threat infiltrated our security in your lifetime, Shikamaru?”

“Point taken. What do you want to do?”

“I want you to develop a village-wide evacuation plan. Be sure to include provisions for temporary shelter and two week’s worth of rations for every family. I expect a working model ready for drills by the end of the month.”

“Yes, Lord Hokage.”

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

Kakashi arrives at Karin’s house with Sai. He tells her to leave, to follow the rest of her neighbors to their designated rendezvous point.

“She’s gonna hate you.”

“I know.”

When Kakashi enters the basement, Sakura is waiting for him, ready to strike. 

“Don’t make me fight you.”

“It’s time to let go, Sakura.”

“I can’t. The village will collapse and people will die. I can’t have that on my conscience. I can’t be why Konoha disappears!”

“Konoha isn’t a place. It’s the people who live with the will of fire in their hearts. And those people have been evacuated. They are safe. Konoha will survive.”

Sakura squares her shoulders and chin, digging in her heels. “I’m a kunoichi. My purpose is to be of use to my village, no matter the sacrifice.”

“You are of more use to your village free than you will ever be wasting away in this damned basement!”

“But the village--”

“Fuck the village. It can burn to the ground as long as I know you’re safe. You’re it, Sakura. You’re all I have left.” Kakashi's voice cracks. “I can’t lose you to this.”

Sakura lowers her fists. “I’m scared.”

“I know. But it will be okay, I promise.” Kakashi presses the button on his earpiece. “Shikamaru, are we good to go?” After the affirmative answer crackles in his ear, Kakashi turns back to Sakura. “Do you trust me?”

Sakura nods.

“Sai is waiting for us upstairs. He’s ready to fly us out of here if needed.” Kakashi takes her hand. “Tell me what to do.”

“You’re sure everyone is safe?”

“I’m sure.”

“Flip that lever.”

The rumbling begins almost immediately. Kakashi scoops her up, pulling the crown from her head and smashing it to the ground. Sai spies them from his perch on his ink bird and if he’s surprised by Sakura’s presence, he doesn’t show it. They fly away, watching as a crater of rubble forms where Konoha once stood.

Sakura weeps as Kakashi holds her to his chest.

.

.

.

[ .oOo. ]

There are a lot of questions. He answers them as honestly and as vaguely as he can, leaving Sakura out of the story altogether. Some people are scared. Some are angry. Most are just thankful for their tents, their food, and their lives. This isn’t the first time they’ve had to rebuild.

After the village settles down for the night, Kakashi patrols the perimeter of the wreckage. The only thing left intact is the memorial stone. He stands there for a long time reading the names carved on its surface. The moon rises and the first chill of autumn settles in his bones.

Someone takes his hand… Sakura.

“Do you regret it?” she asks.

“No,” he answers. She shivers, so he pulls her into his arms. “Do you?”

"Yes."

The word leaves her on an exhale, as quiet and forceful as the wind. A tear escapes her, splatters against the chilled skin of his forearm.

"It's gut-wrenching, knowing what my freedom cost. I think a part of me will always feel that way." She runs her fingers over their teammates' names, slow and reverent. "But one day, maybe..."

"Then I'll hold onto it for you."

She glances at him over her shoulder, confused. "Hold onto what?"

He breathes in deep, squeezing her tight. With a kiss to her temple, he answers, "The hope for that one day."

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 55 – Crisis

“Hmph... So it was more than pure luck that you took out Aris.”

Kornel mumbled through ground teeth, his voice seething, his face kissing the dirt.

Or rather, he was trying to get his behind back up, during which he inevitably got his mouth plastered to the ground.

Kornel was more than eager to wage himself against Takio. He was not alone, and Helga officiated that he is welcome to beat the snot out of the purple-haired sniper, so he played a bull met with a red flag as he chased after Takio.

To his utmost humiliation, Kornel has lost his count on the number of times he was forced to wipe the floor with his body.

He chastised himself that he should not have assumed Takio would be helpless in hand-to-hand combat, based on the pair of guns he was clutching.

Which was not the main reason why he was at disadvantage.

“Damn it, just what kind of drug has he been on since his departure from the Union? He’s too strong!”

Kornel did not stand a chance against Takio, perfectly equipped with agility in motion and action, precision in shooting, and qualified close combat skills supported by his bladed guns.

Because of which Kornel could not dare to lunge towards Takio, even after completely getting on his feet, to instead glare at the sniper poised on his feet.

However, Takio was not poised at heart, as he stared back at Kornel.

Their battle was as good as settled, but that was not the case with Helga.

‘Just what is her power? I could not land a single attack on her.’

In consideration of the situation, he took much more care than we could ever muster to pull the triggers, recalibrate his steps, and swing his guns.

All of which Helga reacted to cleanly.

She even twisted her body before he could point or lift his guns to fire.

Given that Takio’s responses were much faster, nevertheless, Helga could not avoid getting slashed on skin by his bullets from time to time.

Notwithstanding, the fact that she was in all unscathed was enough to render him wary of her.

‘And unlike this guy, she’s prudent, grounded, taking her time to put herself against me and pushing and pulling at me just about right to keep me rooted in this zone. It’s a wonder I had no idea such agent existed during my time at the Uni... Ugh!’

