#there’s something about not being able to stop everything from getting worse even though theoretically you should just be able to stop

[thebirdmanhewatches]

Alex kralie. Agree yes

[mercless]

what is talon's relationship with gragas in high noon ? what was their first impression vs. their current impression ?

Funnily, Talon can't seem to pinpoint the first time they entered through the doors of the Crossroad Saloon. Chalking it up to a fault in their expansive memory (and maybe the amount they drunk to celebrate being at such a welcoming establishment), it just feels like the Saloon as been around... forever. Talon doesnt pay it much mind, beyond adding it to their suspicions on how the barkeep runs things. If they had a poker chip for every suspicion they had on Ol' Caskbreaker, they'd have a mighty fine haul.

But that's all they have on him after all this time; theories and hunches. What Talon wants to know is why. But he plays his cards close, and offers a fine array of beverages Talon would otherwise have difficulty acquiring. So they don't know what they first thought of him, but they think Gragas is a mysterious player in the game of life who has far more at stake then he'll ever let on. If you're not hellspawn or an angel, there's few things with a name left for you to be.

So they plays nice and to the rules in his domain, letting down their minor disguises and hanging their old duster by the door and enjoying the atmosphere quietly, if occasionally having their fun with a little, harmless tormenting of the other patrons. They don't mind not getting to intermingle with the departed souls, though. They prefer it this way then the situation on the Sulfur Rail. Although they don't remember their first time, Talon recalls the first few questions they had asked, because they'll never forget the fiery glare of a warning given back to them from the other side of the bar. But it hasn't stopped their curiosity; it's just made them more careful. Because even not giving an answer, gives Talon a lot to ponder over during the long stretches on the road later. They've tried all different kinds of angles to see how much or what Gragas knows; locations of angel hiding spots, ways to cure their affliction, and most recently, questions around the Harbingers. But with little give, all they've decided on is that he knows a little something about the old prophecy, because there ain't no way he's not believing in the legend forming before all their very eyes. They've even tried to converse with his devilish co-owner of the saloon, but it didn't take long to realise that that was a road they did not want to walk down. They try to keep a respectable distance from Evelynn.

For now, Talon has settled with their role as an inquisitive patron; becoming a slow drinker to not only whine to their paid audience (I doubt Gragas gives much mind to anything they say while sitting at the bar, anyway) to attempting to find a new question they haven't asked yet, that also won't get them kicked out - or worse. Although, there is the occasional push in a direction, or a hint to a clue to a theoretical answer given up. Just enough to keep Talon's interest, and to keep them following the path they need to wander down for everything to work out.

Also, It's not much but, Talon notices they're able to breathe just that little bit easier whenever they inhale that warm, alcoholic air too. Keeps the bile down, and the feathers from molting everywhere. (that doesn't stop there being down and ash being scattered about once they've left their seat though.)

[mortemoppetere]

TIMING: late at night PARTIES: @rn-zane, & @mortemoppetere LOCATION: worm row SUMMARY: when a vampire targets emilio, zane steps in and learns a little more about the hunter. CONTENT WARNINGS: mentions of child death, suicidal ideation

It had been a slow night. A few spawns, a wight here and there, but nothing substantial. Emilio almost preferred nights like this sometimes, though thinking as much filled him with an acidic shame. After all, he existed only to fight. On nights he wasn’t doing that, he was wasting whatever unwanted second chance he’d been given when he’d survived that massacre in Mexico. But he was damn tired, and there were times where he couldn’t quite fathom the idea of mustering up enough energy to kill anything that might stand a chance at putting up a half decent fight. This was fine, he thought. Wights and spawns were fine.

The world felt heavy, anyway.

He was almost back to his apartment now, at least, tension tightening his muscles in a way it shouldn’t be. A few drinks, he figured, and he’d be fine. He’d be better. He could sit on the couch and stare at the wall and not think for as long as he was able. He liked that.

A shiver went down his spine, pulling him from his thoughts and making the exhaustion settle in a little deeper. He’d spoken too soon, maybe, calling the night over. There was something undead nearby, and the fact that he couldn’t see it was unsettling. Emilio stopped in the street, glancing around with wary eyes. 

—

Zane felt like a complete creep. It was a strange sensation, lurking around and not offering a smile or a hello to people passing him, head bowed underneath the dark hood. This would probably lead to nothing but if this Emilio was going to be keeping tabs on Zane and his clan, the least he could do was snoop around the PI as well. Not like breaking and entering, obviously, which he wouldn’t have stooped to even if he could theoretically have walked into the man’s place without an invite. Just keeping an eye on the shabby building that was very faintly labeled Axis Investigation (what kind of a name even was that?) was a good place to start. At least, he’d thought it was a good place to start. 

