#she is so moon coded she deserves to be considered the moon to another moon (Lucas) or sun (Ijekiel)

[sssusuki]

Okay but no actually. Athykiel is so Enemies to Lovers coded. Or at least Academic Rivals to Lovers. I've only been able to read the Manhwa, but seeing their interactions, especially in their younger years, just. Exudes that energy. JUST IMAGINE. Athy and Ijekiel constantly competing, even after the time skip. During the dance, instead of Athy being uncomfortable they just keep questioning each other on their knowledge of various topics. I would find that so hilarious as they are dancing so gracefully. Everybody is head over heels with their beauty while the two in question are at one another's throats. The moment Athy sees him again after his overseas study she is immediately on him on what languages he has learned and what she has done more of. Athy and Ijekiel looking like they are having a polite conversation when in reality they are so passive aggressive it's funny. Ijekiel teasing her by perhaps almost leaning in for a kiss before pushing himself away and asking a question on the paper she is doing (I'm delulu). Ijekiel falling first but having so much denial that this is the person he likes due to the whole Jennette scenario (she did nothing wrong), but also the fact that this is the girl that he has been competing against since day one when he thought she was an angel the day she rejected his/his father's offer to hangout because he wasn't smart enough. Ijekiel fell first but I can definitely see Athy falling harder. Just. I want to see their banter and fun conversations and teasing that we only got to see towards the end. They are both such sweethearts and they deserve a little silliness. They deserve to have the pining and rivalry that all Academic Rivals to Lovers get. Just. Ashsjshksbjsmks

[chaotic-goodsir]

For the compliment drabble thing, 50 curtwen?

Thanks! Here you go - a bit shorter than the last one but once again not really a drabble 😅 I hope you like it!

*

Curt is sitting by the window of his Paris hotel room, listening to the traffic outside and trying to read over the briefing notes for tomorrow's mission. He's meant to be infiltrating some political function - something to do with the Russian ambassador and alleged mafia money. There's a lot of information in the file that's probably very important, but none of it is going in. He finds himself reading the same paragraph over and over, taking in exactly none of the words.

All he can think about is the call he got from Cynthia a few hours ago: 'Congratulations, Mega. Somehow despite your tendency for collosal fuck-ups you've managed to pass your assessment. Consider yourself a 'Special' Agent now. Just don't get too drunk celebrating - I need you at your best for this mission, understand?'

He should have been over the moon at the news. Special Agent is the highest rank you can reach without ending up behind a desk telling other people want to do. It's been Curt's ambition since he first became a spy. It's a badge of honour that means  he's good at what he does, and recognised for it.

So why does he feel like he doesn't deserve it at all?

He knows he messed up on his last mission, and that wasn't the first time either. He tends to rush things and take unnecessary risks, or end up having to bluff because he's forgotten key information. Sure, he always finds a way out of it, but he gets himself captured far too much. Not exactly the habits of a world class spy. He has no idea how he passed this assessment, really. Maybe Cynthia likes him more than she lets on, beneath all the swearing and surprise poison drills. Maybe she pulled some strings.

She'll expect more from him now, though, with that extra word in his title. He's not sure he's ready for that kind of pressure. It's making him more nervous for tomorrow than he should be, which is why it's even harder than usual to focus on the briefing. He should be out celebrating, probably, but he's left this until the last minute yet again and he doesn't have the time - and anyway, he's working alone for this one. There's no one around to celebrate with.

He's reading that same paragraph for maybe the twentieth time when there's a knock at the door. 

Quickly, he files the briefing notes away and hides them in the sideboard drawer. Cynthia gave strict instructions not to expect any visitors this evening, and to test anyone who did show up with a code phrase, so that's what he does. 

'Sorry,' he calls in French. 'I don't take room service on a Friday.'

'Ah,' replies the visitor. 'But the complimentary drinks menu is excellent, monsieur. '

Even in a second language, with almost perfect pronunciation, he recognises that voice.

He answers the door to find none other than Owen Carvour waiting in the hallway, holding a bottle of champagne.

'Félicitations, old boy.' Owen says with a smile.

'Owen? What are you doing here?' 

'Surprising you, obviously. May I come in?'

'Uh, yeah, sure.' Curt says, suddenly embarrassed by the half unpacked suitcase and clothes strewn over the bed. He hurries to pack them away, shoving the suitcase into a corner. 'I didn't know you were-' he almost says on this mission too, before catching himself. He shouldn't be giving out his reasons for being here so casually to someone from another agency, even if it is Owen. That's the kind of slip-up a Special Agent doesn't make. 'I didn't know you were in Paris.'

'Yes, well, that is how a surprise usually works.' Owen closes the door behind him, and sets the champagne down on the sideboard. 'Get dressed, love. We're going out for dinner.'

Curt blinks at him, confused. 'What? I can't. I have... work to do. Tomorrow.'

Owen grins, then pulls a piece of paper from his pocket. 'Sorry, I almost forgot. I'm to give you this - Cynthia's orders.'

Curt takes the note. It's in Cynthia's handwriting, and all it says is:

Mission's off. 

Have fun, Special Agent.

As always, don't fuck this up.

- C

Curt stares at it. Reads it again, in case he's somehow misunderstood. 'What?'

Owen laughs.

'You passed that assessment a month ago, love.'

'I- what?' Curt says again, aware that he sounds like a broken record.

'Cynthia got in touch. Said she wanted to arrange something. Not every day you graduate to Special Agent.'

'Cynthia got in touch with you?' Curt says. He should be happy to see Owen - he is happy to see him - but this is all just a bit too weird. 

'Wait. Does she know? About-'

'Us? Now, I believe her exact words were: 'I don't care what you two get up to, Carvour, just do not get caught. I will personally murder you both before I deal with that kind of scandal.''

Curt sits down on the bed, shaking his head at the note in disbelief. Then he folds the paper and tucks it into his trouser pocket, looking up at Owen.

'This is insane. Paris, a fake mission, you... why would she arrange all that for me? This has to be some kind of test. Is that champagne poisoned? Shit, you're not gonna pull a gun, are you? My bulletproof vest's in the case, I swear I was gonna-'

Owen sits down on the bed beside him, sliding an arm around his shoulder. 'Calm down, love. I may be wrong, but I believe she simply thinks you should be proud of yourself. Celebrate your promotion. It was well deserved, after all.'

'Sure, but... really?' 

'Yes, really,' Owen says, pulling him closer. 'I think so too. So, if you're done gaping like a fish, do hurry up and put something nice on. J'ai un reservation à vingt heures and I'd rather not arrive late.'

[ahgaseda]

aura | three

driving me crazy, look in my eyes, follow me, come here, dance with me now, I’m gonna make you feel like that...

summary : back again at a camp for kids that can’t behave, you are still brokenhearted over your ill-fated romance with Jaebeom, until your friend Jackson offers to help make your ex jealous in exchange for helping him land the most unattainable girl at camp.

warnings : strong profanity, explicit dialogue, recurring alcohol or recreational drug use, graphic sexual content, brief mentions of illegal activities, potentially triggering elements involving toxic relationships and emotional manipulation, etc.

miniseries chapters : one / two / three / four / five / six / seven

Every step down the path was slowed by dread and anxiety. The auditorium sat on a small hill, looming over the rest of the camp, and the sight made your stomach turn each time you laid eyes on it.

Such an unassuming building and yet it still shot nerves through you.

Entering through the double doors, you were blasted by air conditioning, which was a bit excessive with the crisp morning air. You simpered when you made eye contact with a few of the other campers. It was a small group, as to be expected for these little sessions.

Then, your gaze shifted to the wall where Jaebeom was leaning back and had just looked up at the sound of the door opening.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, wanting to march right back out. Fate was such a cruel bitch.

Jaebeom cocked his head at your reaction, following you with his eyes, and asked sweetly, “Sleep well?”

“Yes,” you replied, curt, avoiding his stare.

Jaebeom shifted closer and whispered, “Did you think of me last night?”

If only you knew how you had filled his thoughts and dreams. Those kisses in the pool still made his heart race.

Smirking with a chance to torment him, you retorted, “Not even once. My mind is full of Jackson and how good his head looked between my thighs.”

Jaebeom frowned, the blood draining from his face. Hearing about your escapades with Jackson made him insane, like being dragged through pieces of broken glass.

“That bastard,” Jaebeom huffed under his breath.

Your arrogance faded and you turned somber. Part of you realized that you were giving yourself away to spite him. It was like trying to heal a burn by directly applying more fire.

Doctor Ambrose stepped inside, greeting everyone with her signature smile. “Good morning. Are we ready to begin?”

No one was. Not one of these poor souls wanted to discuss their daddy or mommy issues in group form. But it was mandated by the camp and having been attending for many years, you were accustomed to dodging.

You and the others followed Doctor Ambrose into the main auditorium, approaching a ring of folding chairs waiting on the stage. You swallowed the lump in your throat and avoided a look at Jaebeom as you took a seat.

This was the room where it happened - where you surrendered your virtuous flower. Blah, blah, blah, you thought to yourself. Eventually, you were going to have to come to terms with the fact you were less bitter about losing your virginity and more broken at having lost your heart.

The theater was the one place no one bothered to lock after curfew since it was solely used for group sessions and the occasional motivational speech, but if someone did remember to lock up, the door code was common knowledge. Guys went there to blaze up. Girls went to sneak drinks.

Jaebeom had brought you inside. The relationship had grown and was leading to a physical consummation of your feelings for each other. You knew exactly what would happen. After all, you had snuck out of your cabin in the middle of the night to meet a boy beneath the stars.

You let him lay you down on the stage, behind the heavy velvet curtain. Jaebeom at least had the wherewithal to put his jacket down for you to rest on.

You stole a glance of the shadow behind the curtain, not too far from where you sat, and your expression soured. You could still remember the rampant beating of your heart when Jaebeom kissed you with all he had and laid you down beneath him.

The memory raced across your mind in steady bursts. Your eyes burned at how gentle he had been with you, how loving. Jaebeom convinced you that he was madly in love and that there was a future between you and him.

And you were such a fool to believe it. You were over the moon thinking you had finally found love in the most unlikely of places. With someone you trusted. Someone you considered a friend.

Taking a deep breath, you were officially angry.

The time spent with Jackson had taken off the rose-colored glasses. You were able to see your affair with Jaebeom for what it was. And though you were still hopelessly in love with him, you were mad as hell for what he had done to you.

Doctor Ambrose called your name and began, “Let’s start with you. Why don’t you tell us the behavior that warranted your presence back at camp this year?”

You crossed your legs and sang, “Oh, where to begin, Doc? I lied. I cheated. I stole. Short of murder, my rap sheet is long.”

“You’ve been coming here for many years and you know that’s not what these sessions are about,” she chided, giving you a stern look. “Skip the bravado and get straight to the real talk.”

You narrowed your eyes. Ambrose always did hit the nail on the head. That’s why she was one of the few people at this godforsaken place that held everyone’s respect. Which was impressive in its own right since you and your fellow rich, troubled kids had very little respect for anyone.

But if Doctor Ambrose thought you were going to bear your soul to a room full of people that didn’t give a damn about you - Jaebeom included - she was sorely mistaken.

You sighed and continued, “I’m sure it’s common knowledge by now that I had a terrible lapse in judgement last summer and that lapse in judgement had a lot of unforeseen consequences.”

Jaebeom was unmoving in his seat, but his eyes were heavy on you.

Ambrose gave you her undivided attention and spoke softly, “Go on.”

You shrugged, hoping to hide just how miserably the words were coming from your mouth. “I lashed out. I cycled through all of my emotions and when they were too painful, I did something bad. Something that distracted me from how angry or hurt I was. Classic reckless human behavior.”

Her response was blunt, but genuine, “It’s called self-destructive behavior and you were punishing yourself for the pain someone else inflicted on you.”

You studied her, wanting to smack this woman across the face for defining you in a single sentence. “Forget psychiatrist,” you scoffed. “You’re a psychic.”

“I know you,” Ambrose said tenderly. “And you are not defined by your mistakes.”

You rolled your eyes, though you would love to believe that. “We all are, Doctor Ambrose,” you told her morosely. Then, your tone shifted, “Now, please take the spotlight off of me before I do something bad. Like I said, it’s what I’m known for.”

Ambrose exhaled loudly, conflicted, but decided not to push you. Turning to the next participant, she called, “Jaebeom, your turn.”

Jaebeom was still looking at you.

“Why don’t you tell us the activities that landed you back for yet another summer here?”

Jaebeom grumbled, “I’m a dick. The end.”

A few of the other attendees chortled.

“Jaebeom, everyone here knows you’re more complex than that,” Ambrose shot back.

“Am I?”

She cocked her head. “You don’t think so.”

“Ask her,” Jaebeom said, waving his hand in your direction. “Everyone knows what I did.”

You didn’t dare look at him, offering no absolution. You kept your gaze firmly rooted to Doctor Ambrose, who was now glancing between the two of you suspiciously.

Tapping her pen, Ambrose ordered, “After this group session I want to see both of you in my office.”

Your heart sank and you pleaded, “But, Doctor Ambrose…”

“Moving on,” she cut you off.

You folded your arms tightly across your chest in defiance, stiff in your seat. Jaebeom stretched out his legs and braced his arms on his thighs, keeping his head low.

Tuning out the conversations going around the circle of other campers discussing their toxic and sometimes illegal activities, you could only think about how angry you were. How it was billowing and growing inside of you until it threatened to burst.

Though Jaebeom was in the seat beside yours, he felt an entire world away. What had you done to him to deserve this? And for fuck’s sake, why couldn’t you stop loving him? If you fell in love with someone, couldn’t you ultimately fall back out?

Stealing a glance in the corner of your eye, Jaebeom looked up at that same moment and your eyes met. You looked away immediately, bitter and vengeful, but Jaebeom persisted. For someone who prided himself on being set in his ways, he couldn’t stand how you spun him on his edge.

You made him want to risk it all.

When the group session ended, Ambrose twirled the pen between her fingers and said, “I suppose we can forgo my office and just speak here.”

“We have nothing to talk about,” Jaebeom spoke up, venomous.

“I think there’s plenty,” she asserted, studying you intently. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Your eyes glistened when they met hers. You wanted to tell her she was right. That you had punished yourself for a year because you fell for a boy - the wrong boy. It was stupid. It was juvenile. And you resented yourself to hell and back for it.

“You wouldn’t understand,” you finally murmured, voice shaky.

She smiled, comforting. “Try me.”

Jaebeom could see you were about to crack. He could hear the weakness seeping into your words. Running a hand through his hair, he blurted out, “It’s my fault.”

Ambrose questioned levelly, “How so?”

“Be quiet,” you hissed.

“I fucked up,” Jaebeom confessed.

“Language,” she corrected loosely.

Jaebeom frowned. “I seduced her. I convinced her I was in love.”

“And were you?”

“No, I…,” Jaebeom trailed, like he couldn’t bring himself to say it. “I don’t know.”

You glared with nothing short of loathing at the floor.

Ambrose was putting the pieces together and she didn’t hesitate to scold, “What was your purpose, Jaebeom? What were you trying to achieve?”

Jaebeom paused a moment. Then, he finally admitted, “I was trying to get her into bed.”

Ambrose clocked a glance at you and said, “I’m assuming you succeeded.”

Your breaths came faster. Your heart was revving like the engine of Jackson’s blood red Corvette. Any minute you were going to explode.

“I went too far,” Jaebeom mulled, scratching his head. “I had never gone that far before, but I was addicted. I had no idea it would… I didn’t know she would…”

“You’re full of shit,” you snapped.

Doctor Ambrose called your name, giving you the same warning about profanity.

You leveled your scowl at Jaebeom, who had already bowed his head in submission or shame, and sneered, “I will never believe a word you say. You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted someone to hurt as much as you hurt.”

Jaebeom still couldn’t meet your eyes. Pathetic, he thought to himself, but he couldn’t face your wrath. He couldn’t see the pain manifested on your beautiful face.

“Congratulations,” you continued, rising to your feet. “I know how you feel and I almost derailed my life because of you!”

Ambrose held out a hand amicably. “Please, sit.”

“No, I’m out of here,” you barked, gritting your teeth to keep the tears at bay. “And if you plan on physically making me stay in the same room with this asshole a minute longer, my stepfather’s attorneys would love to blow this shit wide open.”

Doctor Ambrose gave you a nod and sat back down.

Your steps echoed through the frigid silence of the auditorium and you nearly knocked the doors off their hinges when you pushed them open to escape outside.

When you had gone, Jaebeom exhaled heavily.

Ambrose looked at him. She could see the guilt weighing down his shoulders and though she didn’t want to take pity on him after what you had just revealed, compassion was a cornerstone of who she was as a person.

“Jaebeom, it goes without saying, but I’m going to say it,” Ambrose whispered for his ears only. “Breaking other people doesn’t fix you.”

Jaebeom stood to full height without another word and skulked away, hiding his teary eyes behind his long black hair.

“The nerve of that bitch! I know that she knows what happened last summer,” you vented, pacing back and forth in front of Jackson as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Everyone on the east coast knows by now. I had to hear about it for the first month of school on a daily basis!”

“I know,” Jackson replied patiently.

You tried to mimic the voices of the nosy, gossiping girls back home, “‘Can you believe she spread her legs for him? Did she really think he loved her? I thought she was smart. Turns out she’s a dumb whore like the rest of us!’”

Jackson grimaced. He remembered that morning, when you told him you slept with Jaebeom. You were so happy, so sure of what you wanted. And he knew it was going to unravel, leaving you holding all the pieces. “No one said that.”

“Everyone said that, Jacks! Admit it,” you yelled.

Of course, they did. Jackson had never threatened so many people in his life. Jackson had a lot of friends, but he only had one best friend. Whenever they spoke of you and Jaebeom, it made his skin crawl. Made his fists clench on instinct.

He was supposed to protect you.

Jackson rose from the bed, grasping your arms and staring you in the face. “Who cares what other people say? I sure as shit don’t!”

You cast your gaze down, shifting from angry to sad. “And he really sat there acting like he didn’t think I would take it so personally,” you whispered, trembling.

Jackson gathered you in his arms, squeezing tight. “He’s an idiot. It is known,” he quipped dryly.

You pulled back and sighed, “Maybe we should just fuck.”

Jackson frowned, but quickly hid his disappointment with a swift, “I’m not in the mood.”

You quirked a brow. “Seriously?”

Jackson released you and teased, “Yeah, I’m not a faucet.”

You let a smirk play at your lips and reached for his belt. “What if I…”

Jackson grabbed your wrists and chided you so sternly you almost faltered, “Listen. You are more than sex. You understand me?”

There were very few occasions Jackson reprimanded you and he always snared your full attention when it happened. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you murmured, “...Okay.”

Jackson simpered. “You don’t need to fuck. You need a hug.”

You chuckled, squeaking in surprise when he pulled you to his chest faster than you thought possible. You smiled, burying your face against his neck as he enveloped you in his embrace.

It was exactly what you needed.

You set your hands to his shoulders, feeling burly muscles underneath. Jackson always radiated heat and energy, and you were content to let him hold you forever. Jackson was warmth and safety.

He was home.

After a moment, you blurted to alleviate the tension, “Can we go get food?”

Jackson exclaimed, “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two of you walked arm in arm to the mess hall. It had been ungodly, the hour you woke to attend your group therapy session, but it meant you were starving for breakfast and the smell that hit your nose when you entered the dining room made you salivate on the spot.

Approaching the line, Jackson said, “Damn it. I forgot to tell you I’m sitting with Yeona today.”

“Oh,” you replied, remembering you didn’t get a chance to talk to him much after you had pounced on him. “I take it everything went well last night.”

“Yeah, we hit it off. I’m laying the groundwork.”

You rolled your eyes. Part of you was rooting in Yeona’s corner, that she stick to her guns and save herself for someone who loved her. The other part felt guilty as hell for being part of the same scheme that destroyed you last summer.

Pushing those thoughts aside, you told him, “I think I want some alone time to myself anyway. I’ll sit in the corner.”

Jackson eyed you worriedly. “Are you sure? I can totally blow her off.”

“Positive,” you insisted, beaming at the gesture. “Go with Yeona. You two would make a really cute couple.”

“Ha. Ha,” said Jackson in mock laughter.

Together you got your food and then parted in the aisleway. Yeona smiled when Jackson joined her by the window and you vaguely wished happiness for them. Jackson wasn’t like Jaebeom. 

Maybe Yeona would be good for Jackson. She could help him work through his commitment issues. You had seen firsthand what his parents’ marriage had done to him. It was no surprise he broke off relationships as soon as they started to become serious.

Taking the empty table in the corner, you backed against the wall. Pulling a magazine out of your purse, you placed it next to your tray and opened to a random page, biting into your toasted bagel.

Jaebeom leaned against the adjacent door frame, hands in his pockets. He was sporting his trademarked leather jacket and his hair had strayed into his eyes while watching you.

He was at war with himself over what to say.

First and foremost he wanted to apologize, but Lim Jaebeom had way too much pride for that. Secondly, he considered offering you a better deal than whatever Jackson was giving you, but given your furor at the group session, Jaebeom knew better than to stoke your wrath again.

Jaebeom thought of all those times last summer when he caught himself staring at you. How could someone so beautiful and amazing be interested in the likes of him? You were confident and fearless, a little rough around the edges with a heart of gold. You were everything he aspired to be and you brought out the best in him without even knowing it.

By then, Jaebeom was in too deep. He could feel himself falling for you and he forbade himself from ever putting his heart on the line. And so he cut you loose.

Jaebeom remembered your face when he spoke those words. I never loved you. The joy left your face. The light fled your eyes. With four words, he had broken someone completely and it kept him awake at night.

Sex was a release for him. No more, no less. Jaebeom could fuck a girl and never see her again afterward, and it wouldn’t bother him for a second. After her - the woman that loved and left him - Jaebeom didn’t attach sex with emotion and certainly not intimacy or commitment.

Then, he had you. Suddenly, he wanted to wake up to you in the morning. He wanted to fall asleep in your arms every night. He didn’t fuck you… he made love to you. He felt passion for the first time in a long time. When it was over, he didn’t want to leave like he had always done. And that scared the shit out of him.

Jaebeom realized you had begun to heal him and he panicked.

Even now, Jaebeom wanted you back. He needed another chance. His first instinct was always to run when he felt emotions he didn’t understand, but he could fight back this time. He could change for you, couldn’t he?

When Jaebeom slid into the seat beside you, you weren’t the least bit surprised.

“What are you reading?” he asked nonchalantly, picking up the magazine and fanning the pages.