And in the meantime, he had to stop or shoo away modified civilians from engaging in battle royale or being a hindrance-slash-nuisance for him.

Of course, Helga and Kornel did not give him time to teach a lesson to the meddlers, which involved the biggest problem for Takio.

‘Is it just me, or does she see every movement I’d make in advance? Though my speed does not allow her to leave a mark upon me, somehow it feels like she can predict every coordination I will make.’

Everything about her – her blue eyes blazing with artificial glow, the direction her shoulders and knees would take, and the weight and air stirred by her body whenever she moves – was all pre-calculated to where Takio would prepare an attack, evade an impact, or devise a counter.

‘I would have suffered at least dozens of slaps and thwacks if I didn’t happen to have grown much faster and stronger.’

Even with Takio’s somewhat-recognition, Helga did not deem her standing better than that of Takio.

Just like how he internally pointed out, she could not connect a single attack to Takio’s body, and she could see that Takio has more than improved in terms of combat capabilities and specs.

And she did not have to meet his fists with hers or strike up a deathly waltz of kicks to realize that she was now no match for Takio.

She could not guarantee whether she could stand against him, even with Kornel and the rest of very few remaining combatants of Union by her side.

‘The fact that he did not manage to diagnose my power is serving as a shield for us. Along with these modified humans. Which is more than good for us.’

She knew that otherwise she and Kornel would have already hit the road to the afterlife.

‘Not to mention apparently he did not even use his powers to maximum. Considering how Aris and her gang were the type that enhances powers through meds and employs a variety of equipment, he must be leaving his pills for the next stage. Which I didn’t even get a glimpse of. Damn it, just where is that man when we need him?!’

With the battle caught in the tense, unpleasant balance, Helga was naturally reminded of her accomplice.

An accomplice she told to stand by, since it would be preferable for their foes to learn about his betrayal as late as possible.

An accomplice who should be watching what was going on.

But how come he is nowhere to be seen?!

Kornel gaped at Helga with crumpled forehead, packed with inches-deep creases, his mind probably in synchronization with Helga’s mind.

“Guess we don’t have a choice. We’d be basically admitting that you are way out of our league, but we’re in no situation to place our pride above our purpose.”

Helga’s fiery eyes flashed in sinister blue, and Takio automatically grasped his guns, only to withdraw them in bafflement the next moment.

“Kraaaah!!!”

A modified citizen stampeded towards Helga with his mouth wide open, whom she grabbed and flung towards Takio.

Out of gut reaction, Takio stretched out his bare hands to safely pluck the man out of air and gently push him away, and as soon as he straightened himself with pow and wham Kornel and Helga punched his chest and kicked at his abdomen, respectively.

He raised his arms in defense before he could suffer legitimate blows, but as a result his balance was toppled, which Kornel and Helga were not satisfied with.

“Krgh!”

“Krah!”

The two Union agents were now fervently ripping away and pitching the nearby civilians, and Takio was in frenzy to save them and thwart Helga and Kornel’s blitzes.

“Ah-ah-ah! I wouldn’t move if I were you, unless you want this fella’s head cannonballing towards the sky.”

To top it off, whenever he attempted to fight back when the opportunity was given, they snatched one of the modified people as hostage to still him.

“Goddamn it...!”

Now no longer upper-handed in the battle, Takio furiously grit his teeth.

*****

Meanwhile, in the area off-limits

“This gear is much more useful than I had presumed.”

Deneb snickered, having accomplished a feat of staying alive against the head of the Kertia clan and faring pretty well.

Rael could not even move his lips to his taunting comment.

Without his Grandia, he could not flaunt his art of stealth or go all out against Deneb.

And since Deneb was to be captured, not butchered, he could not even exercise proper assaults.

Nonetheless, the dilemma lay with Deneb, not him.

Whenever he targeted Deneb’s shoulders, back, or waist with his bare hands, the Illiness responded each time, to very narrowly swivel and curl his body to nullify Rael’s thrusts and slices of hand.

Yet given that Rael is the fastest of all nobles, his clan being the genesis of assassins among mankind, nobody would have denied that what Deneb managed to pull off was worthy of a boast, the reason being the gear he was using – extrasensitive thermal detector.

Rael could make out from its title that the gear could detect his location by locking upon his body temperature; he supposed the gear in fact did more than picking up body temperature, since with the gear Deneb could react right at the moment when Rael was about to move.

Short in knowledge in terms of machinery, Rael did not even hope to dissect in his head what exactly the gear could do.

After all, what truly mattered at the moment was to figure out how to defeat Deneb.

‘If only I had skills in ranged melee, like Regis.’

He knew he could try out an adjustment he practiced at Yuhyung’s lab when he put out the fire.

Too bad Deneb was seemingly wary of Rael’s potential ranged attack, for he had not moved a bit from his in-a-way-battleground, with Yuhyung at the background.

No matter how deadly Rael was with his aim, he did not know and did not want to find out if Yuhyung’s human body could stand through the aftermath of his attack.

He would have been grateful if Yuhyung would step aside, but the man was impeccably frozen, after a series of shrieks and shouts into his device.

And Deneb added much more to his trouble.

“Humans are not so useless, after all. I’m so glad I could get enlightened before it was too late, unlike you.”

Unlike you.

Rael wobbled at his spot, his determination wavering at the brief statement.