Hanging around on the other side of the street for an hour, garnering strange looks and even making a few people switch over to the other sidewalk once they spotted him hanging around, Zane was starting to doubt everything about this unplanned plan. With a sigh, he glanced back up the street. No sign of the man with the signature limp. What did catch his attention however was someone else, dressed in a similarly inconspicuous manner as Zane, which by itself obviously wasn’t a crime. The mostly hidden weapon in his hand, however, was a different story. 

As with most situations he managed to get himself wrapped up in, Zane didn’t give it much thought. He was moving carefully from his previous stake out spot, eyes narrowed as he watched the stranger turn down a narrower street with much less lighting. Halfway inspired by what Cass had said, the way she was using her abilities to help people, the vampire continued to creep behind the other, keeping his distance for now. Maybe this would be nothing. But maybe this would save someone a trip to the ER, or worse. 

—

There were few things more unsettling than being able to feel something undead that you couldn’t see. It had always put Emilio on edge, but it had gotten worse over the last few years. The paranoia that had plagued him since that massacre in Mexico often intensified the feeling of something being wrong, and when he was in a situation like this one — feeling without seeing, knowing something was there without having proof of it — he couldn’t help but wonder if his mind had finally snapped entirely. Would there come a day when his slayer senses gave way to his paranoia, when he sensed undead even when none were there the same way he was sure people were a threat to him even when they meant him no harm? The thought was a harrowing one. He was already a sorry excuse for a vampire slayer, already someone his mother would despise. He didn’t need to become something even more shameful.

But he swore he felt something near all the same. He cocked his head to the side, listened for the sound of it. Vampires didn’t have heartbeats, of course, but their movements still made noise if you were paying close enough attention. Come on, come on… 

In the shadows, the armed vampire noticed the change in the detective’s manners. He knew he hadn’t been found out, but he also knew it was only a matter of time before he was. The Cortez hunters were notorious, and this one must have been especially dangerous to have survived where all the rest failed. If he wanted to take the man by surprise, he’d have to act.

With a single-minded focus, the vampire was unaware of another of his kind approaching; he paid Zane no mind as he moved to jump out of the shadows and towards the slayer, weapon drawn.

—

There was something very strange about the situation. The two forms in the darkness, still mostly unclear in the dark due to distance despite Zane’s fairly decent night vision, were eerily still. It had slowly become easier for him to remember to breathe despite not needing to but here, he felt himself following the other two in stilling everything, even his breath. The other stranger’s back was turned, he wouldn’t be able to see anything coming. Just turn around and spot this creep! When the armed stranger finally moved it was with alarming speed, jolting Zane into action before he could even form a coherent thought. “Don’t!” 

His words rang out, slipping from his mouth of their own accord but Zane didn’t even have time to be startled by them. He was moving towards the danger, recent events having made him realize that it was apparently a tendency of his, sprinting forward at a speed that almost matched the attacker’s. It seemed his panicked warning had finally helped the unsuspecting stranger face the right way, just in time for an attack to barrel into him. Gritting his teeth, Zane skidded to a halt just as the two bodies collided to the ground. “Get off!”

The strength he now possessed still managed to catch him off guard, the few short months not enough time for him to fully comprehend what he was capable of. Especially when instinct took over as it was doing right now, limbs seeming to move without a clear command from his frazzled brain. Hands grabbed at the fabric of the attacker’s jacket, yanking in an attempt to free the other person that had just gotten tackled. It worked and then some, hands managing to pull the attacker off with enough momentum to toss him a few feet to the side. Holding back an apology because that seemed inappropriate given the situation, panicked eyes turned to the person still on the ground. “Hey, are you al-”

Shit. Shit. A face that was so much more familiar than Zane wanted it to be stared back and panic turned into anger. The last time he’d actually seen this man, Emilio, they had parted with some semblance of an understanding. Now, the slayer had managed to make Zane come as close to hating a person as he ever had. He stumbled back a step, overwhelmed with conflict and then he was tripping. The attacker - the vampire? - had easily abused Zane’s fumbling, throwing out a leg and easily unbalancing him. 

His back hit the ground, hard, but at least his head was spared the trauma. For now. 

—

A word rang out through the streets. Don’t. It was loud in the silence, echoing off the buildings in a familiar voice. Where had he heard it before? It was — wait. The nurse? Emilio turned towards the sound just in time to see a vampire (who decidedly wasn’t the nurse behind the word that had cut through the night moments before) hurtling towards him. He went for his stake, but the vampire hit him before he could reach it. It flew from his hands, landing somewhere out of reach as his body hit the ground. 