“Chick magazine,” you deadpanned. “There’s an article in there on Ten Ways to Achieve Female Orgasm. You should read it.”

Another snide jab at his bedroom skills. Jaebeom wrinkled his nose, but rebuffed you, “I only got one round with you. How do you know I couldn’t give you the best loving of your life?”

It was a provocative thought. You felt your heart stutter a little, but your mind was fully in control now, and you shot back, “Because I don’t think you know what love is.”

Jaebeom met your eyes and this time, you didn’t back down. “You know what I meant,” he huffed.

“So, I’m a mind reader now? Good to know,” you retorted, acerbic.

Jaebeom turned to you, leaning in and whispering, “Tonight. After curfew. Sneak out with me.”

You shook your head, mouth full of food. Swallowing, you told him coolly, “I have a regularly scheduled dick appointment with Jackson.”

“Cancel it,” Jaebeom said, appearing unaffected though it made him want to destroy Jackson a thousand times over. “I’ll have some wine. We can go to the lookout. You know, like old times.”

You scowled at him and yet, you wanted nothing more than to go back to those old times. Before you were stupid. Before you fell in love with him.

“Give me one good reason,” you hissed, taking a sip of your orange juice.

Jaebeom shifted, like the words pained him. More from pride than anything else. “I just want to talk to you. I miss you. As a friend.”

You didn’t say anything, but you shuffled your attention between him and Jackson. The latter was making Yeona laugh heartily and you felt a twinge of jealousy. Not from a place of malice, but a protectiveness over your best friend.

Jackson would tell you not to. He would tell Jaebeom to take a fucking hike.

Angling back to Jaebeom, you warned, “If you so much as grab my boob, I will kick you in the balls and leave you there.”

Jaebeom smiled, but quickly fought it. “That’s fair.”

“What time?”

“Eleven.”

You nodded. “Okay, I’ll meet you at the spot.”

Jaebeom rose and you were sad to see him go, but he added, “Nah, I will come to your cabin and get you. I don’t want you walking at night alone.”

You rolled your eyes. “Chivalry isn’t dead after all.”

Jackson stitched his brows, having listened to you recount the exchange to him back at his cabin.

“Of course, chivalry is dead,” your best friend exclaimed incredulously. “He killed it.”

“Jacks, please,” you whined. “He just wants to talk.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Jackson countered firmly and he looked a heartbeat away from combusting. “He hates that you’re sleeping with me. It’s jealousy. Plain and simple.”

You propped your hands on your hips, frustrated from arguing with him. “Wasn’t that the plan? To make him come after me again?”

Jackson remembered what had started all of this in the first place and he changed his tune. “Right, yeah, but this is just going the same route as last summer. You see that, right?”

“No, it’s not. I’m wiser now.”

Jackson approached briskly, taking you in his arms and roaming his hands around your waist. “You could just stay here with me,” he coaxed, voice a low growl. “I can eat that pussy like it’s my last meal.”

You snorted a laugh, but slipped out of his arms. “Nice try, but you were right. I’m more than just sex and I need to see where his head is at.”

Jackson sighed in defeat.

“Don’t wait up for me tonight,” you called back to him as you slipped through the door.

Jackson watched you go and stood rooted in place. Fuck, he was conflicted. Every instinct he had told him to stop you, but how could he? What right did he have to you in the first place?

He was just the guy you fucked to get back at another guy.

Jackson exhaled loudly through his nose. He could feel himself slipping, losing his nerve. Even when he sat with Yeona, making her smile and laugh, and noticing she leaned into his touches, his eyes still wandered to you. And when Jaebeom had appeared by your side, Jackson could feel his heart sinking into the bottom of his stomach.

Jackson reminded himself of the deal. He would get Yeona and you would get Jaebeom. That was it. Those were the terms you both agreed on and thus far, everything was going quite smoothly.

But Jackson was thinking of you and now he was thinking of Jaebeom touching you. And it made him want to die.

The day passed by at a glacial pace. By the time night fell, you began the long, arduous process of doing your hair and makeup. When there was a knock at the door, you had to stop yourself from sprinting across the room to answer.

Instead, you made his ass wait.

“Hey,” you greeted, stepping through and shutting the door behind you a moment later.

“Hey,” Jaebeom replied, scanning you over. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you said sweetly, noting the backpack slung over his shoulder. “What you got back there?”

“None of your business,” he teased. “Ready to go?”

You pursed your lips, watching Jaebeom turn and stride away, expecting you to follow. Which, of course, you did.

The lookout was a small patch of open field between the trees. It was the perfect spot for stargazing and late night makeout sessions. You and Jaebeom had spent many hours in this place. As did you and Jackson.

It was a place of clarity and self-reflection. Something about seeing the stars so clearly, away from the noise and smog of the city, made you feel a sense of belonging. That everything would be okay. Sooner or later.

Jaebeom dropped his backpack and began rifling through it. Reading your mind, he called, “Don’t sit yet.”

You were about to complain, but then he stood and fanned out a red flannel blanket, smoothing out the corners over the grass.

“Now, you can sit.”

You almost chuckled, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. Plopping down, you overlapped your ankles and watched him take the spot beside you.

“Wow, this is actually romantic,” you smarted, monotonous.

Jaebeom popped open the bottle of wine and took a swig. “I’m full of surprises,” he quipped, handing you the bottle.

A bit perturbed he had neglected to bring separate glasses, you took a sip and countered bitterly, “Not really. I remember all the romantic gestures and sweet words of last summer.”

Jaebeom sighed. So did he.

He had taken something so precious and innocent and filled it with poison. Jaebeom could have walked away at any point. And even worse, when all was said and done, he could have stayed.

There was a lull of silence and you didn’t mind. Jaebeom studied the stars, feigning interest. You turned your head, looking at his profile alight with the glow of the moon.

“Jaebeom, why did you bring me here?”

Jaebeom swallowed and whispered, “I hate myself for what I did to you.”

You frowned. “And what about all the other girls?”

Jaebeom shook his head, remorseful only for you. “They weren’t naive. They weren’t inexperienced,” he explained, somber. “They weren’t my friends. They weren’t you.”

You narrowed your eyes. The anger was pooling in your belly again. And your next question was scathing, “So, what sets me apart is that you hurt me the most?”

“Yes,” Jaebeom said, feeling small. “And you didn’t deserve it.”

You cried, “Why me?”

“You were the holy grail. Every guy wanted you.”

Biting back tears, you whimpered, “You talk about me like I’m not a person.”

Jaebeom realized that and he looked away, mulling over if he could put his feelings into words for once. “Would you believe me if I said that looking back I meant the things I said to you - that I loved every moment we spent together last summer?”

You thought about it for a moment and then you answered, “No. It’s what I’ve wanted you to say and yet. . . I don’t believe you. Everything you said and did was the means to an end.”

Jaebeom didn’t deny it. “I thought so, too. But when I got home, you were all I could think about. I wanted to see you and hold you. I missed having you in my life.”

The tears were flowing freely now and you turned your head away.

Jaebeom came closer, cupping your cheek and wiping the tears with his thumb.

You sobbed, “Why did you do this?”

“Shh, baby,” he whispered under his breath.

“You hate yourself for hurting me. I hate myself for loving you.”

Jaebeom felt like a gaping open wound, one that refused to heal. And yet your pain surpassed his own. He would rather writhe in misery than see you crying in his arms. Knowing that he had driven you this far.

“You were right,” he choked out. “I wanted you to know hurt the way I did. I envied you. You never let anyone get to you. I thought in some twisted way I wouldn’t be alone and I could finally move past what happened to me.”

You could feel yourself falling for it again and you lowered your head.

“I’m sorry,” Jaebeom finally said.

Those words you had wanted for so long and they did nothing for you. They didn’t fix you. They didn’t numb the pain. They didn’t restore what had been taken.

You pushed his arms away and got to your feet, wiping the tears with the back of your hand. Stomping toward the gravel path, Jaebeom was hot on your heels, calling your name.

When he grabbed your arms and spun you back around to face him, you yelled, “Let me go, Jaebeom.”

“Tell me what to do,” he pleaded. “Tell me what you need me to do!”

“Break this fucking spell,” you shouted back at him. “Make me hate you. Because I love you and it’s killing me!”

That was the last thing Jaebeom wanted. He was consumed by you. There were those words again and Jaebeom couldn’t stand it. No one had ever loved him, much less fallen in love with him, and he didn’t know what to do.

So, he gathered you in his arms and melded his lips to yours. You didn’t hesitate to kiss him back hard, carding your fingers into his hair.

Jaebeom held your waist and hips snugly, trapping you to him. You pressed yourself to his chest and tugged on his hair, earning a groan. You slipped your tongue past his lips and Jaebeom made a noise at your aggression. He could taste the salt of your tears.

This was stupid, you thought to yourself. You just never learned, did you? But God, kissing him was amazing. You let your hands fall from his head to roam his shoulders, pressing your nails into his shirt. You felt so small in his arms, like you were lost in him.

Jaebeom began to move, steering you with him back toward the blanket, still kissing you like his life depended on it. You weren’t surprised when he lay you down, but Jaebeom was beyond surprised when you wrestled him to his back and straddled his hips.

You wanted to grin at the shocked expression he was sporting, but you only caught a brief glimpse of his widened eyes before smashing your lips back on his.

You just wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him until you were satisfied, satiated. Maybe then you could finally get on with your life. It was senseless logic, but all you knew was he kissed so fucking good. It made you crazy. Just like everything else about him.

For fuck’s sake, you would never understand why you were in love with the one thing determined to destroy you.

“Stop. Stop,” you suddenly told him, panting and breathless.

Jaebeom looked at your hand pressed to his chest, watching you sit up on top of him, and his heart sank. He knew that look. You were about to bolt.

“I can’t do this,” you whispered, more to yourself as you brushed your hair out of your face with your fingers.

Jaebeom stroked his palms up your thighs, clad in the tightest jeans he had ever seen, and coaxed, “Why?”

You blinked, thinking of an answer. There were many, but you were trying to invalidate them on the spot.

Jaebeom sat up, wrapping an arm around your hips and rocking you closer to him. “Tell me,” he mumbled, pressing a wet kiss to your neck.

Your eyes fluttered and you felt resolve melting away each time his lips touched over your racing pulse.

“You’ll leave me again,” you cried shakily.

Jaebeom shook his head, proceeding to suck beneath your ear. “I’m not going anywhere,” he growled.

You ran your hands through his hair, hips arching ever so slightly in search of friction. Your body was heating up, excitement pulsing through your veins. You craved him. Lust was a powerful thing, and now you truly understood.

“I am,” you said firmly, pushing him back with both hands and rising to your feet.

Jaebeom slumped back, disappointed and defeated, and shook his hair out of his eyes. Watching you walk away, he begged, “Please stop sleeping with Jackson.”

You turned to face him, lips parting incredulously.

Seeing your anger, he lowered his tone to something more pliant, but definitely snide. “Give me a chance to make things right before you let him get his claws in you.”

It only confirmed what Jackson had said. Jaebeom’s newfound pursuit of you was solely from a place of jealousy. Your best friend had been right and you were too blind to accept it.

“You really are the worst,” you snapped at him, heading back on your way.

Jaebeom shouted vengefully, “He doesn’t fucking deserve you!”

You kept walking and retorted with disdain, “Story of my life, it seems. I guess I only fuck guys that don’t deserve me.”

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[beautifulterriblequeen]

AMA reread headcanon #2

I’m having further thoughts about Moonshadow assassin capabilities after rereading this ama question, which basically asks, Why didn’t Viren hide Harrow in the dungeon or somewhere, away from the Moonshadow assassins?

The given answer says, “I think hiding him anywhere was never really an option. The Moonshadow assassins would have had ways of locating him and slipping in no matter where he was...”

My initial guess, last fall, was this: since there already seems to be some kind of internal life-force sensor that Moonshadows can use--the way Lujanne simply touches Zym’s egg and determines that his life is fading--perhaps that skill can be honed and shifted from merely sensing all life around you in a beautiful symphony, to seeking one life force in particular, no matter where it is, for the purposes of hunting it down and taking it. A sort of Moonshadow Cerebro, if you will, which probably takes a lot of practice to achieve, and maybe a lot of focus to hold onto during a mission. Perhaps this is what Runaan was meditating on, the morning of the full moon: Harrow’s and Ezran’s life forces, pinging softly in the distance, somewhere in the castle.

Yeah, creepy and dark, turning a Moonshadow connection to life into a tracking skill for death. *shudders* I love it.

But yesterday, I was staring at this line and wondering whether there was more. See, it’s one thing to sense your target no matter where they are. But it’s another to do that slipping-in thing that the creators mentioned.

Viren says in S1E2 that Moonshadow assassins can “penetrate any defense.” Any at all? How would that work if you put Harrow behind a slew of locked doors? Magical barriers? Defensive monsters? All of the above at once?

One of the other AMA answers, paraphrased on reddit, got me thinking:

"Moonshadow elves partially slip into a dimension of the moon granting them full stealth mode."

If a partial shift into the dimension of the moon grants invisibility yet leaves them present this dimension, what would a full shift grant?

Here’s my guess, then, for a second layer of Moonshadow assassin skills that can be put to use on a mission: an accomplished and practiced assassin can focus their life force during a full moon and project themselves fully into the dimension of the moon--the world that Rayla visited in TTM. Doing so is basically dying, and they have to be perfectly poised and precise in order to come back into the real world exactly where they mean to--and not inside a wall or something--within a probably-short time limit like the 7 minutes it takes your brain to die if you lose access to oxygen or something. It’s a very risky move! But if anyone is going to push themselves to the limit of death--and beyond--to accomplish a mission, it’s a Moonshadow assassin.

The implications of such a skill are fabulous. Only the best assassins can probably do this, and they'll probably need a completely full moon to do it. But the effect would be terrifying. There you sit, surrounded by three dozen guards, behind eight magical wards, where not even a stray spider can sneak in, and suddenly there's a whisper of movement right behind you, and then you're dead. And not one of your guards sees a damn thing. They’d panic and bolt, and the word would get out: Moonshadow assassins are unstoppable.

The key here is what Viren believes the assassins are capable of. He knows better than to try to hide Harrow. His only suggestion was to try to mislead the assassins with a soul switcheroo, which could call back to the idea of Moonshadows being able to track a single life force. Whether Viren expected their tracking to follow Harrow’s body instead of his soul, or simply to be confused by two separate sources, I couldn’t say. But his soulfang solution seems like the TDP equivalent of trying to hide your heat signature from infrared scanners by hopping into a hot tub with a breathing straw.

So here I am with this really cool headcanon about a powerful and frankly dangerous Moonshadow ability, and I ask myself, Self, what kind of cool thing could this ability be used for?

I’m so predictable. You know where I’m headed, right?

I am super invested in Runaan's story arc, and in his character development. I'm eagerly awaiting S4 to see what happens next! We all want our favorite broody assassin set free so he can go be dramatic and stabby and also soft with his husband. It's basically a universal headcanon at this point that Runaan will be freed from his coin at some point, in some way.

You know which version of “Free Runaan” I'm not sure I've ever seen? Runaan rescuing himself. Considering his thematic elements and his coding, that's actually a really important idea. People in trauma aren't helpless damsels out of a fairy tale. They're people. And they deserve agency just like everyone else.

Within the plot of TDP, such a concept would need to be folded in with everything else that’s going on, though. Rayla still has to find her truth, and to deal with her motivations and choices. She deserves agency, too, as does Ethari, Callum, Claudia, Viren, Aaravos, Nyx, and anyone who might get included in the coin storyline.

It would be great to see Runaan use a Moonshadow dimension-slip to escape his coin to somewhere else. Where would he go? Well, there are a few possibilities, but “the real world” probably shouldn’t be one of them. If he can get out of hell on his own, and then need some guidance getting back to the real world--and to his family--from there, that lets multiple characters decide if and how much to lend a hand.

Trauma lies. It tells you that you’re alone, the only one who feels so horrible. But that’s not true. It’s never true. So the more characters who contribute to Runaan’s freedom, the better. Especially since it’ll be really good for him to experience, considering he’s spent his life holding everyone at arm’s length. It’ll be a good message of cooperation, and of forgiveness, and those are some of TDP’s strongest themes.

But so is agency! Having a voice, having a say in your own fate. I’m not sure how much of a say Runaan has really had in his own fate. That’s some information I’m also eagerly awaiting! Seeing him get to participate, even a little, in his own rescue from the hellcoin would be amazing, and maybe it could happen with a cool, scary, dramatic Moonshadow power like being able to walk in the land of the dead for a few minutes or something.

Runaan’s a badass, okay, show it to me, give. But also, just imagine some wild twist like Rayla struggling for most of S4 to find him and her parents, fighting, making allies, learning secrets, doing stealth stuff, figuring out who to trust, all building up an absolutely stellar arc for her, and at last she somehow gets that coin pouch, and she dumps it out, and while she’s so relieved to finally have found her parents again... Runaan’s coin is blank. Dun Dun DUNNNNNN, cue the credits!

[frostops]

I have some thoughts about how FGO has handled trans and trans-adjacent characters, and I’m frustrated how many people talk about the mishandlings without discussing the transmisogyny in it, but this is long as fuck, so its under the cut.

Its a good thing that FGO is having more characters with the genderless trait who aren’t given that trait for shitty reasons, but framing this as FGO being better at handling nonbinary characters, while technically true, ignores what caused many of the early issues. That cause is often transmisogyny.

Transmisogyny has been an issue in the game since Da Vinci’s introduction. Da Vinci doesn’t have the genderless trait, but she’s still important to discuss to understand FGO’s mishandling of trans characters. Mash and Romani are both angry at the idea of Leonardo Da Vinci not being a man, and call her a pervert, among other things. This is immediately after both find out King Arthur was actually a woman, but neither seemed to care then. Its understood by the writing that some believed to be a man turning out to actually be a cis woman isn’t deserving of malice, but that person turning out to be a trans woman is. The writing surrounding Da Vinci slowly got better, with characters being less shitty about and eventually respecting her gender. While Da Vinci initially describes herself as beyond gender, she says so in response to Roman and Mash’s reaction to her gender, where as whenever she is referred to as a woman (Lancelot saying he couldn’t hurt a beautiful women in Camelot, Napoleon calling her mademoiselle in LB2), she eats it up. Her early description of being beyond gender feels more like a tongue-in-cheek way of degendering a trans woman. While overall the writing treats Da Vinci better now, there are still times where it gets shitty, even as recent as the event where Van Gogh was introduced, where Hokusai talks about both Da Vinci and Van Gogh having an inherent maleness that bleeds into their art. This event did have a guest writer, but it was still allowed into the game.

The first character to have the genderless trait is D’Eon. Historically, D’Eon was intersex and trans feminine, and very likely a trans woman, but the fate version is introduced saying they were crazy in life, intended to be in reference to how they presented their gender. They are also presented as caring more about loyalty to France than what gender they are seen as, when the real D’Eon blackmailed the king into legally recognizing them as a woman. Transmisogyny, as well as intersexism, is pretty obviously what made Type-Moon take reduce D’Eon to just jokes about gender. D’Eon feels degendered in way similar to how Da Vinci is at time, though D’Eon gets it worse

Astolfo debuted in Apocrypha, where their presentation is used for a joke where Jeanne, believing Astolfo to be a girl, freaks out when she sees that Astolfo has a penis. The joke is that it is such a horrible thing to find a penis on some you think is a girl. I shouldn’t need to explain the transmisogyny behind that, or that Astolfo ostensibly not being a trans woman doesn’t make the joke less transmisogynistic. There are other, better things about Astolfo in Apocrypha, but most of their writing in FGO is in the same vein as the joke with Jeanne. This is crystalized in Agartha, where both Astolfo and D’Eon were used for many transmisogynistic, intersexist, and homophobic jokes. 

The third, and for a long time last, character to have the genderless trait was Enkidu. They are given this trait due to changes to their myth. In Fate, Enkidu is made of clay, and had a nonhuman appearance until meeting Shamhat, and modeling their appearance after her. They don’t have a physical sex, but, due to originally being a male character and appearing feminine in fate, the writers and fans alike treat them similarly to how they treat Astolfo and D’Eon, though less aggressively. Usually when Enkidu appears in a fate work, one character has to talk about how they can’t tell whether Enkidu is a man or a woman, before settling on neither, but only reach that conclusion because they don’t have a physical sex. The transmisogyny isn’t as strong in Enkidu’s writing, but its still there.

Until LB3, no other character would be given the genderless trait, and what all 3 of them have in common is being AMAB or originally male characters who present femininely. Technically Da Vinci fits this description as well, but her body is considered female by Type-Moon’s standards, so she gets the female trait. Also, with the exception of Astolfo, have bodies that wouldn’t considered male of female by most people. In Deon’s case, this is the result of intersexism, and even more frustrating when you remember that D’Eon blackmailed the king to be seen as a woman. I’d wager the reason Astolfo is grouped with the other two is itself a continuation of the joke from Apocrypha. It’s a coy “We all know what Astolfo’s ‘real’ gender is, but we’ll play along with the joke.” 

I think this also explains other characters who, arguably, could be included in the genderless trait, but were not. Nezha, like Da Vinci, only got a “female” body after dying, so they get the female trait too, despite not really being comfortable with any gender labels. Mordred, who consistently gets violently angry at being called a woman, and whose bio states that they don’t like being referred to as a man either (though this wouldn’t be implemented into writing until LB3, where they are clearly far less bothered by being referred to as man) also  has the female trait. King Hassan’s bio has his gender listed as “?????” but he is treated as male by the game and has the male trait.

None of the newer genderless servants fit the same description of amab/originally male and presenting femininely, which does show a more nuanced understanding of gender identity and expression, but it doesn’t show anymore respect towards trans women and transfems. Both Shi Huang Di and Douman have somewhat androgynous presentations, but we still don’t really have trans fem character whose gender and presentation is treated respectfully other than Da Vinci, and that’s frustrating. For the most part, though, these characters are all pretty well handled. 

Two of them, Mao Nobu and Romulus-Quirinus, are new versions of characters who already had the female and male trait respectively, meaning the game has at least someone moved away from equating the genderless trait to a character’s physical sex, but not entirely since part of the reason Shi Huang Di has the trait is their inability to reproduce.

There is some disagreement about how Caenis is handled, and I do have thoughts on that topic, but if I talked about that this would be twice as long. The short version is that the necessity to make characters fit into fanservice, something which negatively affects all of the characters I mention here, limits the ways in which Caenis’s relationship to their gender can be explored. Its also why we have Caenis and not Caenus, and why Caenis is rarely allowed to where a shirt.