Swirling just enough to stay safe from Deneb’s attacks, Rael did not even feel like parrying.

His head was too complicated – too distraught for the job.

‘Just what do I have to be... In order to be like me?’

With his soul weapon absent, with a number of conditions he could not fix at the moment, with the battle not making any progress unlike his prior experiences, and with his body and mind too fatigued, Rael could not collect his mind together.

Each time he endeavored to piece together the thoughts drifting within him, the memories struck him hard and corrupted his will.

I have never been recognized by the patriarchs of my clan.

I have never prevailed superb with a task for the QuadraNet Project, other than escorting Yuhyung.

I could not even keep my soul weapon safe.

I could not even realize we were hosting and housing an enemy with lethal goal.

And I could not stop this from happening.

As he thought of have-not’s and could-not’s, Rael eventually stopped moving.

His body growing heavy with cuts and bruises, to ultimately roll over dirt, Rael plunged deeper into the swamp of despair.

Maybe I was never meant to be a head of my clan.

Maybe I never should have thirsted after the title of the head of the Kertias.

Maybe I don’t deserve to be dubbed the son of Rayga Kertia. Or the brother of Razark Kertia.

Maybe this is where I should give up on Grandia for good. I have done nothing correctly ever since my return to Lukedonia.

Rael’s knees were glued to the ground, and he stopped altogether.

Not missing his chance, Deneb drove his pointed hand towards Rael’s heart.

*****

Somewhere in the far ocean

Splash!!!!

As many souls were flustered and jeopardized by the circumstances they could surely handle but could not, a watery thud broke through the salty surface and whisked up a bloody mist.

The werewolf’s eyes were already half-lidded as she was wrapped and dragged by the foams and saltwater.

‘No... I can’t let this... End here...’

Much to her devastation, her body did not cooperate.

Raising her hands towards the surface of water she was so sure she could rise through if she tries just a little bit more, Lunark sunk deeper and deeper into the endless dark and blue of the nether region down below.

(next chapter)

Sorry I posted this past the usual time I upload my fic. I was supposed to post this after attending something for a bit, but I had no idea so much time has passed. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again in the future. :’(

There is trouble everywhere - but in order to take a leap into the sky, one must first crouch. And I promise the crisis won’t last long. :)

[kevinszabojrplumbing]

Understanding Everything about the Need for Junk Removal Services

Junk removal firms can safely and efficiently dispose of your junk. A multitude of firms will effectively gather any useful products. This may consist of materials like steel springs and fibre stuffing. To create a brand-new mattress, these companies will join it with several other recovered mattresses. The majority of rubbish removal firms around work similarly.

Collecting all of your household waste, such as used furniture, dated documents, and other used items that are classified as waste, is known as rubbish removal. 

Ensure the firm provides the services described in the contract for the price. Watch out for businesses that can bill you extra for any extra services rendered throughout the removal procedure.

We all want to get rid of the accumulated rubbish in our homes, but it's not as simple as throwing it in the waste and taking it outside. A large amount of rubbish may require the professional assistance of a junk removal service to be removed, especially if it includes outdated furniture, doors, or other such items. It is normal for us to be persuaded to work with the company that charges the least; everyone wants to avoid incurring additional costs.

This is why rubbish removal professional thinks routine junk and waste pickup is more important than ever. Effective waste collection enhances the environment's health, making a living and working areas cleaner. For instance, office waste and yard waste may both be recycled. All you need to do is to get in touch with the right junk removal service so that you can enjoy living in a clean estate. 

Accurate disposal of recyclables

Do you wonder where your waste will end when tossed out? Determining what rubbish is recyclable in your location may be challenging. Because of this, hiring a company to handle your neighbourhood's waste disposal makes sense.

Complete Junk Removal

You can have a tonne of waste to get rid of. You will want the assistance of a professional waste removal company near me, for instance, if you have recently completed a DIY project or even a major makeover. You may rely on a company you engage in to remove waste from a certain location. They'll arrive at the time you've chosen.

Cash savings

Saving time equates to financial savings. Hiring junk removal services is important because business owners must keep their place settled and rubbish-free. The service providers keep the place well-managed and give you a peaceful mind to enjoy living. 

Environmentally Conscious

There are a few things to keep in mind while learning about recycling and when getting rid of rubbish. Products that are harmful to the environment are possible. As a result, you must ensure that they are appropriately disposed of. Junk removal in your neighbourhood might be good for the environment if you work with a reliable company.

This will guarantee that dangerous materials are distributed to the appropriate locations. They might also look through your waste to see whether anything can be recycled. Additionally, they might give these items to nearby charities, preventing trash from going to the landfill.

Very accomplished

Many of the vehicles have plywood sides and advertise low-cost junk removal services. The best thing about hiring experts is that they have the proper tools to help you. The tools can prove to be beneficial in generating quick results and also do not cause any harm to anyone. 

Saving important time

It can take much time when it comes to getting rid of junk. Hence you need to be very careful. Do not feel shy and ask as many questions as you can from the service provider to understand what services will be the right ones for you. Also, you can discuss the correct amount of budget that will be the best for you.