The concrete was hard, and without his hands free to try to catch himself, he shifted to hit it shoulder-first. It probably saved him from a concussion, at least, but the force of it was definitely enough to pop that joint out of place with a crack. And that was about to become the least of his worries. The vampire looked down at him, red eyes bright and shining with rage. Ah. Probably not a random attack, then. Emilio knew he pissed off a lot of people with the shit he did — a lot of vampires, specifically. But most of them didn’t live long enough to seek vengeance. If this one had…

A relative, maybe. Or a friend. Someone he’d taken out had had people waiting back home. He didn’t recognize the vampire, though that hardly meant it hadn’t been involved in the attack on Etla. There’d been so many of them there, after all. He did, however, recognize the second shape that came hurtling out of the darkness — the one that tackled the first vampire off of him and knocked it to the ground. The nurse reached for him, looking almost concerned until he saw his face. Emilio grimaced. “Friend of yours?” It was all he could ask before the first vampire returned to the scene, taking Zane to the ground.

Right. Probably not a friend, then.

With Zane knocked to the side, the vampire turned back towards Emilio. “Cortez,” it snarled lowly, getting to its feet and putting its foot on his injured shoulder, presumably in a move to keep him still. Emilio winced, biting his tongue to keep from freeing the pained noise that was desperate to break through his lips. “I heard you died in Mexico with the rest of them.”

“Clearly, you heard wrong,” Emilio growled, eyes darting briefly behind the vampire to where Zane was shifting in the darkness. He didn’t particularly want to talk about this with an audience, particularly not when that audience was Zane. That guy hated him; Emilio didn’t want him to know the things that even his friends weren’t privy to. “Are you going to talk, or are you going to kill me? I would like the killing more, I think.”

—

Stunned, more so by the scenario he found himself in than falling on his ass, it took Zane a moment to comprehend the words being spoken next to him. He quickly scrambled to sit up, seeing the scene of this unknown vampire, at least unknown to Zane, making a point to overpower the slayer. While mocking him, inadvertently sharing information that the nurse could almost guarantee wasn’t meant for his ears. With the rest of them. How many people was this vampire talking about? Had they all been slayers or just innocent people? Even with barely any information, Zane could feel doubt and unease creeping in. And he could feel sharp eyes staring at him. 

Ever the asshole it seemed, Emilio taunted the already angry vampire and something in the slayer’s voice cut through the anger that had previously coated every thought regarding this man. It was laced with sarcasm but no less earnest. The thought of ‘survivor’s guilt’ popped into Zane’s head as he finally got his shit together enough to get to his feet, shoulders squared. Trying not to notice the stake lying a few feet away. “Just walk away.” His voice was low, much more threatening than he’d intended or even known he was capable of, filled to the brim with adrenaline and conflicting feelings. No matter his personal opinion of Emilio, Zane hadn’t been lying when he’d claimed to never let anyone bleed out in front of him. Not even this jerk of a slayer. 

The other vampire didn’t look away from its prey, only adding weight to the foot currently bearing down on what looked to be a very misaligned shoulder. “This one deserves it.” The anger in this stranger’s voice was strong enough to be palpable and Zane felt guilt run heavy as the sentence rang true with the fleeting thought he himself had had after his argument with Emilio.

“That’s not your call,” Zane replied slowly, finally having the sense to step into his more natural role as someone who could possibly deescelate a situation. Possibly being the key word in this moment. The vampire moved swiftly, too swiftly to be planning to simply stop torturing Emilio and walk away. Zane did the same - even though his fighting skills were non existant, he was bigger than the other. Tackling a vampire to the ground wasn’t the best idea but there wasn’t exactly time for planning, now was there?

–

Why was Zane still here? Emilio wished, desperately, that the nurse would do the smart thing and walk away, even if it meant he’d die at this vampire’s hand. He’d meant it when he said he found death preferable to discussion, especially if that discussion might be overheard by someone he didn’t like or trust. There was some dishonest part of him that insisted it was because Zane might use the information against him, might pass it along to his clan who might know more about the Cortez family than he did or blackmail him into doing something he wasn’t comfortable with, but Emilio knew that that wasn’t entirely true. 

He didn’t want Zane to know because grief was so much easier when it was some invisible thing. It was so much simpler to hurt in private, where no one could see it. When that curtain was yanked away, you couldn’t close it back. No one would ever look at you the same again.

But, of course, this vampire cared nothing about that. He wanted Emilio to hurt physically, but he likely had no qualms in adding emotional turmoil to that, too. He’d probably enjoy it all the more if that were the case. So Zane wasn’t leaving, and the vampire wasn’t shutting up, and Emilio wanted so badly for this to be over no matter how it ended. 