There is also Dioscuri, who is two characters, one man and one woman, who are collectively on servant, so even though they have the genderless trait, they're not really relevant.

We do have more originally male characters now in female bodies. Vritra and Van Gogh, who were added recently (Vritra’s bio says she was originally male and now has a female vessel and Van Gogh is Vincent Van Gogh in Clytie’s body), Kama, an originally male deity possessing Sakura’s body, is being added to NA this year, and even back in part 1 we had Quetzalcoatl, another male god in a female vessel. All of them are given the female trait, and Quetz in particular seems to be very comfortable being a woman, but this still feels like what happened with Nezha, where the “physically female” body matters more than the identity of the character, especially with Van Gogh, who had no choice in being put in Clytie’s body. 

Mechanically, the gender traits only affect certain skills and nps, having extra or stronger effects. The genderless servants are exempt from the extra effects, with one exception. Once of Blackbeard’s skills has an effect for female servants, but D’Eon and Astolfo (And maybe also Enkidu, but I don’t remember) were included in this effect as well. The joke here was that Blackbeard is written to be reflective of  the worst qualities of weebs and otakus. many of whom would refer to those two as traps, a transmisogynistic slur, so Blackbeard is into them in the same way. Servants with the genderless trait added afterwards weren’t included in this effect, even though some of them (the ones who transphobic fate fans consider to be women) would still be seen as attractive by Blackbeard. So rather than coding each one individually to be included, they added a new trait, the female looking trait, for Blackbeard’s skill. The genderless servants included in this one all present feminine, but the inclusion of this trait is to make continuing a transphobic joke easier, which almost feels like a step back from some of the previous progress in handling trans characters.

I also think some people are a little too eager to give FGO credit when it may not deserve. For instance, a lot of people liked Douman being included in the genderless trait, and on its own it fine, but the my room line where Sei talks about trying to check under Douman’s robes concerns me. Many people took it as Sei just being horny for Douman, but it could easily be intended as Sei trying to check what’s really in his pants, especially since the canon reason Douman has the genderless trait is that he combined himself with some spirits and deities, one of which is female.

None of this is to say its wrong to view any of these characters as nonbinary (I do view most of them as nonbinary), but I don’t think we should view the genderless trait as equivalent to nonbinary. Not only are there characters included in it who probably shouldn’t be (like D’Eon) and characters who don’t have it who probably should (like Nezha), doing so treat nonbinary as a third and wholly separate gender. And if you’re going to talk about the transphobia of FGO, please be willing to use the word transmisogyny.

[iztarshi]

My Murderbot Musical

This is so dumb, but I started out thinking about how a novella so focussed on Murderbot’s interiority and voice would make a better musical than a film and then before I knew it I had 2,000 words of how I’d adapt All Systems Red into a musical if I knew a damn thing about writing musicals. Murderbot would probably have Pin-Lee sue me for making this too sappy.

I’m putting it up anyway though, because if I can’t post my dumb ideas on tumblr, where can I post them?

The stage is divided into four, the front of the stage and three platforms behind it with a screen behind each platform.

The show opens with the novella’s opening lines. “I could have become a mass murderer after I hacked my governor module, but then I realized I could access the combined feed of entertainment channels carried on the company satellites. It had been well over 35,000 hours or so since then, with still not much murdering, but probably, I don't know, a little under 35,000 hours of movies, serials, books, plays, and music consumed. As a heartless killing machine, I was a terrible failure.”

The lights then rise on Mensah standing at the front of the stage with a Company representative standing behind a desk across from her, behind the Company representative stands Murderbot, in full armour with the faceplate blanked and perfectly still. The first number, Sanctuary (Moon) takes place with Mensah and the Company representative arguing in the foreground about why she doesn’t want to take a SecUnit with her. This fills us in on a lot of background about what SecUnits are and what Mensah would need one for and also shows us that despite arguing that what’s done to them is wrong Mensah is still falling into treating the actually present SecUnit like it’s unaware. In the background clips from Sanctuary Moon and other shows play on the screens, while characters from it act out scenes on the three platforms. They frequently take over the song with a much fuller and brighter song about fictional events. We can see that this is the inside of Murderbot’s head, that it’s playing media on the feed while the humans argue about its nature in front of it. The song ends with Mensah giving in and leaving and Murderbot being packed into a crate as the lights go down on the stage.

The lights rise with Dr Bharadwaj and Volescu in the crater, Murderbot standing by. There is a clip from Sanctuary Moon playing silently on the screens, which is suddenly superseded by images of the monster coming out of the crater. The song Client Retrieval Protocol starts, a fast, rhythmic but not frantic song. Murderbot sings the instructions to itself, to the systems as code flashes on the screens, and describes what’s going on in rapid, professional, but also witty commentary (basically its narrative voice as a patter song). There’s a discord when the HubSystem tries to send the abort command, and we see it on the screen, but it’s rapidly dismissed by Murderbot. The music softens when Murderbot takes its helmet down to reassure Volescu but once again we get caught back up in the rapid patter of its divided attention and things it needs to do. The song ends on the big “No!” to Ratthi as he tries to retrieve the bags and the hopper takes off just in time.

Murderbot’s cubicle is represented by a small white platform in the middle of the front stage. We see it shed its armour, pull an emergency blanket around itself and sit down. Despite not being small, it looks alone and vulnerable like this. Mensah enters, following the trail of blood-stained armour it’s left across the stage, and sings a short song, You Didn’t Leave, thanking it for staying with Volescu when the MedSystem was telling it he would be fine by himself. Murderbot’s responses are spoken rather than sung and obviously awkward as it looks anywhere but at her.

The next song, Too Much Media, shows Murderbot, still not in its armour, walking through the scene with Volescu as it rewinds and replays it, now seeing what it actually said to Volescu and wondering what the hell it was doing. It sings to him, asking questions about his family, and we see the family on the platforms as Volescu sings his answers. Murderbot’s questions are sung very tentatively, in contrast to the parts of its song sung in its own head. The song breaks for a while as Mensah calls it to answer questions and offers to let it stay in the crew area. The song resumes for a few lines as Murderbot curls up in its cubicle again, regretting how much it’s given away to the humans both with its questions to Volescu and with its terror at being offered a place among them.

It’s Not Right is sung by the humans as they try to figure out whether they’ve been sabotaged or whether the company is just cheap and also try to figure out how to treat their SecUnit now they know it’s a person. The humans are shown arguing among themselves during the mapping expedition, up on the platforms while Murderbot is with another group on the stage, although Gurathin doesn’t join in. Ratthi’s attempt to talk to Murderbot about its feelings is moved to the way back rather than the trip to DeltFall, with Overse and Ratthi singing their argument. Murderbot gets its one line in the song “Dr Mensah, a message” as it sends the clip to her and the song ends with her telling Ratthi to drop it. When they return to the habitat, Volescu tells them that DeltFall can’t be contacted and Murderbot insists on coming with them when they check it out.

We open at the DeltFall habitat, deliberately spooky in design and lighting. Murderbot sings Murderbots (it’s what we do). We’ve heard it use the name for itself in its own songs before, but here it’s referring to the rogues it believes have wiped out DeltFall. Flashes of unrealistic and murderous SecUnits from media play across the screens, along with contextless flashes of a mine. The song is angry, Murderbot singing about its intention to hunt down these rogues who killed their humans, no matter what the humans might have done to deserve it.

We see the fight, Murderbot taking down other SecUnits and getting hurt in the process, and we see Dr Mensah coming to rescue it. Murderbot tries to convince her to go with You Have To Leave (You Didn’t Leave Reprise) as she refuses and drags it out with her. Finally it realises what the combat module is, tells her to kill it and then grabs the gun itself as the stage goes dark.

Murderbot is on the white platform again, this time lying down with all the humans gathered around it. Gurathin tells them about the hacked governer module and he and Volescu start arguing about whether Murderbot is dangerous with It’s Not Right (Reprise). Murderbot suddenly joining in by singing “the company isn’t trying to kill you” is as startling for the audience as for the humans. From then on it joins the song, for the first time singing with the humans the same way it sings in its own head, as it falls into the rhythm of the song and argues for itself. There’s a brief musical callback to Murderbots (it’s what we do) when Gurathin brings up the mining incident, but it’s subtle. The song ends with Murderbot grabbing Gurathin and Mensah interrupts the increasingly frantic rhythm they’ve built up by saying her next line.

Gurathin and Pin-Lee leave to shut down HubSystem, Bharadwaj and Volescu go to check the download package, and Arada, Overse, Ratthi, Mensah and Murderbot sing EvilSurvey as they work out that there might be a third survey group on the planet out to get them. Murderbot is more subdued now and won’t face the humans, but it’s still singing its lines and gets lines like “the company could be bribed to conceal the existence of several hundred survey teams on this planet”. It’s a group song and Murderbot is part of the group now.

After leaving the habitat and finding a place to camp, Mensah talks to Murderbot about leaving its helmet down and asks if it’s okay. We then get Because You Need Me a distant duet between them sung to the audience rather than each other. Murderbot considers what it means to be seen as a person who wants to help and chastises itself for forming an emotional connection to a client. Mensah thinks about how much it means to her that someone who has so many reasons to distrust humans is starting to open up to her and her guilt at leaning on someone who’s in such a bad situation themselves.

Murderbot finds out who Mensah is and that she’s Preservation’s government from Ratthi before leaving with Gurathin to retrieve the drones. Gurathin prodding it about the mine and whether it wants revenge on humans becomes  a reprise of Murderbots (it’s what we do), this time much more sarcastic as Murderbot rejects the idea of revenge killing sprees as a human thing.

We see the video play on the screens as Murderbot watches GrayCris’s message and then the lights go down as Murderbot announces it has a plan.

We follow Murderbot’s approach to GrayCris and conversation with them up until they demand Mensah accompany them and Murderbot has to disguise itself as a Deltfall SecUnit. As the plan falls apart Murderbot starts to sing There Is No Fucking Protocol (Client Retrieval Protocol Reprise) as it talks us through the plan and what it’s doing the way it did back then but with full acknowledgement of how out of its depth it is. We see the other humans on the platforms, in Murderbot’s awareness thanks to drones. The song builds up, getting more and more frantic as Murderbot knows the launch is coming closer and Mensah’s still too close, before ending as it grabs her and the explosion knocks it over. We see it give the “this unit is at minimal functionality and it is recommended that you discard it” message and Mensah respond “shut the fuck up, we’re not leaving you” before the stage lights go down.

Murderbot wakes up on the platform again, but is swiftly retrieved by Pin-Lee and Ratthi. When it rejoins the humans they’re in normal clothes. They’re more colourful than their work clothes, and the environment is prettier now too, echoing the fictional characters in Sanctuary (Moon) earlier and the way they were bright and colourful then. The humans cheerfully sing Preservation as they tell Murderbot about their world and about how it can come home with them now. Murderbot is no longer singing with them, only speaking when it responds.

Murderbot sings You Didn’t Leave (Final Reprise) about how astonishing it is the humans didn’t abandon it, that they even bought it, and yet how confused it is at the idea of being somewhere it isn’t needed. It moves to talking about not wanting to be owned, not wanting to be told what it wants, and gets up and starts walking through the port as it does, stealing a rucksack and slinging it over its shoulder. Its last few lines make it clear it’s leaving a message to Dr Mensah and then it ends with “that’s why I had to leave” as the stage goes black.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 27

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“What are the tenets of the warrior code?” Dawntripe asked. 

Tallpaw sat up straight as he recited. “A warrior protects the helpless: no kit or sick will be left behind. A warrior has mercy for their enemies: they do not seek to spread death unnecessarily. A warrior values life, and is without greed: they never take their prey or land for granted and thank StarClan for all our blessings. A warrior rejects trading freedom and dignity for a chained life of comfort. And above all, our lives and loyalty is to our clan, whatever the cost.” Tallpaw had spent ages memorizing the right words to say and the intensity with how to say them until he knew it like the back of his paw. He felt a rush of relief when Heatherstar nodded her approval.

“You have trained him well, Dawnstripe. His progress has been impressive.” She said and Dawnstripe purred with pride for her apprentice as Heatherstar continued, “I think you were right in recommending him to take his assessment now. As long as you remember, young Tallpaw, that you will be judged harshly. Most apprentices would need to train at least another moon before being considered for their full warriors ceremony.”

Tallpaw dipped his head “I understand Heatherstar. Thank you for the opportunity. I promise I will not let you down.”

He spoke with practiced evenness that he had been mastering throughout his training, since indeed he felt or thought very little that was not dedicated to improving his ability and impressing his elders. He offered first to join every patrol that would have him, extended training sessions well past sunhigh when the rest of the clan dozed, and spent most of his downtime cleaning nests and fetching fresh bedding. Though often exhausted and sore, his body had never failed him. Keeping busy kept him focused and even sometimes kept the dreams away. Even so, Tallpaw felt like it wasn’t enough. There was still upset restlessness in his belly. A restlessness he was sure would be satisfied as soon as he’d proven himself worthy of his name.

Heatherstar eyed him. “Hareflight informs me Shrewpaw is ready to take his assessment again. All the better for apprentices to take it together. You will both be ready by evening, I presume?”

“Yes Heatherstar,” Tallpaw said. He hid his irritation at the thought of dealing with Shrewpaw throughout this important trial. Heatherstar wanted to know he was above letting personal squabbles get in the way of what needed to be done, but Tallpaw was not confident the high strung tom would not do something to try and sabotage him. But surely...after already failing an assessment, even Shrewpaw wouldn’t risk doing anything to jeopardize this one. We both want the same thing. And after it’s done, hopefully I won’t have to think of him again.

Even so, a battle assessment against Shrewpaw was not something he looked forward to. Shrewpaw could easily match many of the best warriors in his fighting skills. It was certainly not raw ability that had been holding him back from his name. Tallpaw shook the apprehension buzzing around in his head like a fly away to the back of his mind. He could handle Shrewpaw. It didn’t matter if the battle assessments were won, it was about the skill shown during it. And he knew Shrewpaw well enough by now to know exactly how he fought. Being ‘just good enough’ isn’t going to cut it. I need to be better. And I will. Shrewpaw isn’t going to get in my way.

***

“An enemy has invaded,” Dawnstripe debriefed Tallpaw and Shrewpaw, who stood side by side, stiffly avoiding each other's gaze. Hareflight acted as the intruder. There was almost an ease when they didn’t have to speak to each other, and relied only on tail signals and the steps they knew by heart.

The ambush went off without a hitch. Tallpaw used his size advantage to bowl Hareflight off his paws while Shrewpaw lashed out with lightning fast paw strikes.

“You did well, keeping track of each other.” Hareflight said, catching his breath as he picked himself up. He looked relieved. “I am impressed.”

The next part was a little more nerve wracking. One on one combat. Shrewpaw eyed Tallpaw carefully as they circled each other, and arched his back in a menacing snarl. It was all postering of course, Shrewpaw was certainly very good at that. His unkempt dark brown fur bristled to make him look twice his size. But Tallpaw knew in the back of his mind that it wasn’t all acting. Shrewpaw rarely needed to fake anger, especially directed towards him. 

Tallpaw struck first this time, feigning the left and then boxing Shrewpaw hard on the side of the head. Shrewpaw responded just as fast, and shoved into Tallpaw’s chest. The toms grappled each other and wrestled fighting for an advantage. Shrewpaw had latched himself to Tallpaw’s side and was very difficult to get off, like an obnoxious little thorn. At last, he shook Shrewpaw’s grip loose and they broke off. Shrewpaw spat out a small clump of fur and circled again.

“You’ll have to do more than cling like a burr,” Tallpaw growled.

“Will I?” Shrewpaw spat “You fall like a tree, and then all you do is flail.”

“Only if you can actually knock me down first.”

Their voices were hushed. Their mentors were a distance off, watching their moves without getting in the way. Shrewpaw took Tallpaw’s challenge and grappled around his neck and shoulders. Tallpaw bit at him but somehow Shrewpaw scratched onto his back and yanked his scruff. The feel of needle sharp claws digging into his flesh made him gasp. He can’t seriously mean to start a real fight now. Tallpaw was more angry than anything else. He snarled and took Shrewpaws forepaw in his jaws and bit harder than he normally would, then yanked him sideways, wincing as claws dug in harder. “Can’t you fight like you're supposed to for once?” Tallpaw growled. “Are you sure you even know how to behave like a warrior?”

He thought Shrewpaw might have laughed. “Rich coming from you, go on and tattle on me then. You know you can’t beat me in a real fight.”

“I’m not here to prove myself to a fox-hearted kit.” Tallpaw hissed in his face. 

Shrewpaw struck him surprisingly hard, and his nose felt wet. “Who do you have to prove yourself to? You're pathetic, and so transparent.”

“Just shut up and fight me Shrewpaw.” Tallpaw growled.

“I’m glad you feel guilty, you know. You deserve to. You got what you deserved and lost what I lost, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

Tallpaw knew, somewhere in the back of his head, that Shrewpaw was only saying something so awful because he desperately wanted him to lash out first. To do something obvious that would cause him to fail, and delay his ceremony.

He knew that, and yet anger blurred Tallpaw’s vision as he slammed into Shrewpaw and sank his teeth into his scruff, shaking him hard. Shrewpaw clawed into the back of his neck and bit at his face. Tallpaw’s eyes were squeezed shut but didn’t pull away. The two toms rolled into the grass and kicked and swiped but Tallpaw refused to yowl when Shrewpaw stuck his claws into his pelt. It was as if Shrewpaw was daring him to. Go on and yowl, they’ll stop us. But he wouldn’t. Shrewpaw wouldn’t either. Tallpaws back stung everywhere. But he kept his rage on a leash and always stopped just short of cutting too much skin, letting teeth pinched flesh painfully without tearing it. Just enough to keep it from showing.

Dawnstripe bounded up to him, her fur bristled a bit and she looked wary.

“That’s enough. You’re both clearly capable.” Hareflight said, looking suspiciously at Shrewpaw’s pelt at a small dark stain soaking in beneath his tabby fur. It was unclear if it was from Tallpaw’s cuts or his own. Tallpaw stiffened at the sight of it. 

Suddenly, Shrewpaw laughed.

“Guess we both got a bit caught up in it, huh Tall?” he said with a purr. 

Tallpaw gaped at him for only a moment. But he forced his fur to lie flat.

“Yeah, I’m sorry Dawnstripe. My eagerness got the better of me. I’m alright though, Are you Shrew?”

“Course, just a scratch!”

Tallpaw felt a rush of relief as their mentors seemed to have bought it. It wasn’t so unusual for cats to get over eager and let their claws slip a little, was it? It didn’t mean anything bad. Dawnstripe and Hareflight nodded in satisfaction, looking relieved at the apprentice's apparent ease with each other. “Be a bit more careful in your spars. But I know how eager you are, Shrewpaw” Hareflight said. “We’ll move on to the last part. If you agree, Dawnstripe?”

Dawnstripe nodded. “Unless you need a brief rest to tend to those scratches.”

“No, we’re fine, it’s nothing.” Tallpaw mewed. He searched her gaze for a hint of suspicion. He stopped his tail twitching and smiled at her. There’s nothing to worry about, he thought desperately. He felt he’d gotten good at convincing her of that, it was the only way she was letting him take the assessment early. 

Soon, the apprentices were both making their way to where they would have their hunting tests. Tallpaw felt faint claws of guilt poking at him. He really hated lying to Dawnstripe, even about small things. She deserved better than that. But he had to do this. He needed to become a warrior, and he needed her to believe he could do it. The friendly gleam in Shrewpaw’s eyes turned cold again the moment their mentors turned.

 Nice try, but you can’t mess me up without taking yourself down with me. Tallpaw thought bitterly. Hate me all you want, but we’re going to get through this. 

Unfortunately even when they split up, his fur still pricked and his claws itched with frustration. But he knew clawing Shrewpaw wouldn’t make it any better.

***

Tallpaw’s feet thudded across the ground, all his senses honed in on the small hare sprinting ahead of him. I just need to catch this, and then I’ll be one step closer. One step closer to it all paying off. 

Shrewpaw might be faster with his claw strikes, but he wasn’t a match for Talltail’s speed. A hare, even a very young one, was much faster and more clever than a rabbit, not to mention much more dangerous. Which was exactly why that was Tallpaw’s chosen prey. The hare banked sharply to the right and Tallpaw let his body react for him, his long tail streaming behind him, anchoring his weight as he turned just as sharp. I’d like to see Shrewpaw pull off a turn like that, he almost laughed. It was surprising that even now, he could forget that Shrewpaw had no interest in competing with him anymore. There was less glory in it. They both just wanted to be done with each other. Tallpaw tried not to think about the hollow sound of the ground under his paws. There must be a tunnel. Hare’s didn’t burrow like rabbits, but he wasn’t sure if it would try for a hole in a last desperate attempt to escape. It sent a bolt of fear through him. He wouldn’t have the guts to chase this prey down a hole, but he didn’t want to fail either. Tallpaw pressed himself harder than he ever had before, forcing his paws to pick up more speed. This hare would not ruin his assessment. No matter how hard he pushed himself, the creature stayed ahead of him. He pushed until he felt his lungs would burst, but it still wasn’t quite enough. Why isn’t it enough, just...stop! There was a thick gorse patch ahead, too narrow for him to follow. The hare was headed for it. With a cry of frustration he sprang as it began to duck into a narrow hole amongst sharp branches and stone. It screamed as his claws connected with its hindquarters. Tallpaw struggled against it, trying to dodge its wildly kicking legs. It was a small hare, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t strong. He wanted to yowl in pain when it kicked him hard in the neck, but it just made his frustration flare up. 

“You stupid creature!” he hissed “Just die already!” 

He hauled it back hard and fought to grip its neck, but missed, and it turned its head to snap at his face. Even when it tore a small chunk out of his check with its sharp front teeth, he refused to give in. The kill was messy as Tallpaw fought with the hare that was trying to drag itself, and him, into the dark crevice under the thorns. At last a final burst of determination let him connect his teeth with its neck and tear a hole into it. The creature finally lay still as blood pooled around it. Tallpaw quickly dragged it all the way back, wincing at the blood trickling down his face.

 He looked down with a twinge of guilt at the mess he had made of the prey. His claw marks scored down its sides and its fur clumped with blood and kicked up soil. Why would he get so angry at a creature trying to escape? Hares were a respected animal in WindClan, one of the few things swifter than themselves. It was clearly not full grown, otherwise he wouldn't have had a prayer of taking it down. It was a pitiful, messy way to be killed. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he blinked down at the hare. “Thank you for your life.”