Conclusion

Junk removal services like Goodbye Junk are regularly in high demand. Therefore, you might be able to haggle for a considerably lower price if you wind up with a house full of waste. The basis for this will be the kind of machinery or objects you want the company to take away. As a consequence, you can decide to use these removal services. They provide a way to contribute to reducing pollution. They do this because they stop dangerous pollutants from harming the environment.

 Companies that recycle and remove rubbish are multiplying every day. The fact that most of these removal companies recycle is one of the wonderful things about the rubbish removal sector. In other words, you won't only help keep all of the energy and natural resources around. Additionally, you will aid in ecological restoration.

Guest Contributor: Charlie Krasl

[offbrandmercyplates]

And Another One Gets a Post!

Ms. Emmibee: I’m tired and my back hurts.

Me: Hmm, I can’t as of yet teleport over-the-counter pain medicine and soft things to unknown locations with my mind. How can I help?

Me: Wait.

Me: There is a soft thing I can sort of teleport.

And here it is!

Sooo, I’ve been on a bit of a lazy streak this past week or so, so I figured I should actually do something productive, and what better way to be productive than to make a gift for someone? Thus, this is here.

I’ll also be posting this to my fanfiction account… AND my brand-new Archive Of Our Own account! Yeah, I finally did the thing and got an account. If I can figure out how to post the story right, then it’ll definitely be up today! Thanks once more plus infinity to Emmibee to inviting me and letting me write and post these and just generally being a really cool person!

If you’ve seen the picture that this story is based on, then you’ll definitely recognize the title. Speaking of things, but not entirely, here are some “warnings”:

Contains fluff and, like, one sort-of quote from Homestuck and Spongebob season 1, but I don’t know what episode. Read at your own risk.

Maximum Yearn

“Something on your mind, Dr. Gaster?” Emmibee asked the skeleton sitting across from her. He had been alternating between sneaking glances at her and staring intently into his coffee cup ever since she had sat down at the kitchen table that morning. Clearly, he was thinking hard about something, but what?

It took him a second to register what she had said, and he blinked his good eye socket at her. “There is always something on my mind,” he said simply. “My mind is a fascinating puzzle that I continue to improve on a daily basis with my incredible skills and accomplishments.”

“That, you do,” Emmi said with a light laugh.

He raised a bone brow at her. “I was being serious.”

“I know.”

He continued to look at her for a moment, at first with a bit of a hard expression, but slowly, it began to soften to one of neutral content. His two-second stare became a four-second stare, and Emmi turned her attention to her tea cup. She sipped the golden flower tea Asgore had gifted her on her first day in the Underground. The flavor was wonderful, a little like a sweet and floral oolong with natural hints of cream and honey.

She could still feel the doctor’s gaze on her. She wasn’t sure how one could “feel” a gaze without seeing it, but it felt… calculating, but not cold. Analytical, yet anticipatingly fascinated. Yes, anticipation. That was the emotion she could feel from him. A hint of apprehension and nervousness, all hiding an eagerness to learn, to expand. What a way with words I have this morning, she thought to herself. I’d better get to the bottom of why he’s looking at me before I write a whole creative essay.

She had just raised her gaze and opened her mouth when Gaster beat her to the chase. “There is something I must do.”

She cocked her head at him. “Must do?” He hummed in agreement. “And what might that be?”

He set his elbow on the table and raised his hand, the palm (or lack thereof) facing her. “Hold your hand like this.”

Slowly, she copied his position. “Why?”

“No questions.” He proceeded to stare at her hand for another couple of seconds. Emmi watched his eye socket shift slightly from side to side, taking in the sight. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this. Sure, Gaster could be a bit… odd, for lack of a better word, but he usually had a reason for what he did, even if his logic was just as odd as he was (again, for lack of a better word).

What could this be about? She ran through the possibilities: maybe he was trying to tell if her body was real or some sort of illusion created by her human SOUL? Or maybe he was trying to see if she had a nervous tic of some kind, so he’d know if she was feeling one way or the other? Both seemed like they could be it, but they didn’t seem to match the emotion she felt from him. So what—?

Without warning, Gaster pressed his hand against Emmi’s, hard and suddenly enough to create a soft clapping sound, but not enough to hurt. She did jump a bit, though. A very tiny part of her mind wondered how his hand had made such a sound without a palm. The rest of her mind was thinking, “hand”.

Gaster was now staring at their pressed-together hands, and she looked as well. His hand was much larger; the tip of her longest finger just touched the top of the hole in his palm. He fingers were long and slender, which was probably good for dealing with delicate machinery. And it was so warm.

So warm and comforting, in fact, that she nearly missed what he said. “…just as I thought,” he was saying.

She leaned forward across the table, inadvertently pressing their hands closer together. “What do you mean?”

“It’s increasingly obvious,” he continued, seeming to ignore her. “We can deny it no longer.”

“What? What?!” The anticipation was going to set Emmi’s wings aflutter again.

He paused again. Then he turned to look at her, his teeth quirking into what, on anyone else, would have barely qualified as a smile, but on him was the visual definition of “goofy”. “You are small.”

…

“PFFT-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!” She locked her fingers with his in an effort to keep herself from falling face-first onto the table and out of her chair.

“I’m perfectly serious,” Gaster said. His teeth quirked a little more, sending her into another series of loud guffaws. “Honestly, you can be so strange. Why in the world would you be laughing?”