Zane ordered the vampire to leave, and Emilio let out a laugh that turned into a strangled grunt of pain as the pressure on his misaligned shoulder increased. The vampire insisted that Emilio deserved whatever it was he was planning to do, and Emilio couldn’t really argue with that. Whatever the vampire had in mind with him, he probably deserved far worse. But Zane argued with this monster just as adamantly as he had with Emilio when he’d been the monster insisting that vengeance and justice went hand-in-hand. At least the guy was consistent. 

“He’s not going to like that,” Emilio said in a stage-whisper just a fraction of a second before Zane spoke up and confirmed the theory. In spite of everything, though, he was still surprised when Zane leaped into action instead of running away as the vampire came towards him. Granted, the action was a fairly pathetic attempt at a fight, but it was still action. Good on the kid for sticking to his guns, at least.

With the vampire distracted with a new fight, Emilio rolled himself over. He bit back a groan as the motion jostled his shoulder, trying to keep attention off himself as he shuffled towards the stake. His leg was locked up; he didn’t even know if it was from the fight, or if the limb was just protesting a little louder than usual. With one arm hanging uselessly from his damaged shoulder, this would be a hard sell. Luckily, he was pretty used to those. 

“Oye, pendejo!” Emilio was on his feet now, standing unevenly but standing. The vampire’s eyes darted from where they were locked onto Zane to focus back on the slayer instead. “I thought it was me you were fighting. Ay, let him up, Rosario. I was starting to have fun.” The longer the vampire was in a position where it could talk, the more risk that it would say something. And that was the last thing Emilio wanted here.

—

This was stupid. Too stupid for that description to fit it. Zane couldn’t explain properly why he was still here, taking a fairly heavy punch to the face for a man who had threatened to kill him on numerous occasions and seemed well on his way in getting rid of the only people in this town Zane could somewhat call family. It was absolute nonsense. Even so, he knew that given the opportunity a hundred times over, he would always end up here. Trying to prevent pain. Hoping that death didn’t have to be a necessity to this new life he found himself a part of. “Don’t make me hurt you,” the vampire was hissing in his face, which seemed hilarious considering Zane could feel how misaligned his nose currently was. 

Not surprisingly, a dislocated shoulder wasn’t stopping Emilio, who was demanding that the attention be turned back to him. Obviously the injured man wouldn’t take this opportunity to, say, run away? Like a normal person? There was nothing normal about this slayer, Zane was gathering, and maybe not all of it was bad but a lot of it was definitely stupid. Strong words coming from the idiot trying to wrestle a much more proficient vampire while just recovering from a broken leg.

“Fun?!” was all Zane managed to shout back before he was easily maneuvered into a less desirable position, the vampire now in control and slamming his body into the ground. A whispered warning of ‘stay down’ was all he got before the vampire moved on to its real target. Panic rose in Zane’s chest as realization settled. There wouldn’t be three people leaving here no matter how badly he wanted that to be the case. Even if he could hold back one of them, the other wouldn’t stop. There was no doubt that Emilio would go through Zane to get to this vampire if need be. Was choosing who to help essentially dooming the other?

“You don’t need to do this.” It was a poor attempt but an attempt nonetheless, his voice jarringly pleading in the suffocating tension around them. Whether he was speaking to the one whose name he knew or not, even Zane wasn’t sure. 

“And you clearly don’t know shit about the Cortez family,” the vampire replied in a low voice, red eyes never once leaving Emilio before it charged. 

—

There was an ache in him that had little to do with the dislocated shoulder and everything to do with the way there was a vampire on the ground who knew him wrestling with one he desperately wanted to make sure didn’t. Zane had been a thorn in his side for months now, but it wasn’t the nurse’s tendency to argue about Emilio’s methods that drove the slayer into fits of rage. He was used to that, didn’t much care about a stranger’s thoughts on his way of dealing with violent supernatural creatures. No, what really made Emilio dislike Zane was the moments of concern. The way he’d tried to coax him into an exam in the hospital, the look on his face when Emilio tripped over that gurney while chasing him, the fact that he’d tackled a vampire trying to kill him just to stop it succeeding, that was what made Emilio never want to see the asshole again. 

Zane was one of the last people he’d like to learn about his past. Already, the damn vampire knew too much about him. Already, the one taking swings at him from the ground had said far too much for Emilio’s liking. Why did so many of these assholes want to talk? Why couldn’t they just be reasonable and try to kill him the way they ought to? He’d take a knife to the gut over a conversation that might be overheard any day of the week.