 It was probably silly to feel so guilty over prey. Tallpaw stared at its body longer than he should have. It put up a fight, and to be caught by such a lousy hunter… He pictured eyes of hunters past shaking their heads at him. But all he could do was hope Dawnstripe hadn’t heard him yelling at it from wherever she was watching from. He’d caught the young hare, and now all he could was not put it to waste.

“Congratulations,” Dawnstripe’s purr caught him off guard. She was closer than he’d thought.

“I almost lost track of you. You're incredibly fast. I wasn’t sure you would do it when you chose that as your target, but you really pulled it off.” Dawnstripe sniffed the hare appreciatively.

Tallpaw dipped his head in thanks. So she hadn’t seen what a messy kill it was. The scratches were covered up in dirt.

“You’ve done well today, Tallpaw.” Dawnstripe said. “I think you’ve shown you're ready. You’ve improved so fast over these moons, and I’ve taught you all the skills you need to hunt and fight. There’s only one more thing to do. It’s nearly sunrise now, so we’ll return to camp and wait for Hareflight.”

They didn’t talk on the walk back as she had to help him drag the catch. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to Dawnstripe’s words when she said he knew how to hunt and fight. It felt like there was something she was leaving out that he still didn’t know. He wished he knew what it was.

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[opes-magnas]

『 as lonely as time can get. 』

It’s finally here!! I’m a terribly slow writer, and am really thankful to all those who waited for this! Hopefully you enjoy. Thank you so much to @hamjjy, @kaavijournals and Lady L for beta reading this, you guys are the best!

Listen to this playlist here for the best experience!

tw: cursing, body sensitivity, very subtle idea of anxiety and toxic relationships are portrayed.

~calypso <3

I. the moon can't shine on her own.

She looks serene tonight - high up in the night sky, not a single star to accompany her. Does the moon feel lonely like that? Does she ever need a warm hug? Perhaps she gets one from the sun, and he accompanies her all time. Does the sun shine for her? So that the world can see her beauty? Perhaps so. When she can't see him, she turns bloody red; she seems disturbed. Hurt. Lost. Her fury always frightened the humans. It made them shiver inside their homes, praying to see the familiar ball of light rise from the east to calm her down. Perhaps it is better if they could only see her beauty. But does that mean the sun shines, not to show her beauty, but to protect the humans from her true self? Perhaps so.

The sun and the moon are a pair. And they will continue to be.

As long as the moon can't shine on her own.

Let's stop thinking, Luna.

The moon seems lonely.

I look up at the clock. A red, metallic light tells me its 3:48 am, 3rd April. Great, now I can have four shots of espresso for breakfast. Thank you, oh great mind, for deciding that we needed to have that conversation earlier. I sit up on the bed and rub my eyes. The curtain flutters from the soft wind blowing in through the window. Cicadas fill up the silence as I look at the full moon illuminating my room another time. Oh, how I hate the moon. What a hypocrite. I look away, and my eyes find the pile of open textbooks and spark notes I abandoned. A small smile creeps up my face. At least I'll ace that History test tomorrow. I could imagine the Boba Tea reward from Leo in my hands already. Leo. The annoying kid next door who's been stuck with me since I was five. Don't worry, though. I don't like him. Not anymore. He made it extremely clear that I was 'a size too big' for him. Then why do I still hang out with him? Short answer - I beat him up, he apologized. I shall offer no elaboration. Still, a lump forms in my throat. And maybe because he wasn't completely wrong.

I get up to go grab a glass of water. Mochi is lying in her bed in the hallway. This is the first time she didn't stir awake when I thumped across the room. The poor fluffball of a cat is probably very tired from the bath I forced her into in the evening.

You need to lose a few pounds anyways, Luna. Get rid of those love handles. Maybe some fat on your back too. That'll make people find you more approachable.

It isn't toxic if it's true, right?

That night, I decide that my glass is half-empty rather than full, and go back to bed. Suddenly, Mochi wakes up and runs into my room. She snuggles in and throws her paws on my hair like it's her property. I choose to oblige the demon for today.

The last thing I see before sleep lures me is the clock gleaming '3:59 am'.

/////-----

It's too warm in my blanket. I almost want to peel my skin off. I need to get sleep, I have a test soo- I jolt awake. Mochi is no longer next to me. I assume she's back in the comfort of her bed, considering the temperature in the room. I let out a groan as my hand outstretches to the switchboard. After a few terrible attempts, I finally turn on the ceiling fan. As sleep threatens to take me again, I see that it's still dark out and the moon looks just as annoying as it did earlier, its ever luminant light breaking down the walls of my privacy. My eyes turn to the direction of the clock- 3:48 am, 3rd April. Huh, weird. I realize I must have had one of those five-minute, extra strength-giving, amazing nap- Wait why does the clock say it's 3:48 am?

I grab my phone. The sudden light blinds me for a second, and through squinted eyes I see 3:49 am on the screen. Huh, really weird. Wasn't I awake just now  - err, earlier? Wait what? I realize I make no sense, maybe I just read the time wrong the first time. My brain is repeating the features of the Hammurabi Code, my drowsy eyes are drooping, and I meet slumber once more.

I barely feel Mochi slipping back into my blanket.

/////-----

I wake up in wonder why my alarm hasn't rung yet. The room is still dark, the moon stares at me curiously. Give me some privacy, moon. My eyes turn towards the clock for the third time this night- 3:46 am, 3rd April. Bullshit. I've been asleep for hours now; I won't need those four espresso shots for breakfast anymore. My tongue clicks involuntarily. Is this some sort of a stupid prank? Leo is definitely behind this, I'm going to hunt that dipshit down.

Come to your senses, Luna. The universe cannot prank you. That's impossible. And stupid.

I grab my phone again. An attempt in vain, I realize, when I see the screen displaying the same time. I text Leo.

| loser |

you (3:46 am, 03.04.2021): you awake?  (read) 

loser (3:48 am, 03.04.2021): no

A chill goes down my spine. Did the just relive 3:38 am? I decide to call Leo. Two rings in, I hear a familiar voice, 'I said I wasn't awake.' He sounds tired, voice raspy and strained. You'd think he'd just woken up from the but he's the sort of person who thinks sleep is for the weak. 'Yeah no shit, Sherlock. I'm speaking to your alter ego, Thomas.', I reply.

He decides to ignore my bad retaliation, and saves me from the embarrassment. 'Why is my star pupil awake at 3 in the morning? Has she forgotten about the test she will help me cheat tomorrow?', he asks. Ah, this freeloader. I'm gonna kick his ass. My hands move frantically in the air out of annoyance, 'I am not helping you with anything!', I scream-shout into the phone, afraid I'll wake Mochi up in the hallway. She's a bigger annoyance than Leo; no one in the universe has energy to deal with a grumpy Mochi.

'Honey, you love me.'

'You're being delusional.', I deadpan.

'Is my chubby baby irritated?', he says in a fake cooing voice. And that got me.

'Leo, I did not call you at 3 in the fucking morning for you to put me down.'

The other side of the line immediately goes silent. Silence that reminded me of the last time this happened. Silence between the two of us on a Boba Tea study session in the park after an argument, the only sound being the pages of my sociology textbook being turned, and of the sound of baby birds in a nest nearby. Though I know that Leo meant it as a term of endearment, I couldn't believe he wouldn't ever, well, consider me more than just a friend because of it. A few seconds (sometimes minutes) pass before -

'I'm sorry, Lunie, you know I don't mean it,'

Another apology.

I sigh. I'm tired of this conversation again. I'm tired of having to deal with the same problem again. I'm tired of people putting me down. I'm tired of blaming myself. I'm tired of trying to look pretty. I'm tired of Leo. I'm tired of me. I'm tired of another heartbreak. I know his apology is genuine. I know he doesn't mean it. I know he's just being the Leo he always is. But somehow his words still continue to haunt me. Maybe it's because it's coming from someone who means to me the most, coming from someone who brightens me up, like the sun does to the moon.  Then why am I the only one taking it seriously? Why am I trying to fit into someone else's standards? Why am I so painfully aware of everything but still choosing to be blind?

Why am I not able to love myself even though I want to?

'Luna? You there?', his voice breaks me from my train of thought. Weirdly, he sounds quite scared. 'I didn't realize how much it bothers you, I swear I won-'

Mochi jumps onto the bed and snuggles into my head again, paws in a similar place in my hair. A weird sense of Deja vu washes over me again. And then-

『 pop! the world has reset.』

My eyes opened in fear as a gasp escapes my mouth. I'm sitting on my bed, trying to comprehend what just happened. The curtains flutter with the wind blowing by. The moon stares in curiosity. My phone's on the bedside table. The clock gleams with a bright '3:01 am' displayed on it. And the problem is that I wasn't dreaming, and I wasn't mistaking the time either.

I'm in a time loop.

II. a tub fills with water only to spill it.

I fucking hate whoever wrote Groundhog Day.

Like who decided that? Who decided to say 'Hey, let's make a movie based on time loops!'? 'Let's make a dude live the same day all over again till he gets it right! Let's make him really happy, then really sad!'

Son, I'm this close to pulling an Ides of March on you.

I seem to be looping every hour, more specifically from three in the morning to four. Five hours have passed by, but my clock tells me it's precisely 3:18 am. Great. My dearly detested friend, the moon, is my only companion in this war with time (sorry Mochi). In the five hours that should have gone by, I have accomplished the following:

Two and a half hours of sleep - though I wake up when the clock resets.

Half an hour of revision for that History test I need to write after I get out of this shit.

Thirty minutes of planning a workout, Fifteen minutes of Yoga.

Five minutes of trash talking the moon, Ten minutes of dealing with grumpy Mochi who woke up as I exercised.

Thirty minutes of wondering if Leo's looping with me, and

Half an hour of figuring out what went wrong, and how to make the night perfect.

I don't know how much longer I'll be able to remember anymore. I've tried everything - making notes, scribbling on the wall, writing on myself, engraving things on desk - but none of them seem to make it through when the loop resets. I'm too tired to talk to Leo, knowing very well that he would definitely not believe me. And partly because I'm afraid I'll lose my temper and get hurt again. I'm afraid I'll end up being the insecure bad guy, and he doesn't deserve that. He deserves someone better. Someone who's prettier, kinder and happier. Not telling him for the time being also meant that I'll never find out if he was looping with me. But that probably isn't the case, the universe is cruel for a reason. This is perhaps its punishment for me. I must go through this alone.  No one's ever been by my side anyways.

I'm as lonely as the moon.

/////-----

Another few hours pass. The pop between every reset scares me lesser and lesser. But my desperation to return back to normal is growing. I've been trying to figure out what went wrong for the past hour in the neighbourhood park. The cold air  perfectly paired up with the mint chocolate chip ice cream in my hands. Was it me staying awake this long? Should I have just gone to sleep?  There must have been something I did wrong that hour. My heart wishes to call Leo and confide in him. And the more time goes by, the more my mind wishes to oblige to that crazy request.

I pull out my phone, which gleams a bright '3:58 am'. It's almost time for the reset. In two minutes, I'll be magically transported back to my bed. I sigh. I can't take living the same hour again. The hour grips my sanity like it is a play toy. I waste another countless moment wondering where I went wrong.

『 pop! the world has reset.』

Well, I guess there's no place like home. I wonder if Mochi was worried the previous hour when she didn't find me in the bed. Do cats feel worry for their owners? Does Mochi care for me? What kind of a disgusting ship is this? Cringe, cringe, cringe. Shut up, Luna. I bury my nonsensical idea of my cat showing me love for once in the deep pits of my mind, and pretend I never thought of such blasphemy. I shift under my blankets, and decide to sleep through this hour, foolishly hoping that the reset would never take place if I was never awake, though I woke up when the clock reset each time earlier. My eyes look at the clock - 3:05 am.

That's when doorbell suddenly rang. I launch up in surprise. This didn't happen before. My heart begins to pound extremely hard, my head hazed in confusion. I run towards the door as quickly as possible stirring Mochi awake in the process, and fling it open.

It's Leo. And he's in tears.

His eyes are filled with fear, breath unsteady. Beads of sweat line his neck as he tries to get words out. Leo grips my hands tightly, as though he wants me to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. This hasn't happened in a very long time. He's gotten a much better hold on his anxiety in the past few years. I pull him into a hug and mutter words of comfort. His head is leaning on mine, and his breath slows. I tell him we'd be alright, and hum a calming tune. And we stay like that for the next five minutes.  

'Luna,', Leo whispers into the night. 'Would you believe me if I told you something crazy?'

'Like what?'

'Like a war against the clock.'

And that's when I knew. Tears start brimming in my eyes as I give out a sigh of relief. 'Like a time loop?', I say as I hug Leo a little tighter. This time I needed one to remind me I wasn't alone. He seems to catch on as well, a sob escapes from him as he melts in. We stay in each other's arms, in each other's comfort - a place where walls were deaf to all the shared secrets, a sanctuary with no limits.

Oh, what I'd do to protect it.

Leo pulls away, his eyes disappear and his lips form into a sheepish grin. His face is puffy from all the crying, but it glows in the soft moonlight. My eyes widen in surprise as he grabs my hand and drags me out the door. I manage to see the clock on the kitchen counter gleaming with a bright '3:15 am.' before blood rushed to my face upon meeting the cold air.

'Where are we going? Are yo- ah it's fucking cold out here!', I complain.

'Ice Cream.' Classic hungry Leo. This boy is a demon.

iii. the twilight hour.

'What's wrong with you?!', I huff as I bend down to catch my breath and hide myself under a tree. Leo, on the other hand, is breathing quite easy, a stupid grin plastered on his face (oh, how I want to punch him). His hands hold up a bag with three tubs of mint chocolate Ice Cream like they're the greatest creation of God. 'Did you really have to steal Ice Cream?! Are you five?', I say as I recall the incident that just took place, how Leo basically ran out the convenience store with the sweet goodies without paying and left me, his dear, penniless (and only) friend as the bait to a potential flat-earther of a cashier (long story, don't ask).

And now we're here, the park I was in the previous hour. There's not a single soul around. The only companion being the moon once again. His smile shines through like the sun, however.

'I'm rweally sowwy, delulu,', he retorts.

'My name is Luna, and no one can ever be as delusional as you, you dill hole.', I say, my ears red.

'Good now, I shalt promoteth thee to 'Deluna'. Thee has't been felicitat'd.'

I click my lips in annoyance. I know quite well that when the clock resets, all the stolen Ice Cream would be back in the freezer. But I try my best to maintain a straight face to show my discontent. That's right Luna, assert your fucking dominance. I notice that his hazel eyes shining with the mischief I'm used to once again. He's back to the loud, obnoxious and teasing Leo he's always been. Leo who's carefree, Leo who's horribly reckless, Leo who finds happiness in uncertainty. My Leo. My lips slowly curl into a smile, and I give in. He's happy, and that makes me happy too. Leo suddenly pulls out his phone.

'Look here, Partner in time.', he says cheekily.  I hear a click. My brows wring into discomfort and confusion.

'What? You look pretty in the moonlight.', he states without skipping a beat. There's a million tugs in my stomach, and blood rushes to my bronze skin. Butterflies soon turn into more sinister as I remember our conversation on the phone earlier. My face falls, if only this boy knew what he puts me through. First I'm not good enough, and now I'm pretty? Does he really throw around stuff like that without giving it a second thought? Does he not realize all that he's putting me through?

This is pointless. My feelings for him are pointless. The amount of time I waste on this is pointless. 'Our friendship is pointless.', I say. Regret follows immediately. Leo's face turns grim too; an unreadable expression plastered on his face. I suddenly remember something I jotted down my sociology textbook.

words left unspoken, my hearts screams, my head's in pain, we are in conflict.

Tears well up in my eyes again. This is a conflict, the most peaceful one at that. Terrifying. One that makes you curl into a ball and wish you never existed. One fueled by guilt, by insecurity, by ignorance. I remember the rest of the poem.

one of us was meant to get hurt, almost as though the heavens proclaimed it, on the day of creation. the celestial sky cried tears of gold, for it knew fate was cruel, but humans are crueler.

My hands are getting colder. My breath is hitching as my sobs get louder. Leo rushes towards me and tries to pull me into another hug. As much as I try to resist, he pulls me into his embrace. Fear devours my heart as I realize how I didn't feel at home anymore. I knew this sanctuary was going to break sooner or later. My heart is sick. It pains far too much as it beats in his embrace. Will it stop if I pull away? I try.

It does.

'Luna, what's wrong?!', Leo asks, truly afraid of what was happening.

'Us, Leo. Us.', I reply, voice barely a notch away from a whisper.

'What's wrong with us? We're Leo and Luna! You're the other half of thi-'

'Stop. Please.', I say firmly. My head feels too heavy, my heart too light. The moon shines down on me in its disgusting glory. I can't take it anymore. 'You're the reason I hate the moon, Leo. Because you are the sun. You only shine on me to mock me. To make me feel inferior.'  

'What're you talking abou-'

My tongue clicks loudly. 'You're so hypocritical!  You're an asshole who makes me feel like I'm the only one in the world, before throwing me out yourself. You make me feel insecure, Leo. I don't feel like I'm myself with you anymore.', I say, vitriol burning my throat. 'You disregard what I feel for you, because I'm the moon. You outcast me, because I'm the moon. You tie me down.

'You remind me of why I'll never shine on my own.'

I look at Leo. His hazel eyes turned dark, head down in shock. There's not a single drop of water in his eyes. He stands under the moonlight in silence. I can hear my heart palpitating.

'Why do you think the Sun shines, Luna?', he whispers. 'Is it to light the day, or to light the night?', he asks, a little louder this time. I open my mouth to answer.

'It's to light the night, Luna.', he interrupts. He knew I'd say neither. The sun shines for himself. He is selfish.

'The sun sheds it's light, because if it didn't, the moon would never-'

'That's exactly the prob-'

'get to see the world.' I stop midway in confusion. What is he saying?

'The sun shines because he wants the moon to see the world, Luna. He shines because if he didn't, the moon would be lonely. He makes sure to shed the perfect amount of light on her, so that she guides the traveler without scalding them, without making them blind.

'If he never shone, he'd have never have found his other half. The sun would have been just as lonely as the moon would have, Luna. The sun and moon are a pair, not because the moon can't shine on her own, but because they are lonely without each other.', Leo says.

And epiphany struck down like lightning. Leo needs me as much as I need him. He'd be just as lonely as I'd been without him. The moon's identity without the sun hadn't ever been her own. It was due to the sun's light she was herself. The sun made her the moon, and the moon made him the sun. They were inseparable, as destiny willed them to be, for they needed each other. For the sun to shine the brightest, and the moon to give comfort. But all that didn't answer why-

'Why did you say I wasn't enough for you?', I say, reminiscing that day in the park.   I remember picking out a bouquet of purple lilacs after studying a book about plant symbolism in the library. I spent hours trying to make myself look pretty. I spent a lot of time trying to make up my mind. And everything came crashing down.

'Because you deserve more!', Leo says in defeat, fingers brushing into his hair. 'Do you know how much of a loser I am? You deserve a hunk-a-ilicous person, are you really going to settle for a noodle?!', Leo says, gesturing to his lean figure. As sarcastic as his response seemed, he meant every word of what he said. That's just how Leo is.

'Leo, that's exactly how I've been feeling this whole time.' I pull Leo into a hug.  

Leo is no different than I've been my whole life. He's just as insecure and broken as I am, as I've always been. All my life, I'd seen him as a completely different person. We have different hobbies, we have different personalities. But we're still similar in ways that make us, well, us. It's just that our sanctuary needed to break to have it's walls built back stronger. I feel at home again.

'You're more of a sausage though. Alri-ALRIGHT lemme clear up, you're MY sausage okay? The best one in fact, I will use you in all my dishes.', Leo says as I pull out of his embrace and find a stone on the road to attack the disrespectful brat. Leo runs away and makes his way behind the usual Banyan tree at the edge of the park. 'That's literally the worst nickname ever!', I yell as I chase him.

'Mine own dearest sausage I begeth thee to reconsid'r!'

'TRY ME BITCH.'

'Hey, hey wait.', Leo holds down my hands and blocks my attack, and I'm left with no weapon except for the daggers in my eyes I choose to use against him. 'So, what are we now?', he asks.

'We're still Leo and Luna, dumb head.', I say after giving it a thought. Leo opens his mouth to refute, but soon decides against it. I assume he's content with the answer. We were friends, nothing could ever break that. Would we ever be something more? Who knows, maybe we would in the future when we love ourselves a little more, when we're comfortable with who we are, rather than who we're with.

Until then, we are Leo and Luna.

///////------

My eyes flutter open. I am leaning on the trunk of the Banyan tree next to Leo. I find myself in sleepy laughter as I look at his head lodged in between the roots of the tree. And suddenly, I see light in the distance. I immediately wake up from my position near the tree and walk to the edge of its canopy, heart beating in my stomach and look at the sky outside. The dark navy night melts into a light lilac, small streaks of tangerine bordering the the horizon. The birds are beginning to chirp in the trees, though the street lights are still on.

The time loop has stopped.

Meanwhile, Leo had stirred awake. He runs with his eyebrows up in surprise and squeezes the life out of me before his eyes turned dark in fear.

'WE HAVE SCHOOL.', he exclaims. I ignore him, and choose to stare into the sky. I look at the twilight hour. The sun and the moon were side by side, in harmony, like Leo told me. Tears escape my eyes in a sense of accomplishment. I could rest now. I give myself a small hug, and tell myself I'd worked hard. ('LUNA DO YOU REMEMBER THE HAMMURABI CODE.' 'That is not important right now!') The sun rises up, and salvages the few moments he has with the moon. I turn my head to the side and see that the moon looks serene, her light glow slowly fading as she decides to rest too.

But above all, I see that the moon is no longer lonely.

a/n: ahhhh yes if you’ve made it this far, i truly truly appreciate you for reading this, it means a lot to me. the past few days have been a little weird for me, and it took more than just motivation for me to get through writing this. again, thank you to all my beta readers, i really treasure all of you! i’d really love to get an ask about the short story, so if you enjoyed, make sure to send me one! i hope everyone’s staying safe! stay tuned with us because we have another surprise coming soon!

alatcg taglist:  @blue-hairbrush, @kaavijournals, @artbyeloquent, @47crayons, @writing-is-a-martial-art

general writing taglist: @shinesundark, @the-writing-avocado, @raenawrites​

@original-writing​

[princess-of-the-corner]

I never watched Winx as a kid, so I really hope I don't sound like an idiot for asking this. What exactly does the Netflix Winx series do wrong besides giving it the "dark and gritty" makeover?