Emmi wheezed. She probably would have kept on going for an hour, had she not felt something press against the back of her hand between her fingers. She looked up and saw that Dr. Gaster had also locked his fingers with hers. Their hands were now clasped. They were holding hands. We’re doing this, man, Emmi thought, we’re making this happen. In all honesty, if she could just have a single minute of this, every day, for the rest of her life, then deciding to come to this world was already more than worth it. And it could only go uphill from here.

Unfortunately, it was not meant to last. Gaster blinked suddenly and pulled his hand away, staring at her in a way she couldn’t describe. Definitely not that same, goofy warmth from before, though. Someday, Gaster. Someday.

“I have work,” Gaster said sharply, standing up. He grabbed his coffee mug and stared at it. “It’s cold,” he stated. He then downed the coffee in one gulp. “It was cold.”

“Shame.”

Gaster hurried around the kitchen, shoving his arms into his lab coat and slinging his work bag over his shoulder. Emmi watched him scurry, still in a good mood despite the hand holding being cut short. “I think I’ll spend the day at the Librarby,” she said nonchalantly.

“Library,” Gaster corrected. “They made a mistake when painting the sign.”

“I know. So… can I, you know, do that?”

“Do what you will. Just don’t talk to anyone.”

“I’m not going to ignore someone if they say ‘hello’, Dr. Gaster.”

He gave her a look before sighing in defeat. “Only talk to someone if they engage first.”

Emmi grinned at him. “Thanks, Dr. Gaster.”

His free hand practically flew to adjust his glasses, and he seemed a bit too distracted to notice at the moment. “Mm. I’ll pick you up when I get back from… work.”

“Say ‘hi’ to the boys for me,” she wanted to say, but figured that would just redact everything that happened just now. Instead, she said, “okay. Bye, doctor.”

He hummed in acknowledgement and hurried out the door, slamming it behind him out of a need for speed rather than a need to express intense emotion.

Emmi settled into the quiet of the house for a moment, then looked at her tea. “It’s probably cold,” she said aloud. She drank the tea in one gulp. “It was cold.”

After putting the cups in the sink, she grabbed an energy bar out of the fridge and put on her coat. Time to read up on monster history to impress a certain skele-man.

***

When does this take place? I imagine maybe a week or two after Emmi has settled into Snowdin with Gaster. Long enough that there’s something of a routine in place, soon enough that Emmi still has some golden flower tea from Asgore, and before Emmi officially meets the boys. Who knows how long it’ll take to get there; it’ll be worth the wait, though!

According to this site I found called Adiago Teas, golden flower tea is a kind of oolong with hints of honeysuckle, “Osmanthus” (which is a flower apparently found on the “devilwood” tree), and a subtle creaminess. I’m not sure what kind of tea Emmibee would like, and I don’t even know if this would count as the same kind of golden flower tea Asgore makes, but she wasn’t complaining during chapter one, so I imagine she’s good with sweet teas. (After some further research, it turns out Adiago also does “fandom” teas, including a series for Undertale! However, the teas are based on characters, and none of them are a straight up “golden flower” tea. Though Flowey’s does have gunpowder. Blow up a cardboard box with it.)

Does this seem to friendly for Gaster? Keep in mind that he has his own logic to these sorts of things, and was probably trying to see what would happen when he put his hand to Emmi’s. Also, I imagine he was sleep deprived (suddenly having someone in your home can wreck your sleep schedule), was thinking about it since she showed up, and also touch-starved. Disguising hand holding as a miniature “experiment” is the perfect way to keep yourself from thinking you have emotional needs!

A part of me wondered if Emmi’s hand would accidentally go through Gaster’s hand hole, but I figured that would ruin the mood, so that’s a mystery for another day.

I saw an Undertale animatic a few days ago that just put Spongebob quotes over Undertale characters, and Flowey was Plankton, and he said what Gaster says here. Like all children growing up before you could buy all of the seasons of a TV show at once on DVD, I never saw all of the episodes or even seasons; just whatever happened to be playing on the TV when I was in a place that had cable, like not my house. I missed this quote, and I am sad. I figured I should have Gaster say this, because, soft humor.

Speaking of quotes, there’s no real reason for the Homestuck quote I had Emmi think; I just like references. I also made the quote more grammatically correct, because I like grammar. There’s not much else to say on the matter.

Cold coffee and cold tea. Not the most enjoyable, but apparently perfectly viable. I’m not much of a tea or coffee fan in real life (hot cocoa all the way!), but I personally don’t mind downing cold hot chocolate all that much; it’s easier to gulp down and you can taste it without worrying about burning your tongue. Cold drinking chocolate, though, iS DIFFERENT AND IS DELICIOUS AND I’VE HAD IT ONCE AND I WANT SOME BUT THE ONLY PLACE I KNOW OF THAT HAS SOME IS IN A DIFFERENT TOWN AND ALSO I HAVE NO MONEY/TRANSPORT.