The vampire who’d attacked him wrestled itself into a more manageable position, leaving Zane in a vulnerable spot. It didn’t kill him; there was something almost interesting about that. Was there some strange morality that stopped this vampire from killing another? Was killing a toddler excusable because that toddler was a hunter, but killing a grown man taboo because he was a vampire? Part of him wanted to toss the question out, wanted to point out how fucking stupid it was to defend the unimaginable while refusing to cross a line far less reprehensible, but doing so would mean confessing to far more than he wanted to say aloud. The fight was better. The violence in the present was so much easier to swallow than the tragedy in the past.

Thundering feet ran towards him, and the relief hit him before the body made impact. It was cold and stifling at the same time, like the moment after someone dumped a bucket of frigid water over your head when you forgot you still knew how to breathe, when your lungs stuttered and struggled and tried to comprehend the fact that the water wasn’t all around them but dripping to the ground. Even as Emilio was knocked off his feet, all he could think about was how much better this was. All he could think about was that relief.

His shoulder hit the ground first as the vampire steered him into the fall, and for a moment, the world went stark white with the pain of the impact. His ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn’t hear the scrambling of the vampire on top of him for a moment, couldn’t see it around the black dots overtaking his vision. Then, the moment passed and the world slammed back into him around the same time the vampire’s fist found his face. Emilio blinked, shaking his head slightly to bring himself back to the moment. He shifted his position, bending his knees and letting his good leg twist into an uncomfortable position until he could deliver a half-kick to the vampire’s ankle, knocking it off balance. He used the momentum to roll them over, putting himself on top now. With one arm still hanging uselessly, the position wasn’t as much an advantage as it normally would have been. He’d use it as best he could, anyway.

Grabbing the vampire by the hair, he slammed its head into the concrete violently. “What did you think would happen here? You attack me alone, you do it when I’m not expecting it like a coward, and you think this is all it takes? You think I am still alive because no one ever thought to catch me with my guard down before? That you’re the first one smart enough to try it?” The vampire twisted beneath him, throwing an elbow into his ribs that Emilio barely felt at all. With the adrenaline pumping now, even the dislocated shoulder felt muted. But then…

“I heard she died screaming.” The words cut through the adrenaline like a knife, left him frozen. “I heard she was terrified. They both were. Someone told me they called out for you when it happened. Shame you weren’t listening.” He couldn’t breathe. He swore his damn heart stopped beating, swore the world stood still. It was probably the exact effect the vampire had been hoping for. Using Emilio’s hesitation to its advantage, it delivered another punch to his face and knocked him off balance. Hands wrapped themselves around his throat, and the not breathing became a much more literal thing. 

The hand of his uninjured arm shot up to claw at the vampire while the injured one flopped painfully against the ground. The vampire lifted him up by his throat and slammed him back again, shifting its position to force his arms down and holding them in place with its knees. “You should be thanking me,” it hissed. “Maybe you’ll see them all again in Hell.” 

—

Violence hadn’t been a part of Zane’s life for years. Even when it had been, it was never to this caliber. Fights in the boys’ home sometimes ended with bloody noses and black eyes, sure, but they had always just been venting out their frustration - sometimes on Zane. Never had they been aiming to kill, though. The anger and brutality was a living thing, joining the three people in the alley and consuming two of them, leaving the third pretty much shell shocked as a head cracked against the pavement. He was reminded of his own close encounter with a slayer, the way he seemed to have enjoyed the fight, how helpless Zane had been. Emilio was taunting, sure, but there wasn’t a smidge of joy to be found in his voice. 

“Don’t-” he started helplessly but the two of them were caught in their own little bubble, the vampire’s words cutting Zane off. They weren’t meant to have an impact on the nurse, only meant to tear at some unseen wounds Emilio clearly had, but Zane’s heart sank nonetheless. Someone had died. Someone had died scared and alone and Emilio hadn’t been there to rescue them. A fact that was being used against him even though, if Zane’s previous hunch about survivor’s guilt was correct, the slayer was probably using this fact against himself every day. 

The air felt thick and it took Zane a moment to realize that wasn’t the reason someone was currently gasping for air. Almost in a trance, he moved closer, just close enough to see Emilio’s bloody face starting to change shades. Whether it was panic or anger or sympathy, Zane found himself making the choice he’d found so incredibly difficult before. 

Numb fingers wrapped around the wooden stake that had once again been knocked out of Emilio’s hands, the light object somehow incredibly heavy. The slayer’s face was turning from red to blue and Zane spared a glance at the vampire who was close to finishing its mission. There was no visible remorse in their eyes, no sense that they were having second thoughts. Zane didn’t have time for second thoughts, either. 