So like. There are a lot of problems here and I’ll try to tackle them. I haven’t finished the reboot because I have difficulty getting through things I like, much less things I hate watch. But anyway, this gets long and is separated into parts. 

Let’s start with it’s issues on it’s own and not as an adaptation: 

It’s still pretty garbage. Not ‘the worst thing ever’. Interesting enough. But it does have problems. Some racist and homophobic and fatphobic writing. The characters range from ‘kind of a jerk’ to ‘straight up assholes who will cause physical harm for petty reasons’. The nicest one so far is Terra, but even she kinda snaps and strangles a guy with her plant powers. 

Now on to things it fails on as an adaptation!

First, the whitewashing!

Of the six main characters, 3/6 were poc-coded in the original cartoon(I say ‘coded’ because they’re not Humans from Earth but still). Aisha is black, Flora is Latina, and Musa is Chinese. 

Aisha is the only one who remains black. I’ve heard varying testimonies on Musa’s actor, but the ‘best’ I’ve heard is that she’s 1/4 Singaporean and white passing. I don’t have the authority to say if that’s in the clear or not so I’m leaving that to other fans. 

Flora gets the worst though. They cast a white woman to play her. Then backtracked and said ‘oh, this isn’t Flora. We replaced her with her white cousin Terra’. Yeah you can see the problem there. 

Characters they got rid of entirely! I’ll only discuss characters that showed up in the first two seasons of the original show since Fate only has one season. (I’d say just the first, but they included Aisha who is from Season 2). 

Let’s see. They got rid of Tecna, one of the main six girls. It’s likely because they’re going for a more ‘bootleg Hogwarts’ vibe, and Tecna’s magic being heavily technology based ruins that. So she’s just tossed altogether. 

The boys! Oh my god my boys! Sky and Riven are the only ones who were kept in, while Brandon, Timmy and Helia got scrapped and replaced as well. The other boys like Dane and Sam? Totally could’ve just given them those names and been done with it. 

Then there’s Icy, Darcy and Stormy! I’m counting them together because that’s exactly what Fate did! The three Witches are villains in the series, and instead of keeping a trio, they combined her into a single character. Beatrix. 

I think Silva was also an amalgamation of the remaining Headmaster/Headmistresses and a few other staff members but considering they condensed it to just one school it kind of makes sense. 

Sometimes there’s just a name change like the Headmistress of Alfea was changed to Farah Dowling instead of Faragonda which is so pointless. 

Overall there’s other minor characters that don’t show up, like the rest of the school staff, Mirta and Lucy, so on and so forth. But I’m less upset about that. Still upset though because I love them. 

Personality changes! And romance drama!

Oh boy. Oh boy oh boy oh boy. 

I already mentioned how they made everyone an asshole in this reboot. In the original show, the only protagonist that was consistently a jerk was Riven, but he was more of the ‘grumpy but still a good guy’ type of asshole. 

Let’s compare just one character and her relationships to others!

Stella in the Original Cartoon: Preppy and sometimes a little vain, could be blunt to the point of insulting, but never malicious. Very sweet and loves her friends. She and Bloom are best friends, Stella having been the one to bring Bloom into the world of Magix and will do everything she can to make sure she’s safe. Stella’s love interest is Brandon, who is bffs with Bloom’s love interest Sky. Stella and Brandon are very cheesy and cute together. They aren’t usually jealous, and can even make a competition out of ‘how many phone numbers can I get?’. 

Stella in Fate: Total bitch to all her roommates. She’s getting the common ‘my mom’s a bitch who puts pressure on me so I’m going to be a bitch’ thing that’s become popular now. Since Brandon was deleted, they put her in a love triangle with Bloom and Sky, Sky being Stella’s ex bf. And despite breaking up with him, Stella sees him just talking to Bloom and decides ‘Hm. Let’s prey on her insecurities that she doesn’t belong here, and manipulate her into leaving!’ Which includes walking through a forest where there was recently a man attacked and viscously killed by some kind of monster, so I’m putting it up to attempted murder. 

Yeah. Everyone’s kind of like that. It’s awful. 

Bloom’s backstory and parents!

Okay, this can kind of fall under both ‘personality changes’ and ‘plot changes’ but it deserves it’s own section. 

In the Original Cartoon, Bloom’s home kingdom was attacked and destroyed by villains searching for something called the Dragon Flame. Bloom was a baby with said power, so her older sister sent her to Earth, a world without Magic, where she would be safe and hidden. Mike and Vanessa find her and adopt her, loving her and raising her very well. They are good parents. Bloom learns she has powers when she meets Stella, and instinctively uses Magic to protect her. 

In Fate, the only thing really the same is that Bloom was sent to Earth. I’m a little unclear on why, but instead of giving her loving adoptive parents, they made her a Changeling with emotionally abusive parents! Let me elaborate a little: Instead of adopting Bloom of their own free will, Mike and Vanessa’s real child died in the hospital and was secretly replaced with Bloom. Her parents are also, as mentioned, emotionally abusive. So much so that Fate!Bloom’s powers first manifested by setting them on fire in the middle of the night.

Fun. Ain’t it? 

Now onto plot points!

Again, pretty much the only thing the same is ‘Bloom discovers she has Magic, goes to another Dimension to learn at a school called Alfea. Gets into adventures with her Roomates while trying to figure out where she’s really from’. 

The whole ‘Burned ones’ were.... not a thing at all. There wasn’t any kind of ‘barrier’ to keep out ‘dangerous creatures’ or anything. 

I’m not going to go over every single subplot but that was just. No. They were easily allowed to go outside the school. 

The whole vibe

This is a big thing to talk about. While the reboot went for ‘dark and gritty’ over the bright colors and sparkles, it also went for ‘bootleg Hogwarts’ instead of anything interesting. 

In the reboot, the merging of Magic and Technloogy is mostly like. ‘Yeah we go to school in this old ass castle and we don’t use guns in weaponry class, but we have smartphones and social media and Harry Potter!”. 

In the Original??? The whole world was very Magitech. It was a combination of Magic and Scifi! Kinda Steven Universe style actually. 

The transformations!!!

Look. LOOK. Winx Club is a Magical Girl show! They have those beautiful transformation sequences that last a solid minute or so of screen time. And they also have like. At least one new Transformation a Season, which comes with an ungodly amount of different cool outfits. 

The reboot? One transformation sequence. And while the effects are nice, Bloom doesn’t even get a new outfit. Just a few flames coming off her that look vaguely like wings. 

SPEAKING OF! They are Faeries!!!! But they don’t have wings????? What????

Look idgaf about your effects budget you could’ve made the cheesiest shit like the live action Sailor Moon stuff and fans would’ve loved it!

Bonus: The fact that they didn’t have to change anything to make it ‘Dark’!

So like. Netflix decided to take all the color out of it, and make it ‘dark’ by having the characters smoke and drink and have sex and say swears. 

But they.... really didn’t have to! The original cartoon was plenty dark, despite it’s colorful aesthetic! If you wanted to do a more serious reboot, you could have easily done it by focusing more on those aspects. 

Hell, there are many fans who have done it. I’m one. I know a couple others as well. 

anyway it’s 2:30 am and this is long af so I’ll leave it at that. 

[glimmerglanger]

Whumptober 2020 - Day 23

Today is a shorter little piece that’s pretty much all feelings, so I’m going to post it over here, instead of on ao3. I wrote it for:

No 19. BROKEN HEARTS 

Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

Post-Order 66, Rex and Ahsoka on the run fic. Gen. Angst. Rex considers everything they both lost.

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

Once, Rex was one of many. He’d grown up surrounded by brothers wearing the same face he had, seeing his own features reflected and copied endlessly. There’d been very few variations, during those early years. The Kaminoans had not appreciated what they considered aberrations.

Rex knew, well enough, now, that his upbringing had not been exactly normal, even if the cruelties they’d survived had only registered as such later, out in the galaxy. At the time, it had been the only normal he’d known.

The war had held new horrors for all of them, but… but even still, fighting desperately against odds that seemed impossible to conquer, his brothers had been there. They’d been able to hold onto each other, as they mourned their dead, to huddle close for warmth in the cold Republic cruisers, to tell stories and sing and--

Rex was one of many, once.

He still dreamed he was, sometimes, and then he woke to a cold, empty room, nothing but silence echoing around him.

#

On Kamino, they’d been taught that they were only useful as units, as groups, as battalions. One trooper could kill a few droids, sure, but in a war with untold millions of the karking things, dismantling only a few of them was less than useful.

Their strength came from their ability to coordinate on a battlefield, to work cohesively together, and to, if worse came to worse, overwhelm an enemy with sheer numbers. Sometimes the only way to climb high enough to achieve victory was on the bodies of their brothers.

Rex stepped over the body of a fallen trooper - he didn’t know who it was, the man had scrubbed his armor clean of all color and all markings - on his way into the little store Ahsoka had disappeared into a few clicks ago.

They’d only needed supplies, food to eat in the dark of space. They’d stopped at the little moon, hoping it was too far out and too small for the new Empire to care about. And for a while, it had seemed they were right; they’d walked through the streets amongst a crowd, no one looking too hard at two hooded figures.

Rex had seen the troopers too late to call a warning to Ahsoka, and he’d heard the blaster fire and shouting only seconds later.

He raised his blaster as he entered the store, Ahsoka a blur of movement, dodging back from blaster fire, and Rex had been one of many, once.

He pulled the trigger, once, twice, thrice, and smoke curled from the barrel as the last trooper fell, just crumpled to the ground. Ahsoka rose from her crouch, breathing hard, a hand wrapped around her upper arm, and Rex walked over the bodies of his brothers to get to her, grabbed her other arm, and said, “We need to get out of here.”

She nodded, snatched the bag of supplies off of the ground, and said, “I know, come on.”

Once, he’d have taken the time to kneel by his brothers, to close their eyes and grip their hands if they weren’t yet dead, so they weren’t alone when the time came. They still deserved that, he knew. He could remember the feeling of being caught in his own head, of pounding at the inside of his mind while his body went on doing things he didn’t want to do. 

Rex remembered, all too well, Ahsoka’s face on the other side of his blaster, railing against the confines of his bones and blood and failing.

His brothers were still in their heads. Somewhere. They deserved, if nothing else, some comfort in the moments of their death.

He couldn’t give it to them. “This way,” he said, past the ragged edges inside his throat, tugging Ahsoka out through the back of the shop. They ran, headlong and desperate, back to their little ship - they’d gotten rid of the one they’d taken after...everything, it was far too recognizable - and they fled, back into the stars.

#

Sometimes, Rex dreamed that things were as they once were. He dreamed about walking through the halls of the Resolute or the Peacemaker, brothers around him, cracking jokes and discussing their plans for leave.

Sometimes, in his dreams, he just stood there, looking at them, not even interacting. Sometimes, Ahsoka was there, too, smiling and laughing. He no longer heard her laugh, in the waking world. No longer saw her smile.

He’d lost all his brothers, even though they still lived, a terrible half-life, caught in their heads, caged in their bones. She’d lost her entire people. They didn’t talk about it, the message she’d picked up from the Temple, but General Kenobi’s words still echoed in Rex’s head.

The Jedi had been as steady a presence in his life as his brothers. They were always there, bright sparks of light on a battlefield or in the ships, after a fight. At first, in the early days, Rex had assumed they were nigh unkillable, different from he and his brothers.

He’d watched too many of them die over the course of the war to go on believing that. He’d read reports about them falling, one after another, out amongst the stars, and there weren’t many of them to begin with, only a few thousand, across all of the galaxy.

Most of those thousands hadn’t been warriors. They’d been farmers. Teachers. Doctors.

They’d died anyway.

All of them. 

Rex stared at the ceiling, sometimes, in his quarters, and thought about the little younglings he’d met at the Temple, the way they’d tugged and pulled at him, insisting on teaching him little games they played and songs, climbing over him with happy smiles. One of them had fallen asleep, sprawled across his lap, the last time he’d visited the Temple.

The child had been small, covered in pale scales, with a ridge of spines down her forehead.

And she’d died, likely terrified, when his brothers walked into the Temple and--

And sometimes Rex ended up curled over the toilet in the fresher, the acid burn of vomit in his throat as he retched and retched, until there was nothing left to come out of him. He hadn’t pulled the trigger on the younglings, hadn’t betrayed that trust, but it had been his brothers, men with his genetic code, and he knew, perfectly well, that they’d been trapped in their heads, watching it happen.

Sometimes, he thought that the Jedi were the lucky ones. They’d been killed, wiped away, an entire people eradicated on the whims of some dark lord. But the way Ahsoka talked, they’d all been welcomed into the Force. They’d… gone somewhere else. 

Somewhere better, Rex hoped.

His brothers lived, still, in a way. Days turned to weeks turned to months and they continued on, incarcerated inside their own heads, turned into things and used to wreak terrible harm across a galaxy they’d all been trained to protect and defend and--

Rex had not considered that there were things worse than death, during the war.

He thought about the younglings at the Temple, thought about his brothers, pulling the trigger and unable to stop themselves, and wondered if he’d been wrong.

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt: Peggy’s deaged and Tony finds out (: 🙏

Oh, poor Tony, being one of the last to know. Listen, OP I am SOFT for this and started tearing up. This is so pure and beautiful with them. Maybe not what you wanted and maybe 100% a ramble but their relationship is important to me.

--

“Why am I just being told?” Before Fury or even Coulson could be bothered to answer, Tony was speaking again. “Why am I just being told that Auntie Peggy is alive?! She’s been alive – deaged for how long now?”

“Three weeks,” murmured Coulson, only causing Tony’s eyes to snap to him. “We told her immediate family first, we-”

“I’m part of her immediate family.” The reply came in a sharp snap, cutting them off. “I’m part of her family as much as Steve and Sharon are and I get to learn last. No, not even last, I get to learn weeks after she’s released from the hospital and doing God-knows-what? From passing information?!”

“It wasn’t us who told Steve – Romanoff did. Then Hill told Sharon. If I had it my way, none of ya’ll know until we had more information on her condition. We didn’t know how she would survive.” Fury was at least trying to soothe the situation and it was not helping.

“-more information on her condition.’ You had enough if you let Romanoff slip between your fingers to tell Auntie’s soulmate that she was alive! You had enough to know she was going to be okay! And what more information did you need beyond seeing it was working? Because she’s alive!”

He didn’t want to hear it, Tony did not want to hear some bullshit, bureaucrat excuse that means nothing to him beyond utter betrayal. Not that he’s trusted Fury or Coulson to begin with, it was the point of the matter. His Auntie was alive and no one thought to inform him?

That cut deep, worst than they would ever consider.

On paper, no he wasn’t Peggy’s family. He was unfortunately Howard Stark’s son, but anyone with enough sense would connect two together, see the photos Auntie had in her retirement home, see the photos he had, the stories, and connect two and two.

Maybe Shield just didn’t have enough sense as he thought it did.

“Where is she? And so help me, Nick if you say it’s classified, I’ll…”

The threat trailed off when Fury’s eyebrow rose, folded hands raised to his chin level as if to challenge him to continue. When Tony didn’t, he leaned back and folded one leg over the other at the knee.

“We don’t know.”

“How the fuck do you not know where your walking human experiment went?” Tony snarled.

“Anthony Edward Stark – I am much more than a walking human experiment.”

The hard voice lecturing him made Tony’s hair stand on end and caused him to shiver. He suddenly felt like he was eight again and being scolded for eating sugar straight out of her jar. He could feel his cheeks warming as he turned around to see his Auntie standing in the doorway.

It took his breath away how healthy she looked. No wrinkles, no fading eyesight, not even a gray hair in sight. Her eyes were sharp as ever and right now trying to decide who she should be glaring at. She walked with a limb and he guessed that was her getting used to maneuvering again. Steve was somewhere in the waiting room, he knew. They weren’t far from each other, he guessed. It was sickening how they migrated towards one another like the sun and the moon.

“Director Carter,” Coulson breathed, standing up a smidge bit straighter and fixing his tie. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Tony wanted to snort – underneath the bash, white-collar bullshit that was Shield, Coulson was a fanboy at heart for his idols. He turned to look at his Auntie again because he knew her and she did not like to be told where she could and couldn’t be.

“If I remember correctly where we’re currently standing was once the storage room for our failed experiments,” Peggy mused, tapping the silver cane she was forced to use on the floor. It echoed through the entire room. “And I know I’m technically a 90-something year old here, but my memory is sharp as ever and I know for a fact that I am one of the reasons we’re all standing here. So, I think I have clearance over your agent-level coded bullshit, Agent Coulson. Now -“

Her eyes were set on Fury again, knuckles turning white on the cane. Tony found himself shifting closer, but not touching. He didn’t know if he wanted to touch. If he did, this illusion of his Auntie being young, healthy, and quick-witted as ever would shatter into pieces. “Auntie…”

“Not now, Anthony,” she didn’t even look at him. “Director Fury, what is this business on not letting my godson know that I was alive instead of 6 feet under? I think if I remember correctly my paperwork reflected that Anthony was just as much as my family as Sharon was. Steve isn’t family – not yet at least and he was told.” When Fury’s mouth opened to defend himself, Peggy’s head shook her curls. “Forget it, whatever excuse that will come out of your mouth will never do the fact justice that you neglected to tell my godson. For Christ's sake, I’ve changed his diapers. I think he’s family.”

“Auntie!” Tony looked mortified and he could see Coulson’s ever so slight smirk. Oh, he was not letting that go. His ears turned a bright shade of red. “I think they knew that you didn’t have to say it.”

“Anthony, never assume what these agents do or do not know. Shield isn’t what it used to be.” Peggy silently held her arm out to him, leading Tony out the exit and the doors to the Director’s office closing behind them at once.

As expected, Steve graduated towards Peggy, hovering just inches behind her. His hand slipped into hers and he looked down at Tony with a sheepish smile and shrug of his shoulders.

“I hate not knowing,” Tony sighed, rubbing at his temples. “You were in the hospital here for two weeks…”

“Then moved to SHIELD in California for another few weeks to continue to monitor my health. The doctors thought the sun would do me some good when they forget I absolutely despite being so hot. We only just came back last night. Anthony…” She let go of Steve’s hand with a soft squeeze and cupped his cheek, giving a fond smile. Her fingertips stroked over the gray peppered through his beard. “I am absolutely so sorry that you did not know. I asked about you several times. Steve even tried to contact you but Pepper said you were out of the country on some business.”

“Unavoidable, lost all communications when the suit was destroyed.” Maybe he shouldn’t have said that given Peggy’s furrowed brow. “But still even before that…I shouldn’t have to come home and find out through Barton of all people that you’re alive. But I don’t blame you or Steve or-or any of our friends, I blame those bastards in there. What would they think I would’ve done to you if I had known right off? Experiment on you? I’m not my father.”

Peggy’s arms wrapped around Tony tightly and crushed him to her, the cane clattering to the floor. Tony melted against her and suddenly he was five again. Scared, sniffling, not wanting to let go of her hand and go to school. He’s been to school, he’s had tutors come in, he’s done it online, but going into a classroom with other kids who were dumber than him and loud and annoying and he liked how quiet his auntie’s office was and she listened to him.

His legs buckled and he was only supported by Peggy and eventually as her still recovering body gave out, Steve too who lowered them both to the floor. He hadn’t even realized he was crying until Peggy was making calming, soothing noises and stroking his hair away from his face.

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit as often as I had liked,” he whimpered, refusing to pull his face from her shoulder. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that I blamed you. I’m so sorry, Auntie.”

“Shh, shh, darling,” Peggy whispered, rubbing his spine. “Shh. I do not blame you, not for one bit. Your gifts to keep me afloat, to keep my programs running in mine and your mother’s name was more than enough for me. Seeing your face weekly was enough. I am not upset. You…” She pulled back to cup his face and press their foreheads together. “You were hurting and raw and had to blame someone after Howard’s death. I was there and I was your balm, as I have always had been. I blamed myself too, it’s okay.”

“No, it-it’s not okay. It’s not. You didn’t deserve that! You had too much on your shoulders already instead of me being a brat.” The painful sob ripped from him and Tony just wanted to melt into the floor.

“Anthony, please listen to me I do not blame you, not one bit. You needed someone at that time. Rhodey was away for basic and I was there for you.” She used the end of her sleeves to clean his face off and peck a small kiss to his nose. “It’s okay now. This…”

“It’s a second chance.”

It was Steve who spoke, causing both of them to look up. Tony had forgotten he was even there, watching him have the breakdown of a lifetime. All the while sitting back, looking somehow small in his large form. If he had been younger…he would’ve been excited to see Captain America but after working with Steve for years, he could see why Peggy worked so hard to honor him. Steve got on his nerves, under his skin with his bullshit morals, but sometimes he did have a point.

And then other times, he saw why Peggy had complained about how infuriating frustrating the Captain was.

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, nodding his head as he looked back at his Auntie. “A-a second chance. At least this time you don’t have to change my diapers.”

Peggy snorted and rolled her eyes, ruffling her godson’s hair. Untangling their limbs and with Steve’s help, the pair were pulled to their feet, her cane back in hand. Peggy grasped him, leaving Steve to run ahead to get the car as they walked down the hallway.

“What did the doctors say? Any reason you keep using that cane?”

“Because they’re idiots,” she sighed, making Tony smile. “The serum was successful for the most part, but given how…ill I was and the state of my body and numerous injuries, some things are slower to heal than others. I’m healing at a faster rate, but it’ll take time before I’m a full hundred percent again. They warned me to get plenty of rest and take it slow.”

“Do they even know you?” Tony snorted, letting the elevator take them down to ground level. He leads her out a side entrance and towards a covered awning, the snow piling up around them. “The last you’ll ever do is take it slow.”

“Obviously not and they clearly don’t know Steve either. One nurse tried to shoo him from the room because he wasn’t considered ‘family’. I told them if I wasn’t still considered legally dead until they get a jump on the paperwork, then Steve wouldn’t be  considered family.” She rolled her eyes as she slipped inside the jeep, staying in the backseat with Tony pressed against her side. Steve just smiled at them through the mirror.

“Where to, Miss Carter?” He teased, closing the doors for them and pulling out to the main street. “You’re officially cleared from Shield Hospital. The world is your oyster – why…does that saying exist?”

It was Tony’s turn to roll his eyes. “Not this again, Steve. Stop thinking about it. Why are you even driving? I could’ve called Pepper to set a plane up for us.”