So… yeah, that’s everything! I have to go eat dinner now, but as soon as that’s done, I’ll get to posting these things on my other sites! Thanks for reading all the way to the bottom! See you around!

~~~

I am BEYOND exhausted so I can’t write a whole long thing but i wanted to get this up so everyone can read this wonderful fic!! I’ve had a rough day today and this made it much much better, so thank you very much, Author, this is really sweet and cute and I keep re-reading it. 

Since I like addressing your comments tho here: Emmi does like sweet teas! She doesn’t like bitterness, and like Gaster, she has a sweet tooth. I grew up drinking sweet iced tea (it’s a southern USA thing), fun fact. 

Disguised hand-holding is the ultimate fluff.

Again, thank you so much again for writing this. Its so so sweet.

I’ll be reblogging this with the AO3 and FF links!

[billie-ford]

1

Days Gone By

6

Houston. The biggest city in the state of Texas and the second largest in the country. But more intimately, it was the home of Billie Ford. She was known well throughout the countryside of Houston and even into the inner city as the kid that went the extra mile. A star runner on the high school track team, destined to make state. The friendly mechanic that willingly made house trips and sometimes took a hot meal as payment. The devoted wife and mother, the lively younger sister known for her exuberant energy. The street she lived on for more than half a decade was once known for it’s exuberant energy too; music bumping from almost every open window and a potluck every other week. It was now a decrepit wasteland. One of the first cities to fall when the virus broke and when it fell, it fell hard.

Every inch of public road was cluttered with debris, abandoned cars, streaks of blood and dead bodies - roaming or not. Music would not be heard on these streets ever again - unless you chose to count the mindless humming from Billie every now and again. Despite how sparse supplies had grown, Billie couldn’t bring herself to leave. Having already abandoned her once warm, loving home, she was now holed up in a strangers house on the other side of the city. Boarded up, furniture pushed against windows and a makeshift bed of sheets and couch cushions positioned messily in the center of the living room. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to call it quits, no matter how ghostly it had gotten in the last few months. Something was keeping her here, and she just couldn’t describe what it was.

(six months since the fall)

“How long will you be?” 

Despite his name, Hunter Hammond was no scavenger. He was a meek man, all five-foot-nine of him. Abraham used to tease him when their families got together for a dinner, joking that Billie had managed to fuse her bisexuality and marry both a man and woman all in one. Hunter never liked Abraham too much.

“I’ll be as quick as I can but who knows what those streets look like now.” Billie tightened the laces of her boots before standing and slinging a backpack over her shoulder. Just behind Hunter, their son Devin played with plastic cars in their couch cushion bed. His smile and bubbly laugh was a constant reminder of what the world had been once, and for both Billie and Hunter it gave them hope.

Billie cupped her husband’s cheek, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “Back before sundown. I promise. C’mere sweet boy,” she kneeled down and kissed her toddler on the head, breathing in the scent of his cloud-like curls. “You take care of your ol’ man for me, m’kay?” The boy smiled and nodded.

“Board this right back up.” She gave Hunter a stern look as she moved the furniture from the back door, their backyard a quiet enough escape to the road behind them. “I mean it. The second I’m out.”

“Don’t worry, I got you. Come back to me safe, Bill. I mean that.”

Hunter had shut the door before she could give him a second look, the sound of the couch scraping on the other side signaling she was now trapped on the back porch. She took off down the patio stairs, through the neighboring backyards and through the small line of trees that shielded the house from from the main road.

Billie liked to call them walkers. They reminded her of how her dad used to walk when he had knee surgery and ended up with a walking frame for a few weeks; hunched over, slow, lazy. Her father was an intimidating man - strong and stern, a frequent yeller who, just by cracking the buckle of his belt, had Billie stood straight and ready to accomplish any command. But even Abraham Sr. didn’t scare her as much as those things did. Her father could be reasoned with if you showed him enough respect; they could not. The howls of sorrow trapped inside distant memory disturbed her more than when they ran her way, jaws chomping and drooling for a taste of human flesh. Something she had only seen in her brother’s horror movies, and even those couldn’t prepare her for the sights she had seen. It was the humanity lost somewhere within them - that’s what terrified her. She remembered the first time she caught wind of the pandemic beginning to break across the globe; her ear just barely picking up the sound of the radio over power drills and welders.

She hadn’t been able to find Abraham since things really went to shit.

The military did what they could when things started to get out of control, but even they had families to protect and sticking around to maintain order just seemed foolish. Multiple trips were made to the Ford residence with no luck; Cupboards were barren, clothes strewn about and that picture he had on the mantle of the two of them one Christmas was busted out of its frame. Despite her excuses - he didn’t have time to come for me. they were in trouble. he did come by but I was already gone. he’s still around, we just keep missing each other. - she couldn’t kill the eating thought that he just left her. His baby sister, abandoned. He broke his promise. Subconsciously, that was the biggest reason she kept one foot in Houston - he was still coming back for her. But with every day that passed with no sign of life, the hope that he was still close - and breathing - faded further and further away...

7

The camp was far beyond the rest of civilization. And good for it. The tops of buildings looked like shoe boxes interwoven with visibly abandoned streets in the far distance, gray in comparison to what it once used to be. This flat plot of land had barely been touched by human hands when it was found; turned up dirt and rock accompanied by machinery and port-a-potties. A construction sight soon to be turned into a number of vacation homes, that much they gathered from the weathered sign stuck in the ground at the base of the hill.