It had been the vampire’s mistake to assume that Zane would stay out of it, and to stop paying attention. The sound was sickening, settling in his eardrums, wood piercing skin and muscle. It was a shock to feel how easily the stake slid into the vampire’s shoulder - Zane had gathered enough information to know that apparently the heart had to be injured to cause the strange process of a vampire turning into dust. He wasn’t going to kill someone, not even to save a life, even though he knew he was practically dooming this vampire to eternal death the moment his fist met the shocked face. And then again and finally a third time until they finally passed out, body limp on the ground and tears burning behind his eyes. 

He didn’t turn back to Emilio, eyes trained on the person he had just beaten unconscious, knuckles aching with a very unfamiliar pain. 

—

Black spots danced along the edge of his vision, threatening to overtake him entirely. Emilio fought back against them, clinging to consciousness like it was a tangible thing. The moment he let it leave him, he knew, it would be over. He’d die in this alley at the hands of a vampire who used his daughter’s death like a weapon, would choke on nothing until his lungs burst and his heart stopped.

But would that really be so bad?

The thought clawed its way into his mind as the vampire’s words echoed through the alley. Dying here, in this shitty alley in this shitty town, would it be the worst thing in the world? Emilio wasn’t a religious man anymore. Maybe he never really had been. He didn’t think he believed in Heaven or Hell anymore, and he recognized that if either were real, he wouldn’t end up in the same place as his daughter. But whatever was waiting for him at the end of this life couldn’t be worse than this, could it? He wasn’t sure there was any fate worse than the one he was living already, wasn’t sure there was any way for things to fall more than they had that day in Mexico. His wife was dead, his daughter was dead, his entire fucking family was dead. What more could be taken from him? What did he have left to lose?

His hands, still trapped painfully beneath the vampire’s knees, stopped moving. His legs stopped scrambling for purchase against the ground. He met the vampire’s eyes briefly before closing his, waiting for the darkness to overtake him entirely. Maybe it’d be better, when it was over. Maybe there was only one way to find peace.

Then, all at once, the pressure against his throat disappeared. That painful weight was gone from his wrists, the body on top of him vanished. He gasped without meaning to, lungs greedily sucking in the oxygen he’d been so ready to do without just seconds before. His mind might have accepted his fate, but his body hadn’t. It had always been that way, he knew; a dead thing pretending to be alive. He’d never been all that different from the things he hunted. 

He heard the sound of knuckles hitting flesh, and his addled mind scrambled for a moment before providing an answer. Zane. He’d forgotten the nurse was in the alley at all, his presence fading when the oxygen deprivation had begun to erase the world from around him bit by bit. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful for the assist or not. His chest ached, his head was pounding, his shoulder felt like it was on fire, his wrists hurt. It was hard to feel grateful for just about anything right now.

After a few moments, the sound of Zane’s fist hitting the vampire’s face stopped, and the alley was still. Emilio’s wheezing gasps were the only thing left. It took the slayer three tries to sit up properly, grunting as he forced himself into an upright position to inspect the scene. Zane was sitting over the vampire, who was now unconscious. He wasn’t looking at him. Emilio couldn’t get his feet underneath him, so he settled for an embarrassing scoot towards the pair. He found his stake in the unconscious vampire’s shoulder and reached out, wrapping his fingers around the wood on the second try. 

“You know,” he said hoarsely, the words painful as they moved past his injured throat, “I’m going to kill it. Right?” There was no question to it. Maybe, if it had only been the physical attack against him, Emilio could have been convinced to come to some kind of compromise. It wasn’t as if he had ever prioritized his own physical well-being, after all. But this vampire had taken it farther than that. The words still echoed in his ears, would stay there until something else managed to accomplish what this vampire had narrowly failed to do tonight. I heard she died screaming. He yanked the stake free from the vampire’s shoulder with some difficulty. 

—

His ears were ringing, the high pitched sound droning but somehow unable to block out the sound of fists meeting flesh and bone. It was inciting a physical reaction, his whole body locking up and wanting to cringe away from the whole scenario. The only refuge Zane could find was that he had in no way enjoyed this exchange, wracked with guilt and disgust and being the cause of harm. Even if it had been to prevent harm befalling someone else. 

Zane didn’t even notice Emilio moving closer until the man spoke up, his voice rough and quiet but still cutting through the vampire’s haze. Blinking a few times, he finally looked down at the man he had, for some reason, decided to save. Maybe if he felt less viscerally tired, Zane would have made at least some attempt to talk this through. As it was right now, he just felt numb and honestly, a small part of him felt this was justified. It was the tiniest little part, barely there but the words the unconscious vampire had spoken came back like a freight train once Zane finally saw Emilio’s face. Not the fact that the face was bloody and bruised but how absolutely broken it looked. 