“Some people like to drive, Tones. It’s calming for me, I never got to drive much beforehand and this…” He gripped the wheel lightly and ran his fingertips over the expensive leather. “Is one reminder I’m grateful for what I have.”

Around Peggy, Tony noted, Steve was a different person. More whimsical, almost calmer, more…himself than he’s seen Steve been in the years he’s known him. “You didn’t know how to drive,” he grumbled under his breath, noting Steve was turning onto the highway. “You crashed your first bike into a tree.”

“Peggy!” Steve’s eyes flashed to hers through the mirror, where she was finding the cars around them suddenly interesting. “You told him about that? I didn’t crash it. It slipped out from underneath me because Jones didn’t…”

“Excuses, excuses,” Peggy laughed. “And no, he didn’t. I had to teach him after…he recklessly and bravely rescued the 107th. We didn’t have much time in between the serum and us being shipped off on two different routes and his smaller self couldn’t even see half the time, so risking him being behind the wheel was not something I was going to do.”

“She’s told me many stories about you, Stevie-buddy. Like the time you and the Howlies went up against a moose and geese.”

Steve’s face flushed the brightest shade of pink as he went around a slower car, his fingertips drumming on the wheel. “We do not speak of those demons – ever.”

Tony laughed and for the first time in a while, it felt good to laugh. A real laugh. A hint at a life he could’ve had if Steve hadn’t died. A hint at a life together where he knew his Uncle and Auntie as two people and not a Captain and Director. This was a second chance and he was going to take every moment that he could while avoiding their sickening love.

Peggy’s hand squeezed his own and he found himself sinking into her shoulder and eventually in her lap in his exhaustion. Four days up straight did that to you. He could hear Steve’s rumbling voice, paying no attention and Peggy’s soft response as she played with his hair.

“I want to go home, Steve,” she told him with a small smile. “Brooklyn. Our real home, I think I’m tired of DC for now and I remember a promise I made a long time ago to this one…” Her fingers stopped stroking Tony’s hair, looking down at his relaxed face. He looked so much like his mother. “We’ll need to stop by the humane society – I promised Anthony that I would get him another cat.”

If Steve was surprised, he said nothing. “Okay, but we’re not naming him Mr. Sprinkles.”

[warriorsfireandwater]

Family First

A little one-shot based on the idea I sent about what Fireheart and Sandstorm’s stances would be on his presence in their kits’ lives. Obviously not telling you that you need to use this, but my muse doesn’t know when to shut up. 

Half a moon ago, if Fireheart had seen Sandstorm waiting at Sunningrocks, he would have been overjoyed beyond his wildest dreams. It was odd, now that he thought about it. Their Clans had despised each other for seasons, constantly at each other’s throats over who had the right to the very stones he had met with her so often on. Yet somehow, he was never quite as happy as he was during their secret meetings. For a while, he had thought that she felt the same way.

That hadn’t exactly turned out to be the case. Now, as he stared at her, finally coming face to face with her for the first time since she had so coldly dismissed him that fateful day, he didn’t know what to think. He tried to be angry with her–after all, she had been the one to end their relationship, yet here she was, asking to speak to him again. But instead, all Fireheart could feel was confusion, worry, and, though he tried to suppress it, a tiny seed of hope. 

“So,” he meowed, finally finding his voice. “It’s good to see you. You’re looking well." 

"Thanks,” Sandstorm meowed, glancing down at her paws. Fireheart wondered if she felt as uncomfortable as he did. “Listen, there’s…there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I’m listening,” Fireheart replied simply.

She took a deep breath, then meowed, “I…I’m going to have kits.”

Although Fireheart was by no means an idiot, there were times when he was a bit slow on the uptake. For a few heartbeats, he stared at Sandstorm in confusion until the unspoken truth of her words finally registered in his still-lagging mind. 

“I see,” he meowed finally, realizing even as he spoke the words that it was quite possibly the most pathetic reaction to finding out that one was going to be a father in history. But he was too stunned to do anything else. 

If Sandstorm was at all bothered by his apparent lack of enthusiasm, she didn’t say anything. Instead, she pressed on, “I…I know things didn’t end well between us, but I want our kits to grow up with both parents. You’re a great cat, Fireheart, and I know you’ll make a good father. So…will you be a part of our children’s lives?" 

Our children. The phrase tugged at something deep within Fireheart’s chest, and for a moment, for one brief, bright moment, he allowed himself to imagine a world in which he and Sandstorm were raising their kits together. Where they were the happy family he had always wanted. Some of their Clanmates might disapprove, but they would stand strong throughout all of it. 

But just as quickly, reality sunk in and he shook his head. As much as he wanted to be with Sandstorm and raise their little family together, he knew it wasn’t possible. The past few moons had forced him to grow up in more ways than one, and he knew now that he couldn’t afford to waste his time dwelling on pipe dreams. 

"No,” he meowed finally, feeling as though he was being torn open as he spoke his rejection. “I’m sorry, Sandstorm, but…I just don’t think it would work out." 

Her face fell. "Why not?” she protested. “We used to meet in secret all the time. Who’s to say we can’t do it again?" 

The irony of the fact that she was asking to meet in secret again when she had been the one to end things wasn’t lost on him. Instead of commenting on it, he replied, "Back then, we only had ourselves to worry about. How long do you think it will take for someone to notice that your kits keep disappearing from the camp?" 

"We could make it work,” Sandstorm pleaded. “Or if you don’t want to sneak around, I could join RiverClan or you could join ThunderClan. We’ll find a way, Fireheart, I swear." 

"Sandstorm, don’t,” Fireheart interrupted, shaking his head. “I’m not going to leave RiverClan, and I’m certainly not going to ask you to leave ThunderClan. Neither of us would ever be happy if we had to leave our Clans. Face it. There’s no way this is going to work." 

"But–" 

”Don’t,“ he interrupted again, his tail lashing in frustration. "Don’t you think this hurts me just as much as it’s hurting you? They’re my kits too, Sandstorm. You can’t possibly want me to be a part of their lives more than I do. But if we’re going to give them the best lives possible, they need to grow up believing that their father is a ThunderClan warrior." 

Fireheart paced back and forth, unable to meet his former mate’s gaze. He wasn’t sure what prompted him to start speaking, but once he started, he found that he couldn’t stop. 

"You want to know why I don’t think this will work. Well, let’s start with the obvious. I’m sorry, Sandstorm, but I don’t trust Tigerstar. I’ll freely admit that I don’t know the full extent of what he’s like as a leader, but he was Thistlestar’s deputy and that’s not something I’m willing to overlook. Thistlestar didn’t seem like the type of leader who would choose a deputy that didn’t agree with him on all counts. But whereas Thistlestar ruled by brute force and fear tactics alone, Tigerstar has the strength of LionClan and the cunning of a fox, which makes him even more dangerous. If he found out that our kits were half-Clan, I don’t trust him not to hurt them in some way because he would certainly be clever enough to make it look like an accident." 

"Furthermore, even under the miraculous circumstance that he doesn’t cause our kits to suffer some sort of horrific fate, letting them grow up being known as half-Clan kits would still deny them their right to be accepted by their Clanmates. The warrior code prevents us from physically harming a kit regardless of their birthplace. It does not, however, prevent anyone from giving said kit a hard time about their birth." 

"I love being a Clan cat and I would never even dream of going back to Twolegplace. Despite this, I can safely say that there are some significant failings in the way Clanborn cats think, particularly with your inability to see past the circumstances of someone’s birth." 

"I was born a kittypet, but I’ve lived in RiverClan since I was six moons old, and I’d like to think I’ve done everything in my power to be a loyal warrior. Even so, there are still cats even within my own Clan who distrust me, who still consider me to be fundamentally inferior to them because I wasn’t born in RiverClan. They may not say it out loud as much anymore, but I see the way they look at me when they think I’m not paying attention. Even those that aren’t necessarily trying to be insulting still consider me less than them deep down because that’s the way all Clanborn cats were raised: to think they’re better than everyone else simply because they were born in the forest." 

"Should I have to put up with it? No. And in an ideal world, I wouldn’t have to. But I’m willing to do it anyway because I love it in RiverClan and because my predicament is mostly by my own doing. I didn’t have any control over being born in Twolegplace, no. I did, however, have control over whether or not I chose to go out into the forest." 

"But I don’t want our kits to grow up the way I did, Sandstorm. I don’t want them to have to put up with constant whispers and taunts. I don’t want them to grow up believing that they should be ashamed of their parents. What happened between us was a mistake. I’m not saying it wasn’t the best time of my life, but it was a mistake. We were both foolish–well, mostly me for even suggesting it in the first place. And if the day ever comes when I have to pay for that misjudgment, I’m fully prepared to accept my fate. Our kits, however, are innocent, and they don’t deserve to be judged for their parents’ mistakes. But you know just as well as I do that if anyone else finds out that our kits are half-Clan, they’re going to pay for our mistakes for the rest of their lives." 

"I can’t let that happen, Sandstorm. I won't let that happen. I’m sorry. If there were any other way…but there isn’t. I’ll always love them and I hope they know that I’m proud of them, but I can’t be their father. I know you’ll raise them to be warriors that ThunderClan can be proud of, and I know they’ll have a wonderful father as well. It’s just…not me. I had the power to decide whether I stayed in Twolegplace or not, and now, I have the power to make sure that my kits have the life I could never have, being fully and unconditionally accepted by the cats they’ll be living alongside until the day they join our ancestors. And that’s an opportunity I can’t afford to miss." 

Without another word, Fireheart turned around and padded away, heading deeper into his own territory, feeling wearier than ever. Perhaps the day would come when he finally felt proud of the choice he had made for his unborn kits, but right now, the only thing he could feel was a heavy sadness. 

It wasn’t fair. For as long as he could remember, all Fireheart had ever wanted was someone in the Clans who shared blood with him. He saw how happy the families in RiverClan were, and he wanted that for himself. Now, there would be a litter of kits who shared his blood, creations of his and Sandstorm’s love (or what had once been). But he couldn’t ever claim them as his own. 

But he did have a family. His family was RiverClan, from the smallest kit to the grumpiest elder. They might not share blood, and certainly not all of them were fond of him, but they were all willing to put their lives on the line for him just as he was willing and ready to do the same for them. 

Fireheart knew the love his mother had for him. He knew the love of a warrior for his Clan, he knew the love between mates, he knew the love between littermates, and now, he knew the love of a father for his kits. And in the end, wasn’t that really what family was all about anyway? 

If it meant his kits were happy, then he would gladly put himself through anything for their sake because that was what a good father should be doing: putting his children’s safety and happiness above his own. 

Besides, no matter what, he was a RiverClan cat first and foremost. 

And in RiverClan, family always came first. 

- - - - - - 

wow that shit hurted... this is so good ty for writing this!! i love seeing other people’s takes on the characters and getting little writing snippets like this :’)))

[astroi]

From Black to Blue

Steven watched Steven 2 check something off on a sheet of paper, everything was written in some sort of code, he couldn't dream of reading it. His future counterpart counted on his fingers in Spanish, Steven didn't know enough Spanish to really follow it.

"Uno: Salva la aguja del mar." He tapped his pen to the paper, scribbling an X.

"Dos: Protégelos del musgo." He placed a check in the box. He hummed, partially content.

"Tres: Interceptar las mentiras de papá." He smiled and put a ✓ in that box.

"Cuatro: Exponer las Gemas a los robonoides de Peridot." Steven 2 checked that box with a stiff nod.

"Cinco: Capturar Spinel." He folded the paper back up into his pocket.

"What 'cha doing, 2?" The pen he was holding became dented in his grip.

"Wh-what, Steven?" He was never a good liar, "What- how long have you been watching me?"

"Just a little bit, can you tell me what language you were writing in, it looks cool." Steven 2 chuckled at that, lightly shaking his head. It was nice to see him smile.

"If I tell you, you-," he trailed off staring at the puppy dog eyes of his younger self. He couldn't resist their power!

"It's modern gem gliph." He confessed with a sigh.

"Gem gliph?" The boy tilted his head.

"It's what Era thr- tw- Gems use on- on- their networks nowadays."

'Nice save, Universe,' he chastised himself.

"Ooh, cool! Can you teach me?"

"I could-," he definitely could, there were slight discrepancies between Gem and English, mostly in phrases and vocabulary. Understandably, they do not have a word for taco or any food, as of yet.

"Can we start now?!" Stars gleamed in the kid's eyes. Diamonds briefly flashed in his, "Okay, but when I get back."

"Where are you going?"

His knuckles rapped on the empty plastic, "Just a Gem mission."

"Can I come?"

"No," Steven 1 deflated, "it's a little too dangerous for you. If you came along I have no idea how that could impact the future."

"Why did you come to the past anyway, 2?"

His teeth gritted together as he spoke, "The same reason anyone would: to fix things before they can break."

"So what broke?" Steven 2 didn't reply, only standing up from the couch and pulling out a water bottle from the fridge.

"What broke? Some cool Gem artefact?" Steven 1 pressed. Steven 2 avoided conversation by chugging the water bottle and grabbing a second one.

"Why are you drinking water?"

"There isn't any where I'm going."

"Maybe I can come and carry the waters for you?"

'Please', he just wanted to be useful.

"Why do you want to come so badly? Don't you have a video game to play or a movie to watch?" He snapped.

Steven 1 snapped right back, "It's so boring here! And you're always going on those cool secret missions in the middle of the night!"

He stammered, "I-I-I, how do you know about that?"

"Sometimes I wake up early and you're not there."

"Uh, w-well, it's a job in itself preventing sh-st-stuff from happening."

"Can't I come with you?"

"I, not this time, little guy, but if they're tame, I guess you can come."

Steven 1 cheered, "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

"I'm sure there's something you can help me do." He thinks of Nephrite's crew, "Yeah, yeah, you and I can go on a mission soon, maybe tomorrow-ish."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it won't be too hard, if you do good on it I'll consider taking you to more complicated missions."

"I won't let you down, I know the Sea Spire thing was my fault, but I won't mess up again, 2." Steven 2 tossled the lad's curls fondly.

"See you tomorrow, then."

"Wait, you'll be safe, right?"

"Yeah, don't worry, I'm as tough as nails!" He grinned at the kid, hoping to cheer him up. There was a slight chance he might never return, at least as who he is now.

He went outside to use that warp, 'as he always does,' Steven 1 mulled.

He jogged in the desert's cold for however long it took for him to find his mother's old leg ship. Activating it, he launched himself out of the Earth's orbit. The coordinates were set for The Garden, it was only a matter of time before he had to bubble that Gem. Spinel probably didn't deserve this, but he had to protect the Earth and himself, so he steeled himself as he neared the abandoned planetoid.

It almost hurt him to see Spinel all hopeful like that.

"Pink?" He heard from the top of the legs, "Pink, is that you?"

He floated down gently, he knew what happened the first time; he didn't have to fight her.

"No, I'm sorry. Pink has been dead for fourteen years."

"But-but,"

"She was never planning on coming back for you, Spinel, I'm sorry."

Spinel was sobbing, yanking at her heart-shaped buns "She left me here for thousands of years, and," the pink Gem hiccoughed, "then she dies!" Spinel crumpled in a heap on the ground, letting out a broken sob before poofing. Steven 2 bubbled the Gem and left it there; he couldn't bring himself to take it back with him. He felt his memories changing. He felt lighter: he got his happily ever after. Sure, Aquamarine and Eyeball were a pain to deal with, but they were relatively harmless. Everything was good, even if he spends most of his time on Homeworld these days. He'd do anything to stop them from moving in with him on Earth; if that meant visiting at least four times a week, so be it.

He left the legs in the desert, curled up against the wall of the weird trash collection his mom had amassed. He made his way back in a series of happy hops.

Steven 1 ran up to him, when he opened the door, "How'd it go?"

"Went good, the hard part was just getting there, honestly." He opened the refrigerator to get more water, tearing the paper and stepping into the bathroom.

Steven 1 noticed 2 had changed, his shirt was different (after turning on the light that became very apparent) he seemed happier though. The Steven 2 he knew was never in this good of a mood. What happened? Where did he go, what did he change?

He knew he should be happy for 2, but he's acting like a different person now. Humming, singing, dancing and still adding things to that ever-growing check-list of his. He missed his friend, he could make friends again with this new Steven 2, but how long will that last before he changes again?

Amethyst, Pearl and Garnet didn't seem to remember the Steven 2 he met a couple of weeks ago a-top the sea spire with the moon goddess statue in his hands. It was weird to see them acting like this.

"Hey, bud, what's wrong?" The cyan-shirted 2 asked.

"I miss the old you."

"That's valid, kid. You got to know the guy, I don't remember being him anymore."

"You don't?"

"Nah, it's okay for you to miss him, all I know is that his life was worse than mine. For me, going back in time has been like a vacation for me: I get to speed things along and get to enjoy the sights one more time." He smirked, "It's actually kind of refreshing to see things changing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, everything's always the same in the future. Go the work, make a couple calls, check-in around town, look for any leftover corrupted gems; it's the same day in and day out. I get plenty of days off though, it's nice to split the load for once. Back when I was sav- fifteen, it was just me for the most part. It was exhausting having to do all I had alone. It's nice to just lounge around, I barely got to do that before. I always have to sit upright an' stuff." He laughed, "I wish I could get into the details more, but that could break 'all of time and space as we know it.'" He made an impression of a nasally voice.

"Psh, as if, Pink Lasagna," he winked, "has got it covered."

"Who's-,"

"Man, I wanna tell you everything, but," he huffed crossing his arms, "I'm supposed to wait."

"What? Why can't you tell me now?"

"Something about saying it messes up the future. I only really came here to enjoy myself and lessen the suffering of a few Gems while I'm at it. I can do that, it's not like any time is passing in the future while I'm here."

"So, are you still gonna teach me Gem Gliph or let me go on super secret missions with you?"

"Oh, sure, I can teach you some Gem Gliph. No biggie. As for missions,"

"Oh, here it comes,"

"I'll need to gauge how strong and in control of your powers you are, I can train you if you want, it's not really going to change much if I do."

"You'll train me?"

"Why not? No one knows how to use our powers more than I do."

This Steven 2 was nice, cocky and reminded him a little bit of his dad. The old 2 was sad, grumpy and protective, the only things these two Stevens have in common is how little they sleep.

He remembered what the other Steven 2 said to him when they met.

It was 12:01 A.M., Mr. Squeezy wasn't an adequate replacement for the moon goddess statue. He was shouting in frustration, "Are you serious?! The timing was off?" The bright pink of his flesh contrasted with the pitch black of his tee-shirt.

"Um, hi?"

"Oh, hi. Listen, we gotta bounce."

"Who are you?" Pearl inquired with a raised tone.

"Yeah, why do you look like an older version of Steven?"

"Because I am an older version of Steven?"

Stars gleamed in his eyes, "Another me?! Can we keep him?"

The other Steven frowned at him, "We don't have time, this place is coming down."

"We kept Amethyst." Pearl cackled at Garnet's comment.

"Stop it!" A dome of pink rhombuses encased us, protecting us from the debris.

After a moment, he let it drop when Steven's yellow raft surfaced. He let out a dry exhale, "Do any of us have a paddle?"

"No."

"Of course," he was very resigned into his fate.

He offered the stranger some food, food always cheered him up, "Does anyone want a wet bagel?"

"Sure, whatever." He had an expression on his face that read, 'what else do I have to lose?' To Steven, he just looked tired from using that power.

"It was really cool what you did back there."

"It's new."

"Can you teach me how to make myself all pink like you?" His eye twitched when he heard him.

He placed his hands on his shoulders, "You don't really want to discover that power in you, Steven, it's dangerous."

"But if I learn how to control it now, it won't be a problem later."

He raised an eyebrow, "Can you even summon your gem weapon yet?"

"N-no." He was working on it, he just didn't know how yet.

"When you can do that on command, I'll think about it." He was so cool, like a cranky Garnet.

Now he was gone, replaced with someone clearly more put together than he was, but still. He couldn't help himself from missing the guy. Tears fell down his cheeks.

"Hey, hey, kiddo? You alright?" He hugged the new 2, crying into his jacket. 2's jacket.

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

@sutimetravelau Check this out.

@space-is-the-place2

[callme--starchild]

If I Could Begin To Be

"You know you have one more wish, you could have anything."

Gene's words had been very clear in his ears as he held him by the shoulder, being able to witness the broad smile that outlined in his beak as he extended his arm, trying to demonstrate all the possibilities at his disposal with the magic of the lamp. Likewise, Donald was not a fool, he knew the limitations that the magic of geniuses could have.

Honestly, maybe that was what kept him so hesitant.

He could see Goofy in the distance. He was still lying on the ground, somehow the genie kept the scorpions away from him and had kept what looked like his official merchandise, and he couldn't say he would be surprised if he was seeing Maxes; everything seemed to indicate that he would be a good father even before his son was born, a good-natured unlike him, not allowing himself to be guided by selfish desires and driven by the love between his son and he.

On the other side was his family, and when he thought of them, he was immediately aware of the gazes, completely different emotions that keep him grounded. Della and Scrooge wore supportive smiles, and how to blame them after having shamelessly stripped them of all their essence?

His kids, all four, wore smiles that barely reached their eyes, but they looked so warm that they broke Donald because, sincerely, he would rather see those lovely ducklings upset with him for lying to them, for the sole purpose of keeping them in a fantasy of a perfect, normal family.

But Goofy was right, and he knew he should thank him as soon as he woke up. Adventures was what made his family normal. Even his mother and aunt Tillie used to accompany Scrooge, it was basically a family tradition.

He couldn't take all of that away for being the black sheep and wishing to eradicate the family.

Even Mrs. B, still with her severe expression and while checking his old friend, knew that she was waiting for his wish.

Did he feel pressured? Maybe, because an idea had popped into his mind but it had been long gone.

"Okay, Donnie. Whatever you ask for, you'll have our support” wow, he had really missed hearing that. His sister's warm and gentle voice had always had a calming effect in a way that not even he could understand, perhaps it was the nostalgic and reminiscent factor to their mother? The brightness of her gaze was dimly muted, and both twins knew they had a lot to talk about.

Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Huey, Dewey, Louie, and even Webby were muttering things to each other. He had raised those triplets for eleven years, and the beautiful addition of the female duckling to the family was one more reason to his gray feathers and larger servings of black coffee, so he was already aware of many of their antics, or their vague attempts to maintain communication codes that he had practiced for years with Della; and frankly deserved them.

That they talked about him behind his back couldn't be new to him, but now he couldn't blame them for it.