Breakfast ended an hour ago; watery eggs with sparse salt and bitter potatoes. Everyone was busy now, in the full swing of their day; taking buckets of dishes to the river to be washed while another group returned with wet laundry to hang dry.

“You should let these grow so I can push them to the side. You don’t really want all this hair in your eyes do ya, hun?”

Jane Ford, forty-two, a high school swim coach in what now seemed to be another life now sat in her husband’s tattered flannel and blue jeans tucked into yellow hospital socks. With her eldest between her knees, she snipped away at the atrocious bob the child had given herself a year prior. Her bangs stuck out every which way and no amount of water, time, or prayer would set the needle straight hairs into place. Jane huffed in defeat and dropped the comb and fabric scissors into a cup at her foot.

“I like it like this, momma.” The ten year old stated while playing with the torn ear of her stuffed bunny, given to Jane as a baby shower gift from her aunt. The dirty old thing brought her comfort more now than ever, a reminder of her favorite - well, her only - aunt.

‘You hug this little guy every single night. And wherever I am I’ll be sure to feel it.’

“Leave her hair alone, darlin’. If she likes it than she likes it.” Abraham watched his girls while sipping a black coffee, occasionally looking out into the horizon to scan for survivors or otherwise. “We Fords have the tendency to look good in whatever hairstyle we’re rockin’.” He winked at his daughter who grinned.

“Tell that to your tenth grade mullet.” “You still had a crush on me didn’t ya sweetheart?” “Oh, stick it!” “Last time I did we ended up with the twins..” “Ew, dad!”

He howled with laughter and beckoned his child to come towards him. She jumped up into his lap and he tussled her wet hair, the act earning him a curse from his wife. He pressed a kiss to the side of her head and took that moment to thank God. His family, all five of them, were together and secure. But every thankful thought was followed by the sudden sorrow he felt for his first family; his baby sister. Big Bad Bill. 

He was a military sergeant and when he was called to duty the only thing on his mind was getting this issue under control. He only evacuated the quarantine camps when he had absolutely no choice and by the time he reached his home in the suburbs it was too late to go the inner city. She was just too far away from him. He couldn’t count on all fingers and toes how many times he’d been down in that area since then, practically swatting her home the second he could. Empty. She had taken the photo of them from his high school graduation on her fireplace.

Despite the “no man left behind” attitude instilled in him during boot camp, he just couldn’t bring himself to believe that his sister was still alive. She was tough, but she wasn’t survive-life-or-death-situations-tough. She was just a mechanic.

A familiar shrill voice followed by marching steps in the gravel snapped him out of his pity party. With a groan, he shooed his daughter away to play with the other kids before standing to meet the five-foot-two hurricane that was Marizol Espinosa. “Dios mio Abraham! My Rosita should have been home days ago!” The group he had sent out nearly three days ago had yet to return and despite the majorities silence, everyone was a little worried about their return. Marizol was not one of the silent ones.

“Te quiero fuera. Out there. Searching for them.” A manicured hand rested on a jutted hip, the other pointing a bullet like index into the ginger brutes face. Jane’s eyes flickered between the two cautiously as she busied herself with cleaning chunks of dark hair from her lap.

“Mary, I wouldn’t have sent the group that I sent if I didn’t think they could handle their hides. Give em the day darlin’, I’ll radio in from time to time and if nothin’ still I’ll send a crew after em.”

“Oh dios- get more people lost! Or killed! You listen to me jengibre...” As she opened her mouth to grill him with undoubtedly ruthless insults, the radio on his belt crackled with life. A female voice just barely came through. Abraham gave Marizol a smug grin.

8

“I’ve always loved you, and made you happy...and nothing else could come between...but now you’ve left me, to love another...you have shattered..all..of my dreams..” Breathless, Billie trudged along the side of the road as the afternoon heat caused beads of sweat to rolled down her jaw. With daylight running low she was worried this would be another unsuccessful supply run, having already searching multiple stores and homes throughout town. “You are my sunshine. My only sunshine..you make me happy when skies are gray..you’ll never know dear- fuckin’ hell it’s hot.”

She came to a stop outside of a gas station. A run down shack of a business that she had been to multiple times for a cigarette and a beer during her commute back home after work. But with its busted out windows and disregarded hoses it looked to be a completely foreign shop.

In and out quickly was the plan, and smooth enough it went. She packed what she could; in her months of scavenging she learned quickly that if you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. With a bowie knife in one hand and a half melted snickers from the cash register in the other she wandered the aisles freely, skimming underneath shelves for stray cans and water bottles. As she was preparing to leave, check today off as a successful enough day, one too many walkers began crowding the door from which she came, falling through busted windows and disemboweling themselves on shards of glass. She took down what she could with her bowie, hoping to clear a way to the road but for every one she killed two more crowded in its place. “Fuck.”

Searching hastily with a newfound feeling of vertigo, she spotted the employee exit behind the counter. A pipe had been lodged into the handle and bent outwards, trapping it shut. She cleared the counter, shivering at the feeling of rotting hands skimming the back of her arms before forcing the pipe out of place and slamming the door shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed off the walls as she searched her bag for a flashlight, her knife wielding hand still raised defensively.