Instead of answering, Zane simply walked a few steps away, letting the ringing in his ears overtake him again in the pitiful hope it would let him ignore what was happening behind him. It didn’t work and he’d never been too good at denial. When there were only two people left behind in the darkness, he slowly walked back to Emilio, not even noticing how unsteady his gait was. Wordlessly, Zane crouched down next to the slayer, hesitantly reaching for the dislocated shoulder and waiting for permission as to not get himself staked as well. Distractedly wondering just how many shoulders he had now popped into place outside of the hospital. 

—

He was expecting an argument. Maybe he was hoping for one, in some strange way; being forced to defend his position might allow him to think of something else, might make the noise in his head quiet down just a little. There was so much grief there now. So many unwanted images of the scene the vampire had described flashing through his mind’s eye, of Flora terrified and crying out for a father who’d only ever been good at arriving a little too late, of Juliana screaming his name despite the fact that she must have known he wasn’t listening. He wanted the rage back. He wanted Zane to relight the fire in his chest, wanted him to insist that the unconscious form he’d beaten into the concrete still deserved some form of mercy so that the anger could thaw that frozen fear out of his throat. 

But he didn’t get it. Zane turned, he walked away, and Emilio was left with a bloody stake and an aching heart. Wasn’t he always? The anger had never really been anger. It was a masquerade, a child’s shitty cardboard mask that did nothing at all to truly disguise the wearer. He clung to that fury, but it wasn’t who he was. He gripped it with all the strength he had, but it turned to dust like everything else. He wasn’t angry. He only wanted to be.

There was no real satisfaction as he lined the stake up over the unmoving chest, no sense of joy as he drove it home. It was a quiet thing, the wood piercing the skin, but it was still the loudest thing in the alley. Drowning out the vampire’s moral crisis and the slayer’s quiet anguish, making itself known in any way it could. The vampire wasn’t awake to let out any kind of death rattle, so that stake did it for him. It pushed through the skin and between the ribs, pierced the organ underneath. When the body turned to dust around it, the pressure didn’t stop. The stake fell through, hitting against the concrete with a clatter that seemed deafening. Emilio stared at the empty space, those words still echoing. Someone told me they called out for you when it happened. Shame you weren’t listening. 

He didn’t realize Zane was still in the alley until he rejoined him, senses all drowned out by the grief. He didn’t know why the nurse hadn’t left; he didn’t know why Zane had done any of the things he’d done here tonight. Why step in to begin with? Why save Emilio, why let him drive that stake home? Didn’t he know that any attempt to rescue Emilio from any of this was doing little more than prolonging the inevitable? 

Emilio didn’t move as Zane crouched next to him, still staring at the dust that was being swept away in the wind now. A few minutes ago, it had been a man. A few years ago, Emilio had been a father. Funny, the way time changed things. 

Hesitant hands hovered over his dislocated shoulder, the question silent but clear. Emilio tore his gaze away from the concrete to look back to Zane, his eyes searching the vampire’s as if he might find answers to any of his questions there. He didn’t. He wasn’t sure answers existed for the questions he had. After a pause, he nodded painfully, shifting to give the nurse better access to his shoulder. Easier than setting it himself at home, less painful than letting Rhett do it and answering the inevitable questions he might have. Emilio certainly deserved the inconvenience, the pain, but he didn’t want it. And Zane was offering to let him skip it. Might as well do something good for him, for once in his goddamn life. 

—

Whether broken down by the vampire’s words, that seemed to still haunt Emilio despite it being erased from existence, or just simply tired - Zane was allowed to help. Sure, he knew that the stubborn slayer had taken the pain killers at the hospital many weeks ago, allowing the nurse that small gesture of goodwill but this was different. Zane had been fully prepared to be swatted away or cursed out for offering help but the slow nod was yet another surprise in this evening that seemed full of odd things. 

As gently as he could with his shaking hands and aching knuckles, Zane reset the man’s shoulder, wincing sympathetically as it snapped back into place. Or maybe he was wincing at the angry red marks on Emilio’s throat, the way his tired eyes were even more bloodshot now after the lack of oxygen. Realizing that he was lingering in the slayer’s presence, who was docile but still holding a weapon capable of destroying Zane with a single movement, he scooted back to a safer distance. Trying to find words to fill the silence that was dragging on. 