“Ye deserve it, son; it’s tru’ tha’ this family can be a he’dache” and there was Scrooge; the old man giving him a smile that reminded him of those days of yesteryear when everything was fine and it was only Scrooge McDuck and the Duck Twins against the unimaginable and willingly ignoring the reproachful “hey!”s of his grand-nephews “if ye nid yer space, Ah think we can understand it.”

There was something in his gaze that Donald couldn't decipher, and that didn't stop him from feeling less strong. 

He did not deserve this family, he thought listlessly; they were too forgiving for his liking. Maybe he was the problem.

“Are you sure?” The genie was still around his shoulder at that moment, smiling patiently, waiting for the last wish of the lamp master, but he could not risk breaking the contact, no matter how amateur he was not. Maybe it was the second thing that kept him going.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Beakley picking up Goofy. His friend was still not regaining consciousness, but his breathing was steady and he kept a smile on his face, which must mean there was nothing to worry about. As if on cue, the merchandise was gone in an instant, as if it had never been there.

“Of course bro. Back on the moon…” Della stopped abruptly as she remembered the catchphrase of his desire, and at her empty expression he couldn't laugh at the irony because that would be shameless and because he too had been a victim of Lunaris and— “I just thought of see my four boys happy. And I mean all four, Donald.”

Her voice was broken. By the time she had come closer, her metal leg ringing against gold and she had taken one of his hands in hers, he had already begun to feel his eyes burn and his sight blur.

He had really missed his sister. What was he thinking when he thought he could change it?

She had always been that way, ever since they were children, and putting aside her interest in the next adventure. When faced with a new change, especially the change in his voice, his sister had always been like this to take his hands, tell him how much she watched over his happiness, remind him of how much she loved him and allow him to cry on her shoulder. According to his sister and his uncle, until falling asleep.

"Whatever you ask for, however far-fetched it is, you'll always have your family to back you up." Winking at him, she silently thanked when Gene quietly pulled away from her twin to cradle him instantly.

In just an instant, Donald had gone from being the father of her boys to becoming the sensitive and shy duckling she remembered.

In just an instant, the twins had gone from proud adult parents to the wee bairns Scrooge remembered, when the orphan wound was still fresh. How, despite their few minutes apart, Della could take the role of the alpha twin.

"I'm really sorry, Dells." Donald's voice had grown hoarser, even his sister had trouble understanding the message, but when she did, she gently patted his back.

She preferred to ignore how her brother had cringed after hearing his voice again; and though it had been surprising to hear him with another during his desire — that if it was included in his fantasy, she feared for the answer — she preferred that raspy voice with which she had grown up.

"I know you didn't do it maliciously, Donald; I couldn't be mad at you for a long time even if I wanted to. Unless you deserve it.” Della smiled slyly when she heard her brother laugh; it was broken, but it was sincere and apologetic.

Same as him.

Though reluctant he turned away from his sister, rubbing his eyes to withdraw the tears that had had the decency not to flow. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the genie talking to his nephews, with Dewey speaking the most; and while Huey was more timid, Louie analyzed the lamp that he had dropped at some point.

Beakley and Webby kept the scorpions away. It didn't seem like an easy job but they seemed to have the situation under control. Goofy, still in the awkward position he was in by the treasure, had let out a snore.

He was fine.

For his part, Scrooge kept a distance from the twins, keeping a sympathetic smile. He wink at his nephew, saying the same to him.

If they both noticed the discomfort with which he cleared his throat, neither said anything.

But what could he wish for? Ever since he had the use of reason, he had lived typecast to adventures, and though he tried to escape from them, they always found a way to return to his life. He was Donald — Fauntleroy — Duck, and he was Scrooge McDuck's nephew, which could be both a blessing and a curse.

Yes, it had been relaxing not to venture into the unknown, he had never enjoyed a day without magic, archenemies, or near-death experiences, especially since his nephews were not involved in them; but his family was unhappy.

He couldn't bear to see his family unhappy.

At least not now. Because if he saw the adventures in a way that was normal, perhaps he had also been normal?

Maybe a normal voice?

"Don't even think about it Donnie." Donald looked up when he realized he had thought aloud, his hand resting gingerly at the base of his throat. Despite her amused smile, Della was frowning and the brightness in her gaze had dimmed. “Your voice is unique just like you, and I don't want to have a commercial presenter as a brother.”

Even so, the duck managed to smile and exalt a small laugh, though it sounded a bit forced. He hadn't realized how that twisted his sister's smile.

“Come oan lad. Ah know th’re maw be somethin’ else.” Scrooge immediately took a place among the twins to wrap them in his shoulders, watching the triplets chat with Gene as they rummaged through the treasures, how Webby had no problem joining the conversation; which would be normal if it wasn't because they still had scorpions surrounding them.

As if everything that happened was nothing more than his subconscious playing with him.

The warm smile that had invaded his uncle's face and the nostalgic one of his sister, Donald allowed himself to observe again the ducklings who, much to his regret and considering that he still had to apologize to them, did not seem to hold a grudge against him and instead had their beaming smiles of every day.

"There must be something you  always wanted to have," Della trailed off, stroking his knuckles in a way that felt too familiar. Perhaps there have been times in his life when his sister could become sweet when she wanted to, despite the multiple tantrums that could have occurred — they were still siblings, after all — but this seemed like a new facet.

Motherhood suited Della very well.

But in one way or another, it was the trigger Donald needed, again looking at the four children, who together had finally chosen to help Beakley with the scorpions while Louie fervently cared for the lamp in the front pocket of his sweater. Dewey and Webby were the most excited about getting their daily dose of adrenaline back, but that didn't stop Huey from hitting some with his book while avoiding stingers as much as possible, or Louie suggesting one thing or another to his siblings. Regardless of the circumstances and the way their personalities collided, the four of them found a way and worked as a team.

A team that held together despite the multiple adversities that arose on its way and found the strength to continue. Even when the issue of the Spear finally came to light, his nephews had remained united, and they had no trouble keeping Webby by their side and reintegrating her even as she made a plan for them to return to Scrooge. When they do not know if they will return from the Shadow War being Magica notoriously more powerful than any enemy they have faced.

Huey, Dewey and Louie (and Webby) had always managed to stay together.

Scrooge and Della (and sometimes he) had accomplished the same, as if the eleven-year absence had never occurred. He didn't care if their ties had grown stronger while he was away —  it wasn't the first time this had happened anyway, he was used to it.

He could easily be seen in a team in the company of José and Panchito, since they met in the cabana in their college days. But even if he had no difficulty venturing even with the bombastic but carefree attitudes of his companions reminding him of his sister, he had always detected more chemistry among the Latin birds. And while he loved Xandra and Kay K, for obvious reasons they weren't the friends he could invite over coffee or hang out no matter how much he wanted to see them again.

And he was sure that, even in pairs, his nephews had found a way to work together. Maybe he needed his own team to gradually delve into the dynamics of his family?

Yes, part of him disagreed one hundred percent. He had chosen to completely give up on adventures the instant he knew his sister had taken the Spear of Selene behind his back, but what else could he do when he couldn't even take a relaxing vacation? He missed spending time with the children, even if it was getting involved in one of their shenanigans; and after being ten years estranged from his uncle and eleven from his sister, he doubted he wanted to spend more time away from them — and now that he was holding them like a vice grip he feared they would fade again if he released them.

But he accepted it, he wanted to enter his family's definition of normalcy once again. Perhaps the first step was to get used to this conception, but he knew that he could not alone. He had always been able to count on their help after all, and he doubted that after so long they would stop.

He just hoped that Gene would agree.

"I'm ready to make my last wish," he snapped, making Della and Scrooge jump. Doubting he had stopped hugging them, patting their shoulders gently before approaching the genie, an assertive smile forming on his face as he finished paraphrasing the desire in his mind.

There was something he had always wanted to have.

"At your command, sir." Reverence might have been exaggerated, but being locked up for around two decades might be justification enough. Furthermore, the modest smile on his face demonstrated the patience he had had while he collapsed.

Fortunately Scrooge and his sister had focused on removing the scorpions from Goofy's overnight body, otherwise they would have considered their discretion in making the suspicious wish.

Who might suspect Donald Duck anyway?

“A picture?” Ending to hang the framed photograph, he did not allow his nephew's sarcastic comment to affect him — or at least show that it did not affect him — hearing him wince, along with the already recognized drumming that Dewey's webbed feet cause in the wood. “Did you spend your last wish on a stupid framed photo when I can easily make one on my cell phone?!”

Donald knew that in the blink of an eye he could reproach Louie for the vocabulary, but he knew his nephews well enough to know that his scolding would fall on deaf ears, smiling at the warm homecoming that is listening to the comments bathed in irony of his family. He heard Louie's phone flash in the background as he took the photo.

He didn't know how much he had missed that.

"You could have made infinite wishes, or become a genius yourself!" Louie was growling under his breath, but Donald had watched enough fantasy movies as a child to know that those wishes usually ended badly as tempting as they were, but that didn't fade the smile on his face.

After all, he was satisfied with his wish.

"I like it," and Huey, the sensitive Huey, seemed so happy now that everything was settled, so delighted with his  last wish that, well, it made him not have the heart not to object.

Besides that he was also in love with it.

"It’s perfect” how could he not be when it included the whole family doing what they did best, which was to venture? It was amazing how quickly could change a person's mind if they wanted to; even he, who accepted the change weighed on him, was surprised.

It must be that a part of him was anxious about what would happen from now on that he had chosen to go into the unknown with them. Or maybe it was his subconscious playing with him. Again.

"Well Uncle Donald, you know we'd like to stay here, but we have to go; Mom proposed a game afternoon” Dewey sounded apologetic despite the seconds of silence, but still he could hear his sad smile and his body moving.

"Okay, you know the doors will always be open to you." He smiled at them over his shoulder. Maybe they weren't spending as much time in the houseboat as he would like, but that didn't stop him from wanting to remind them that that would always be their home and that they would always be welcome, no matter if they had a bad day or just wanted to hang out — which It was rare, but it didn't make it totally strange.

“Yes!” The triplets chanted happily, catching Donald off guard when they hugged him, the three pairs of arms encircling his waist, but he hadn't managed to reciprocate before webbed feet traversed the wooden floor, exiting the escape hatch before which Donald couldn't help but giggle.

He loved those boys, and as long as he had that perfect framed photo as part of his collection and his family continued to stay together — as it should have been eleven years ago — he would be fine.

He was sure he didn't thank Goofy enough for his prompt service.

But before he could take another step, a soft knock on his door was heard, confusing him. After accompanying Goofy on his long journey back to Spoonerville, the last thing he expected was to receive visitors. Della would spend the rest of the day with the boys, Launchpad had taken his uncle to the Money Bin, and Beakley's visits were rare.

Honestly, now that he was alone, what he needed most was to go to the other side of the city, growling when they knocked again.

“I'm going!” Perhaps he raised his voice more than stipulated, but he couldn't help it. He was in a hurry and was not there to attend to anyone right now.

The strange detail is that he did not usually receive visitors except that it was his sister and his nephews, who never had the decency to knock. Perhaps the only exception were José and Panchito, but they were too indiscreet.

“How can I help you?” He slammed the door open, his expression blank before the white-feathered duck in front of him. Trying not to feel overwhelmed by his tall stature, his groomed jet hair, and his sparkling emerald eyes. He was raising his fist, ready to knock once more.

Especially when they get wide and started scanning him with taut features. Needless to say, his shoulders did not tense. Suddenly he felt threatened.

"Hey! What is the big idea?!” He clenched his fists and grind his teeth. He really didn't have time for this.

He was about to slam the door when the other duck's hand stepped in, opening it with superhuman strength for someone who looked so… puny? Exalting apologies over and over again that did not anything but confused the sailor.

“Sorry, sorry! It's just that…” He inhaled and exhaled, his chest rising and falling apace, his body relaxing as if a burden was suddenly released from his shoulders, laughing sourly with a raspy voice but that revealed self-confidence “it has been years, but seeing you again Donald, it's as if all this time nothing had happened.”

His voice had broken, but that only increased the duck's bewilderment. That had served to partially deflate his anger, but that didn't stop him from feeling his blood boil. He was already wasting a lot of time. That a stranger knew his name was not strange when being the nephew of someone globally recognized as his uncle, but a very different thing is that it was exclaimed with so much trust.

“Excuse me, but do I know you?” And perhaps he sounded so confused that it must explain the incredulous expression of the man in front of him, as if a bucket of ice water had been thrown.

He laughed again, with the sole exception that he now sounded more forced, brushing a lock of hair from his face with a nervous smile at a look that tried not to fade like an old firefly — literally, being overshadowed by the rays of the sun that still hovered over Duckburg.

Perhaps his photographic memory was declining, but he was sure that if he had met someone with an appearance as attractive as the man in front of him, perhaps he would have noticed it. Yes, there was something about his gaze that was vaguely familiar, but he didn't like creating or creating himself hopes when there surely wasn't.

"You can't, you can't be serious Don," he looked so radiant that he would even feel bad about upsetting him, grinning sardonically, clearing his throat as he felt the tension in Donald's body, "it's me, Uno!"

The moment that name had been mentioned, those green irises glowing instantly, Donald felt his legs tremble, holding on to the door frame. He trembled in shock, feeling his eyes burn.

That was not what he had in mind when he made his wish, much less so quickly — at least, until he remembered who was in front of him.

That was not what he expected, but he could not say that he was not satisfied because it would be a vile lie.

"I'm back, Old Cape!" He sounded as impressed as he was, and it was then that he knew it was already perfect .

[mor-beck-more-problems]

The White Crest Job || Morgan & Felix

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @streetharmacist & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Morgan and Felix take a field trip to rescue a very important item from an auction house on Erin’s behalf.

CONTAINS: gun use, violence

Stupidity got people killed. Talking got people killed. Now both in the same suit? They did a bang up job with that kinda thing. As Felix waited and tapped his feet, he had to attribute that to why he had a cooler full of brain on a weeknight. One man’s stupidity was another’s advantage and the fae kept that in mind. There was that telltale jittering under his skin, that sensation before a job and the wonderment at whether or not it would be pulled off. After everything, he felt more than ready to tag in. Erin had gone through enough and she could use a night off of crime. As it worked out, he could use a night of crime. Desperately. With a little luck and pixie dust, he and Morgan might be able to come bearing good news that would make the whole thing sting a little less.

At the sight of Morgan approaching, he stood up from the rickety bench and adjusted his suit tie. It was a special night at the auction house and he wore some of his sharpest attire. He smiled at her and waved. “It’s real nice to see you, Morgan,” he greeted. “You excited?” They were about to walk into the mouth of some sort of beast but as long as they had their eye on the prize, it should be fine. He reached for the cooler and offered it to her. “I got something for ya. One of Roy’s finest. I wanna say the old sport worked at the auction house.” His grin grew. “Not anymore though.”

Morgan could swear her body was vibrating with the need to do something straightforward and easy. Or at least easier than the past few weeks had been. Sure, the primary criminal activity of her life had been charging people for rocks she transmuted from dirt and trash, but Morgan was nothing if not a good student, and being a walking dead girl leant itself to certain advantages. Mushrooms could strike, ghosts could rise from the deep, worlds could fall apart, but Morgan’s limbs would always grow back shiny and limber no matter how many times they snapped off. And this errand, at least, was for a good cause. Morgan rolled up the sleeves of her turtleneck and beamed at the fae waiting for her. “Sorry I’m late, I wasn’t sure what the dress code was for our clandestine date,” she said with a smirk. “Me? Oh I’m ready to dance. It’s been a rough fall, and Erin’s one of my best friends. It’s kinda nice, having something to do that makes an easy kind of sense. All the steps are clear. No back-and-forth, no second guessing.”

She shook her worries back to the far side of her mind and turned to the cooler. “Mother of earth,” she chuckled. “Dinner and dancing? If this is how you treat your friends, Bea’s a luckier gal than I thought.” Flipping open the lid, she fished out the sliced brain, wrapped in sandwich paper like a happy meal burger. Tentatively, hoping that the old whoever had at least been a nice gangster, she took a bite. “Is this to help me blend in?” She asked between bites. “Because I’ll have you know I’ve killed a woman with just my own sparkling personality bouncing around my head.” She took another bite, moaning with pleasure. “Not that I’m complaining, obviously. Think this’ll magically download everything he knew about this place?”

Felix beamed as much as he safely could in return. He intended to save that old song and dance for a special occasion. One maybe an hour or so away, he thought. They would just have to see how the night went. As it was, he was more than interested in seeing an auction hall go off the deep end. The job that he and Morgan had on their docket took precedence over seeing a few strangers lose it for a bit. He smiled at her and was inclined to agree. He did as much with a tip of his head. It did make an easy sort of sense, didn’t it? Easy as snapping a neck. They just needed to get their hands on it first. “Right there with you, my friend. See, I think this’ll be good for us. All of us.” A brow lifted. “I think we got a real nice night ahead of us. As for everybody else in there?” He shrugged.

At the mention of Bea, an easy smile slid into place and his skin warmed. Buzzed even. He didn’t want to think of the night going any way but up for them. He had a gal to get home to. He was sure Morgan could relate. “You know, I’d say we’re all pretty lucky,” he said as he framed his chin with his thumb and index finger. “You, me, Bea, and Deirdre!” As much as he knew that they could spend the rest of the night waxing poetic about their loves, they had some skulls to crack. Speaking of...It didn’t bother him when Morgan took to the brain. Over the years he had developed an iron stomach, of all things. Blood and brain, guts and bone. It all sorta mushed together. He struck a match and lit a thin cigarette. He considered dust briefly earlier in the evening. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced he wouldn’t need it. Smoke billowed out of his mouth and curled around his glasses as he laughed. “Oh hell, I believe you,” he said with a smile. “I’m not too familiar with how the ol’ brain works, especially in this sorta case, but I think it’ll be a nice thing to have on our side. Y’know, the whole knowing is half the battle thing?” He offered Morgan the crook of his elbow. “Ready to paint this whole gig red?”

“I guess we are lucky, huh,” Morgan mused, smiling into her next bite. Stars above, it tasted so good, she had to ask herself why she didn’t do this more often. She groaned shamelessly as the rich, meaty flavor spread over her tongue. “Felix, you’re making me miss my Texas burgers,” she said, smirking with her mouth half full. “Tell you the truth, I could use a lucky night. I know you’re not supposed to let the bastards get you down, but stars, it’s...fucking hard sometimes. But!” She scarfed down the last of her brain. Nothing felt immediately off the way the urge to listen to a hockey game that night at Erin’s had felt off, but she did feel a little more verve and fire in her bones as she got to her feet. She took Felix’s arm and grinned up at him. “Felix, pal, I’m ready to dance like there’s no tomorrow. I just got one question for ya.” She quirked up a brow at him, nodding to his car and the joint they were about to bust open. “What kinda guns you got stashed in your car? I’m feelin’ like blowing some fireworks.”

“That’s why I’m a big advocate of getting back at the bastards!” Felix said cheerily. Whether it was through bloody footprints or a bullet in the head, things had a way of coming back around. “Nothing really perks up the spirit like some old fashioned vengeance and looking good while doing it. But this is business tonight. The rest can come later.” Heck, would it. The amount of receipts they owed people had started to stack itself high. “Oh, Morgan, I’m so glad you asked. I think you’ll like it,” he said as he looked at her. The tone of her voice, the fire behind it, danced a little differently and he couldn’t help but grin. It reminded him of an old friend. Tommy Toblerone, a fella that had earned his name from the rather unorthodox and sweet ways he could take a person out. “I had to leave the Tommys at home since I don’t think we wanna get the toys taken away early and all.” After he tugged on a pair of black leather gloves as a safety precaution, he pulled out a .38 Smith & Wesson and a .357 Magnum. Without a second thought, he handed her the magnum revolver and a handful of cartridges. “I think you’ll like that one,” he said smoothly as he slid the .38 into the inside pocket of his suit jacket. “I’m more about slicing and dicing myself but I got this one just in case. Old faithful! Been awhile since she’s seen action but I’m feeling good about tonight. You?”

Morgan loaded the revolver. She hated guns, didn’t know the first thing about them except how to hide from one thanks to all the safety videos she’d had to watch for all her shitty jobs. But her hands spun the cylinder and admired the shine of the metal in the night like it was something familiar. Something powerful, even cozy. She loaded the chambers, then popped the beauty back into place. She stroked the frame, smiling at the moon’s reflection. “I feel like a shiny new penny,” she said.

Millie Mayfield didn’t like being interrupted from her movie time, but Roy wasn’t dicking around when he said please, honey, so instead of watching pretty teenagers get cut up by a chainsaw, Millie was getting her boots dirty slipping in to take some delicate goods off the hands of the less deserving. If she could only do it without the B-Squad posse, she might even have herself a good night. “Hey, Mac?” She asked, twirling her bat as she approached the guy behind her. It wasn’t the same as her cheerleader batons, but it killed the time in a pinch. “Can you run and get me some McDonald’s? One of the really sad, dried up specials. You can tell when their tag says FIVE YEARS! With a party hat sticker. Pretty please with cream cheese?”

Mac would, because Roy also said she was in charge, and he knew she’d bust his kneecaps into confetti if he didn’t.

Something rattled at the end of the warehouse. Company. Roy hadn’t mentioned anything about it being a party, but she was an adaptable girl. Millie sauntered into the warehouse, bat held out and ready to strike. She signaled to Mac to get out his gun. “It’s not nice to gate crash,” she called inside, her voice almost sing-song. “If you came to play with the big kids, let’s play.”

As fun as it would have been to crack a couple jokes at the expense of the rich, Felix and Morgan didn’t have that luxury. They had a docket to make a couple checkmarks on. As it went, his patience was thin to nonexistent. Maybe it was because of the mushrooms or maybe it was because things had a way of not going their way lately. He checked over his knives and the gun in his hand. Even clicked his heels for the knife he kept there. All in tip-top shape. The knives were slid back into place. The back of the auction house had a padlock on it but that didn’t matter much as he jimmied it open with a grin flashed Morgan’s way. The chain rattled as the fae toed the door open. From where they stood, there seemed to be plenty of shadows.

Perfect. That good feeling fluttered in his chest again. Even when a voice called out. As a pair of steps entered the auction house’s backroom. Even better. If there were ever a night to have a tussle, it would be this one. He slipped off to the left. Slipped into darkness.

“Do me a favor and let us know when they show up, yeah?” He took his switchblade in hand. “Much appreciated.”

Millie had two choices. Go for the goods, or go for the party crashers. Roy said the merchandise would be small, easy to miss. Not exactly something you could nab with some sleeze pulling your hair. Besides, Millie never turned her back on a fight. “Real funny, Tricky Dicky. Maybe you should run back home to the kiddie p--” A gunshot burned through the air and into her chest. “Ow!” Millie looked down at the scorch mark in her dress. “That was genuine vintage!” She shrieked.