“Grab them!”

Billie felt the sharp pain of a shoulder in her spine as she was tackled to the ground, her cheek crashing into the cold pavement and the wind escaping her lungs as her knife slid feet away from her grasp. She was frisked for her weapons, her bag tore violently from her shoulder as a knee remained snug between her shoulder blades.

“You one of the bitches that jumped us?” “Huh!? No!”

The cool metal of a gun barrel met her temple and she stuttered, “I ain’t here to hurt no one! I’m just stuck! On the bible, man!”

“What do you mean stuck?”

“There’s an ocean of them dead fools out that door behind me- gotta be packed to capacity by now. Man can you get off my back you’re hurting me!”

She was hoisted to her feet as a lamp clicked on. The room lit up in a small yellow glow, revealing a number of people surrounding her. To her left, brunette hair was pulled back under a military cap and tan hands secured in fingerless gloves held a glock steady to her head. Latina. Her glare was strong, eyebrows knitted as she trained her sights on Billie.

“There was a group in here yesterday. They locked us in.” In front of her, a young asian boy sat on a railing. They were in a garage. “Think you can help us out of here?” The man previously kneeling on her spine asked. He was the stockiest of the group; dark skinned, a gap tooth, and a flat cap concealing a bald head. 

She didn’t have much of a choice. Either they all got out or none of them got out. “I can try once your friend gets that barrel off my cheek.” She huffed. A delivery truck sat begging to be used in the middle of the garage. A full tank but no keys, they say. Luckily for them, Billie didn’t need keys. She looked towards the latina, and only after the asian boys pleas did she lower her weapon.

After she jimmied the lock for a while, Billie got the door open and jumped into the driver seat, the latina following her every move as she popped off the connector to the ignition. She looked down to the only other woman and quirked a smile, “you wouldn’t happen to have a bobby pin would ya, hun?” Deadpanned, she dug into her hair and retrieved two bobby pins, slapping them into Billie’s hand who muttered a thank you. In seconds she had the pins poked into each hole of the connector and the truck growled with life. First the lights, brightening the room even more but she refrained from turning the engine, alas, suffocating them all with toxic fumes. Billie turned to the woman below, already used to the bitter gaze she sent her way. “You get the door open and you’re home free.”

“You should come with us.” Once stepping out of the truck she was greeted by the man that had tackled her to the ground, now smiling at her apologetically while extending a hand to shake, “call me T-Dog.” The latina huffed in protest. “She’s useful, Rosita.” Rosita.

“I would love to but uh..I got people waiting on me.” “They can come too.” “There’s no way you’re getting this truck up that road.” “We’ll wait.” “We can’t wait for some stranger, we’ve got people worried about us.”

“I could go with you!” It was the asian boy again, short black hair now covered with a baseball cap. He approached Billie with a smile that rivaled T-Dog’s. These weren’t people that Billie would coin as survivors - all but Rosita maybe - but here they were anyways. “I know my way around the city. We can pick up whoever you’re with and head back to camp.”

“So there’s more of y’all..?” “Loads.”

Rosita shook her head again. “No, no. That’s too many more mouths to feed and we’re already low on supplies.”

“Actually, Rosita, I don’t think supplies will be an issue...”

A voice echoed from within the newly unlocked truck, the sliding door disconnecting the storage space from the front seat now wide open. They followed the sounds of his footsteps to the back door where it was then unlocked from inside, flew open with a loud clang, and revealed stacks upon stacks of unopened cans, bags of chips, and soda. The man - the eldest of the group - smiled down at them, particularly Billie. “That solves that problem young lady.”

“Look at that,” the asian quipped, “we’ve got food for a few more mouths, someone who knows their way around a sticky situation, and you got us to watch your back. Sounds like wins all around to me!”

Everyone seemed to be in agreement of letting this squirrely stranger and her mystery companions join the group, all but Rosita, who had Billie wondering if she had cut her off in traffic one time.

“She helped us when we needed it, Ro,” he reasoned, “she didn’t have to.” He seemed keen on having Billie join them but she just shrugged; made no difference to her. Even the older man, who looked to have been on a fishing trip before they got locked in here, threw in his two cents. “Always room for a survivor.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Rosita squared up to Billie with folded arms. “You get that door open and you get to come back with us. Bring your boyfriend or whatever. Bien?”

“Gracias, a-mee-go.”

If you looked for things where those things weren’t meant to be, you could find what you needed. - Billie’s Law. 

Billie knew garages like the back of her hand, and she knew of the spare clicker that came with every garage system. It was a shot in the dark, hoping the door would even work if she found it, but she searched high and low despite it. Even despite Rosita’s smug bark of ‘we looked for it already’. Like a dog on a scent she overturned garbage cans and tools boxes all while she watched impassively. No clicker. But underneath a uniform coat, beneath a stack of scrap metal, was a car jack, and Billie knew more than a few ways to use one of those.

With a loud bang and a rustic whine, Billie managed to jam the jack underneath the door enough to bend it and gave the handle a few pumps to lift it all while T-Dog and Rosita readied themselves to bash the skulls of any unwanted stragglers. She managed enough space to roll under and the asian boy quickly followed, keeping an eye out for her while she finished the job. Eyes stinging with sweat, Billie picked away at the lock while disembodied moans approached her, silenced by the lead pipe her new comrade armed himself with. The door was finally freed in minutes; they were free and she had a new home for her baby boy.

“Looks like you’re ours now.” The boy smiled again. “Glenn.”

She shook his hand, her grip firmer than his. “Billie.”