There was still smoke at the end of Morgan’s revolver when she realized her mistake. This dame wasn’t the kind you pinned down with a bum shoulder or a busted kneecap. For all her grousing about the clothes, there wasn’t even a lick of blood coming out of the wound. It had been a rookie mistake, thinking she’d go down easy. This dame wasn’t human anymore than Morgan was. “Sorry, sweet cheeks. I don’t make exceptions for people who get in my way. Equal rights and all that,” she said, stepping into the light. She risked a glance at Felix, who was visible only by his switchblade. She hoped he was watching too, that he saw her little nod to go for the gold. She could keep one little dame busy for him. “You might wanna dance back to your go-go party before this gets worse. It’d be a shame to knock such a pretty block off.”

Millie was already marching forward, bat ready. “Try me, bitch.”

Nothing like the sound of a revolver and the smell of spent gunpowder to remind Felix of home. Let alone a heist! The fae tipped his blade Morgan’s way before he started to climb over boxes and through shadows. What they were after was small, easily concealed. But if he had heard right, it packed one hell of a punch. A bullet that would be real damn nice for them to have in the chamber. While Morgan dealt with the dame with the bat, he’d get what they needed. The light of a waning moon overhead bled through the smallest tear in the roof. Caught on something that shone with iridescence. He sure as heck hoped it was the something they were after. There wasn’t any hesitance to the way he moved toward it, hard-charging if there ever was any.

A hard charge into a forearm that caught him right across the throat. He puffed out a few breaths as he skittered back and recuperated enough to bring him to his feet, back into the shadows. His throat smarted as he looked at what had caught him. A forked tongue flicked out of a fanged mouth. Their head swiveled to follow him as Felix moved. They had a knife too. One with a jagged sort of blade.

“I can smell you, shadow.”

Morgan had seen too much violence since coming to White Crest to mistake the sound of a fight. The smirk on her lips flickered as she turned. “Felix—?”

“You got way bigger problems than that, Dollface,” the same sneered. She swung her bat, hard enough to knock Morgan off her balance.

Her head felt like it was off kilter, but that was just her skull bones bending around the wound. It was right again in seconds and Morgan leveled her revolver again to fire off another round, this one landing square into the girl’s eye. Faintly, she knew she hated guns. The sound, the way they looked, how they went from zero to disaster with just a bang. But something strange in her liked it too. She readied another shot, but the dame was already charging her, anger blazing out of her now ruined face. She was hell in high heels and creamsicle orange. Hell and payback. The bullet hadn’t even moved her an inch. Morgan threw away her gun, useless, and tried to run. A hand caught her by the hair by the hair and dragged her back.

“Zombie, huh? This is gonna be fun.”

“Morgan, ya alright?” Felix’s eyes were ahead but his ears were behind him. His expression wavered from one of confidence to one of concern. He liked Morgan. A great deal. And they had people to get home to, let alone a fucking point to get across. Any wavering halted. When he moved, the lamia’s eyes followed him. They placed themselves as a body between the box full of iridescence and the lampade itching to get his hands on it. Felix slipped his jacket off and wadded it up. It could be said that Felix was a planner but as he rocked off his heels and went forward, not much thought went into it. The lamia struck out, their knife cutting easy through the fabric. The tip nicked Felix’s palm as he let go and danced back. The lamia’s tongue flicked out again as he stepped through the shadows.

The fae hit his heel against the ground hard enough to spring the knife from his shoe before he lunged forward with a kick. The lamia was larger than him, muscle packed tight together, and he felt it when the knife in his shoe clipped through the lamia’s suit pants to lodge itself in. It wasn’t the strongest of knives and it broke off as Felix pulled his foot back. The lamia jabbed at him again with the knife and cut a line of black, ink blood across his chest. Felix hissed then grinned as he rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt, switchblade still in hand.

“Alright, alright,” he muttered out with a laugh. “So much for working this out, huh?”

The next time, it was the lamia that moved to meet him in the dark. Knives out.

Morgan caught the dame’s hands and twirled in her grasp, getting enough space to knee her in the stomach, get a new grip on her arms, and throw her into a stack of crates. She didn’t run this time, but picked up her opponent and slam her down again. Maybe if she’d been some lousy human, it would’ve broken her in a couple of pieces, but this girl wasn’t the type to roll over easy. She pulled out a knife from the front of her shirt. It wasn’t big enough to lob off her head, not quickly anyway, but her eyes burned red and Morgan realized she was staring down a bonafide vampire.

They tousled, slinging blows with all their strength and all the ruthlessness of two women desperate for a win. No more maybe this times. Morgan was walking out of here with her prize for Erin. With something done the right way. Crates shattered under Morgan as the dame threw her again. Glass and powder spilled onto the floor. Morgan didn’t care, those goods weren’t her problem. She grabbed some of the broken wood and swung it hard enough to crack the damn thing to bits. When she was through, she had a nice stake sized piece, sharp and jagged, as far as the stuff went.

The vampire dame snarled and leapt out of her reach.

“What’s the matter, doll?” Morgan asked. “I thought we were gonna dance.” If nothing else, she sure as hell hoped Felix found this magic blade soon.

It had been a hot minute since Felix had been in a knife fight. After everything that had happened, he supposed it was only a matter of time. As he weaved through the shadows of the warehouse, the lamia was there with him. His glamour had dropped the more that black wisps of blood smoked out of his dress shirt. Knife fights were ugly, feral affairs. He couldn’t help but grin as he ducked back from the lamia’s swipe. Only for him to come to a stop as a painful tug spread pain along the top of his skull. The lamia’s hand was wrapped around the main beam of his right antler, close to the fork. Felix reared his head back and flipped the knife in his hand to stab at the lamia’s hand. The blade nicked skin but it wasn’t much. The lamia who had him locked in place kicked at the side of his leg and brought him down hard to his knees.

His eyes widened and flashed white as the lamia brought the serrated edge of his knife to the bone. Felix frantically shook his head violently and tried to rear back. Dig his heels into the ground to force himself back into the dark. It didn’t matter. The lamia would find him and he wasn’t going anywhere.

The lamia knew what he was doing. Maybe it hadn’t been the first time for them. But it had been the first time for Felix. Breakage. The crack deafened him. Dulled his senses to anything other than pain and pure, undiluted rage. As the antler separated from him, the lamia stepped back from the force of it. Felix was on them in an instant as he threw his full weight into him. The antler clattered from their grasp and the fae took it in hand. Didn’t second guess when he started to plunge it through the lamia’s scales. The ones that lined their neck, their chest, their organs. All the soft parts that made the rest crumble.

He didn’t realize he was yelling until the lamia went still underneath him and inhuman blood splashed his chest. His chest heaved as he sat back, eyes wide and wild. His throat hurt. His head hurt. Momentarily, he forgot what they were there for until his eyes locked on the box and he brought himself to stand. Antler still in hand, he went to it and looked back to where he could hear the sound of Morgan’s own scuffle.

“Morgan,” he rasped out. “Fucking kill her, huh?”

They were bounding through the warehouse, chasing each other like filthy animals. Somewhere between running around crates, the dame found Morgan’s gun and had herself a nice time driving the rest of the bullets into her body. The steam was still on the muzzle when the wounds healed up, but the rounds must’ve sounded like pennies from heaven all the same. She heard the shouting and stopped to turn. It was the wrong move. The dame’s bat smashed against her skull, hard enough to send sparks through her vision.

“Maybe get the fucking knife, huh?” Morgan called back.

She still had a grip on the stake, but the vampire was hanging around her like a goddamn flying monkey. Morgan lost count of how many surfaces she bashed her into befor she let go and slid off. It wasn’t every day you regretted bringing a gun to a knife fight, but that was White Crest for you. Morgan pinned the dame down and decked her with her fist. Felix hadn’t sounded so hot when he called out to her. They needed to end this quickly. The stake came up--and splintered in the vampire’s grip. Morgan didn't even see her arms come up to knock her down, just the view of those damn go-go boots as she ran away. Good riddance.

“That’s gonna be a ‘negative’ on that kill,” she groaned, easing up to her feet. “But she’s out of our hair. Maybe some son of a gun hunter will have a better night. You find it yet?”

“If not,” Felix started as he approached the box. “I’m sure I can hire somebody. Plenty of fucking nobodies that wouldn’t mind getting a tooth or two from her.”

He tried to ignore the splinter ache in his head. Even as he tilted it, it felt lighter. Unbalanced. Uneven. His forehead felt wet and as he touched his fingertips to it, pulled them back, he saw more bloody wisps. His skin felt cold, his nerves even more so. The fae looked at Morgan with dim half-moon, a fist clenched around his broken antler. The knife sat unbothered atop a heap of fabric. With the exception of its glass blade, it was otherwise unexceptional. Bullets and blades for another kind of destruction. What the fuck else was new.

“I did. You alright?” The question was clipped with an aimless agitation. No, it wasn’t aimless. He knew exactly who he was pissed at. He gestured loosely at the knife and leered at it. “That’s the fucking thing right there. It better be worth it after all this shit.”

Morgan shuffled over to Felix, giving a whistle when she saw how worse for where he was. “You had a worse time than me. Guess Roy got the same tip we did, and wanted to get ahead of the game. And now that dame knows who Erin’s friends are. She’s gonna blab to Roy and give him the scoop.” Morgan spat on the ground, shaking her head. She was too small to see from the ground, but one hop onto one of the few crates that wasn’t busted and she could see what all the fuss was about.

The hilt wasn’t anything special, but the glass was a beaut, thick enough that you could spit on one end and not tell from the other, and serrated, brought to a deadly point. Morgan couldn’t imagine you made something like this in any old forge, but what did she know about this stuff. “In the right hands, it’ll stick Roy in the ground for good, and that ain’t nothing,” she said. “Come on, compadre. I’m feelin’ like a cigar. This ol’ brain is a doozie, and you need to get the edge off before that ride home.”

Felix made a low sound of affirmation. “It’s not every day you break an antler,” he intoned. It truly fucking wasn’t and his lip curled. “That sounds about par for the course in this town, huh? Word travels fast.” He glanced at the dead body of the lamia. Whether or not they had been close to Roy, he didn’t care. A dead body was a message all the same. He shrugged loosely as he looked back at Morgan. The night was still fun in its own way, breakage and bullets be damned. “Lucky us.”

“Think I’ll need more than a cigar but I ain’t about to turn that down,” he said with a glance to Morgan as he pieced his human glamour back together. His glasses were somewhere but he wasn’t in the mood to look for them. He wasn’t in the mood for much other than that cigar she offered. “Roy will be in the ground before he fucking knows it and y’know, I like the sound of that very much. Let’s get out of here. We did good and ought to treat ourselves to something nice.”

With the knife in their possession, they could leave the warehouse and good riddance to that. It’d be nice to burn it down, he thought. Burn it all down. His anger was loud and alive in his head. His hate. As they made to leave, one thought crossed his mind. Just how tired he was of only walking White Crest’s streets. He wanted to fucking own them.

[amydancepants-peralta]

brand new moon, brand new sun ♥️

From the first time she had presented her parents with a ‘consideration list’ for her upcoming 6th birthday party, Amy Santiago knew she was a Planner.  

It had been a carefully curated form, with possible locations itemised in order of preference (the local park rated higher than their backyard, the planetarium superseded the park); followed by a hopeful guest list - her already neat handwriting deliberately ranking her classmates from Most Likely to be invited (Katrina M) to Least (Kyle D).  

Her parents had been impressed by the work that had gone into it, and that year began her eleven year streak of amazing birthdays surrounded by the universe and the closest of her friends.  It also taught her that preparation led to results, and by the time she was eight Amy had already begun to map out her weeks well in advance.  She had favourite markers, and a colour-coded system for specific events; and as the years wore on and her preferences changed, one simple truth remained:  preparation and planning was everything, and hard work always pays off.

While it was true that the life calendar that she’d put together during her first year of college hadn’t planned or predicted for the undeniable impact that Jake Peralta would have on her life, for the first time in a long time Amy had simply found herself adjusting to the unfamiliar thrill of not knowing.  It had only taken two or three dates for her to realise that being with Jake had changed everything - infinitely for the better - and from the first time she’d stayed the entire weekend at his apartment, and woke up Sunday morning to find that he’d run down to his local bodega purely to buy her a copy of the New York Times so that she could still do the weekly crossword, Amy knew that she was in it for the long haul.  

Jake both encouraged and challenged her, and made her smile more than anybody in the entire world.  He loved Amy, with every fibre of his being, and would happily shout it from the rooftop of every building in Brooklyn if ever given the chance.  And Amy was so deeply in love with Jake - the kind of love that vibrated from every pore, and for the longest time she had truly believed such a thing only existed in the great literary classics.  It’s the kind of love that turns you upside down and inside out and makes you whole: that completes you even when you thought you were already complete.  He was the love of her life and her best friend all wrapped up in one handsome package, and the night that he’d sat beside her, shrugging and giving her that beautiful smile of his before suggesting that they should start trying for a baby, will always remain one of her favourite moments.  

Truthfully, Amy had known that it wasn’t going to happen instantaneously.  Her body needed to adjust to no longer being on the pill for starters, and sometimes good things simply take time.  It was several months before the fear began to creep in, and it took a pregnancy announcement from an officer on the second floor to make their sex a little more scheduled -  a little more time specific - and while The Jake Way had been a lot of fun, it too had not yielded results, and things began to become clear.  

This was a test.  And tests were something that Amy knew like the back of her hand.  It had been a rush of adrenaline, to compile all the information and fill binder after binder with scores of insider tips and tricks.  This was what Amy knew, and what she knew she could do well.  There were calendars and graphs, coloured post-its and ovulation charts and a schedule that rivalled all the other schedules she’d ever put together in her life.  Suddenly, Amy begins to feel in control again - because preparation and planning was everything, and hard work always pays off.  

She tries to shrug off the disappointment when the first test she takes after Operation Pregnancy begins, throwing the stick into the bin and shaking her head quickly when he looks at her expectantly.  Keeps her face positive when she sticks her head out of the work restroom a couple of days later, throwing out a casual nope! that doesn’t sound casual at all to her, and clearly Jake agrees because as soon as the door swings shut behind her he’s pulling her into his arms.  It’s entirely inappropriate for the workplace, but his arms are so tight around her and it feels so incredibly right that for a moment, the buzzing world around them fades away.  He whispers in her ear that there’s always next time, and she can feel herself nodding, pushing the doubts down further as she rests her head against her husband’s chest.  

Two and a half months in she begins branching out, buying a few different brands of pregnancy tests and favouring one that has a panel along the side that simply states ‘pregnant’ or ‘not pregnant’.  It’s a blunt statement, but negative signs have never been welcome in Amy’s life (all these years later, she can still vividly recall the first time she received an A minus), and she’s seen more than her fair share by now.  

As it turns out, the words sting just as much as the symbol.

Birthdays come and go, Halloween passes and so does Thanksgiving, and then suddenly it’s Christmas and Amy still isn’t pregnant.  There are three more officers in the precinct (not to mention their neighbour and her younger sister-in-law), that are pregnant; but Amy definitely is not.  

The morning the thirtieth test gets thrown into the bin Amy climbs into the shower, desperate to wash away the overwhelming sensation of defeat - but no matter how hard she scrubs, the feeling just never seems to fade.  Each attempt burns, like another red mark against her name - a report card filled up with multiple Fs - and she’s so determined to prove that they can do this, but … maybe she can’t.  

Her hands run over the curve of her abdomen as the suds fall down her body and she tenses her muscles, pushing out her stomach and briefly giving into the fantasy that someday - maybe even someday soon - there will be a baby growing there.  Her chest tightens under the pressure of it all and she releases a huff of breath, dipping her head back to let the water run down her face, her tears mingling with the rivulets as her stomach collapses back to it’s regular state.  She feels like such a failure.  And Amy Santiago has never been a fan of failure.

She runs her hands over her face as she dries off, avoiding the mirror but trying desperately to erase any sign of her devastation before leaving the bathroom.  This whole process hasn’t been easy on either of them - she needs Jake’s positivity now more than ever - and while Amy knows that she promised herself never to hide anything from her husband, the idea of admitting that she’s just no good at this was more than she was willing to say out loud just yet.  Still, his careful eyes pick up on the droop of her shoulders - on the frustration hidden terribly on her face - and as her feet pad down their hallway he’s already putting together her favourite tea, leading her to their still new (and ridiculously comfortable) couch.  His shoulder has always been her favourite place to rest, and today is no exception, but the aching no longer seems to fade as quickly.  

She hates what this has become - has genuinely begun to resent the fact that they have to try so damn hard for something that should be so simple.  There are times when she considers throwing in the towel - of standing back and waiting for fate to play it’s cards - and then her mind imagines what their children would look like, and before she knows it Amy is setting another UD alarm into the clock in their bedroom.  

Then time wears on, and failure seems to become the only certainty.  

It was an unfamiliar territory, this regularity of rejection.  She’d never realised that failure had teeth - sharp, pointy little fangs that dug into her skin and whispered in her ear whenever her thoughts would finally grow quiet.  There was an echoing sting to it all, the knowing that deep down there was no reason they weren’t getting pregnant that didn’t lead directly back to her.  Amy wanted to grow a family with Jake - to watch a miniature version of him grow and take on the world.  Another gentle boy with scruffy hair, and the sweetest of hearts that always seemed to be far bigger than his body could possibly conceal, getting the chance to finally grow up in a world made entirely of love.  To give him a sister, and then maybe another brother, and watch them play in the backyard of their house in the suburbs as she and Jake cooked dinner every evening.  It was a future that she could see so clearly - one that seemed so bright that it just didn’t seem fair for it not to happen.  

All of the pregnancy journals and fertility guides remind her that none of this is personal, and that sometimes the human body just finds it that little bit harder to conceive.  But to Amy, this is as personal as it gets.  She’s always been a straight-A student, who excelled at everything, but for some stupid reason her body simply didn’t want to co-operate.

She’d give Jake anything - she’d give him everything, if he only asked.  But this?  This, she cannot seem to do.  And it broke her heart just that little more, every single time they failed. 

*

It takes the suggestion of adding their colleague’s soon to be ex-wife’s brother in law on Facebook so they can ask for conception tips to finally push Amy over the edge, the insanity of it all splitting her heart into two because she simply cannot handle another reminder that she is broken - that her body is broken, and she cannot give Jake the family that he so truly deserves.  

None of this made any sense.  This was a test, and Amy was used to making tests her bitch.  She excelled at studying and revising and learning and winning - but no matter how hard she tried, no matter how hard they studied and moulded their bodies into perfectly hospitable vessels for procreation - nothing was working.     

She can feel her chest constricting as she blurts out I’m sorry I’m bad at making babies, and she can tell that her heart is one more word away from splitting open completely, but then Jake shakes his head, and tells her not to say such a thing, and all the reasons she loves him as deeply as she does rush to the forefront.  

He tells her they are a family, just the two of them, and damnit if he isn’t completely correct.  They are a family: a party of two, and it’s smaller than the one she grew up with but it’s filled with just as much love.  There are options, he reminds her, and even though all of this is completely out of her control and that is the worst thing in the world for her, right now none of it seems as bad as it did only a moment ago.  Despite all the heartache that exists within her, Amy can feel herself begin to smile, and it feels like coming home.  

Jake leans in, and his lips are so softly pressed against hers; so gentle and tender, so full of reassurance that truly, he is all Amy needs to get by.  

*

His hand lingers on her thigh for the entire cab ride home.  It’s entirely welcome, and the strong grip of Jake’s fingers on her skin is something that Amy has completely missed, and she wants to tell him but her mouth is far too occupied with kissing her husband.  It’s the sweetest and greatest feeling, this notion of kissing Jake for no other reason than to kiss him, long and hard and sweet and soft and definitely more passionate as they feel the cab take the familiar stops and turns that lead to their apartment.  

She’s missed this - this feeling of making love to her husband, to chasing release and holding their sweaty bare skin tightly against each other in the afterglow.  Of holding each other instead of hugging her knees to her chest, of considering the whole thing to be anything other than just another uterine deposit.  It’s the best night they’ve had in a long time, and part of her wonders if maybe they should have just given up trying a lot sooner.  

And then a week goes by, and her period is a day and a half late, and Amy knows she shouldn’t get her hopes up just yet, but this is how her cousin Mariela got pregnant and maybe they both had just needed to relax before it could all happen.  So she waits until they’re home before telling Jake about the last boxed test, the one that had been shoved to the back so that it was out of sight and out of mind, and he squeezes her hand as she lifts herself up and off the couch.  

When the word Not begins to appear, Amy waits for the crushing disappointment to wash over her, already trying to figure out a way to stall her departure from the bathroom so that Jake doesn’t have to see just how upset another negative makes her.  And the sadness appears - truth be told, it never really went away - but this time, the edges don’t seem as sharp.  Instead, the soft voice of her husband telling her we are a family … you and me washes over her, and Amy raises her head, staring at her reflection in the mirror and nodding at the woman she sees in front of her.  He was right - the two of them were already a family.  A family stronger than some, because regardless of how many times the world tried to pull them apart, they always found a way to come back to each other.  

Nothing about her has changed today, but Amy knows that she’s no longer the same.  It’s a brand new day, and their future now lay claim to a whole bunch of question marks but with Jake, the unexpected didn’t seem so terrifying.   After all, she hadn’t expected to fall in love with the overactive detective that sat across from her for all those years - but fall she did.  Hadn’t imagined their wedding to take place in front of the precinct, with shredded versions of her favourite forms covering the asphalt as she walked down the aisle towards her soon-to-be-husband.  Never dreamed of sharing her honeymoon with anyone but the love of her life.  But all of that had happened, and she wouldn’t change it for anything.  

Maybe they would try IVF.  Or maybe they would adopt - perhaps even foster.  Maybe they’d even become a family of fur babies - hypo-allergenic dogs and cats and some fishes swimming around in a tank.  

(But no guinea pigs.  Definitely no guinea pigs.)  

They would study the options, and plan for the future, but this time the weight on Amy’s shoulders seems far lighter.  Whatever the decision, they would make it together, and the sense of calm that rushes over Amy at that thought suddenly makes the negative test in her hand seem far less personal, and more a fact of life.  She wasn’t in control of this process, and for all the reasons she hates that fact, she loves Jake all the more.  

And with Jake by her side, they can get through anything - because no matter what, they’ll do it together.