“Whoever they were, I’m sorry.” His words felt unbelievably loud in the silence, having the same effect as if a gun had gone off. Zane wanted to say more, wanted to know more but as much of a stranger as Emilio was, one thing was sure. He probably didn’t want a vampire’s sympathy and he definitely wouldn’t be answering any questions. Then again, the simple act of accepting assistance had surprised Zane. Maybe the slayer had more surprises hidden under the surface. 

Moving slowly, fast movements and noise feeling like a violation of this strange and daunting tranquility that had settled, Zane stood. “I should go,” he said quietly even though the last thing he wanted was to leave this man, broken both physically and mentally, alone. 

—

Zane’s hands on his shoulder were among the most gentle Emilio had ever felt, though it didn’t stop the limb from shooting fiery pain throughout his torso as the nurse rotated it back into place. Despite the pain, Emilio scarcely reacted. There was a faint flinch, a sharp intake of breath as his eyes squeezed shut, but little more. He didn’t turn to look at Zane again; his eyes were still locked on the dust on the ground, the stake resting against the cement. I heard she died screaming. The nausea pulling at his gut had little to do with the ache in his shoulder or the way his lungs still screamed from the lack of oxygen.

The presence of Zane at his side was still a surprise; it seemed to disappear again until he spoke, like Emilio could only focus on him when he was making himself known, somehow. His tone was just as gentle as his touch had been, and Emilio wondered why the vampire thought he deserved that. He wondered why anyone did. He thought of Teddy, gently guiding him off the roof and to their boat when he was cursed, of Nora and the way she always seemed to know what he needed and never hesitated to give it to him, of the food Wynne left outside his door, of the way Arden would sometimes drop a bottle of whiskey by his apartment, of how Zack texted him to make sure he was all right, sometimes. Why did any of them give a shit? Why were they always trying to help? It felt so wrong, somehow. Like something he should feel guilty for. 

Add it to the fucking list, then.

“They were…” His voice was still hoarse, still uncertain. They were important, he wanted to say, because they were. They deserved to be saved, and I didn’t do that. They deserved to live, and they’re gone. They deserve to be remembered, at the very fucking least, and I do everything I can do to forget them. It was funny, almost, the way he still managed to fail them, even years after they were gone. Like it hadn’t been enough for him to let them down while they were alive, like he had to repeat the process every single day. He failed them every morning when he woke up, failed them every night when he went to bed, failed them every moment in between. Failing them was all he did, these days. Maybe it was all he’d ever done. They deserved for him to have the goddamn decency to speak about them now, deserved for him to share their memory with Zane no matter how much it ached. And still, Emilio couldn’t get the words past his aching throat. How many times, he wondered, could a man fail his family? How many times could he fuck up before fucking up was all he did? He was pretty sure he’d passed the threshold years ago now.

He felt Zane stand beside him, nodded his head at his words. “Yeah,” he agreed, “you probably should.” He probably should have left a while ago, when there were still hands wrapped around the slayer’s throat, when options were running out just as much as the oxygen was. It probably would have been a better ending than this. 

—

There was no telling what this turn of events meant for the situation previously shared by the slayer and the vampire, a situation that could only have been described as hostile. Even though everything felt like it had changed, Zane knew that in a couple of days, nothing would be different. Emilio would still be a man on a mission - a mission that was closer to the man’s heart than Zane could have fathomed - and he would still be just another undead nuisance. Believing anything else felt childish, at the very least. 

Shaking hands still hovered, feeling betrayed that they weren’t allowed to comfort, something they were so innately skilled at. Would Zane have offered more comfort if this man hadn’t threatened to burn down the only safety net the vampire had found in this town? Did that make him selfish or just human? He had saved Emilio’s life but even now, it felt like the wrong choice. Letting the slayer die hadn’t felt like the correct choice, either. Just a flip of the coin, then, with Zane feeling like a traitor to everything he stood for either way. His ears perked up when the husk of a man in front of him attempted to speak but the words died. Why would Zane be privy to information of this caliber, anyway? 

His retreating footsteps were slow, as if dragged through mud. Leaving Emilio here was wrong. Zane felt it in every fiber of his being but staying was just delaying the inevitable. He couldn’t help. Not here, not now. Probably not ever. Every possible word of comfort or way of saying goodbye ran through his mind but none of them made it past his lips, which opened and closed pointlessly a few times before Zane finally tore his eyes away and turned. It didn’t make it any easier to walk away, the last few minutes permanently etched into his brain, searing a phantom pain there to go with the aching in his knuckles. 

—

What did he want? It was a question he’d never really known the answer to. He wanted Zane to stay, wanted him to come back to his apartment with him and fill the empty space, wanted to have someone else sit with him inside the isolation chamber he’d built for himself. Paradoxically, he wanted Zane to leave, to pretend he hadn’t seen what he’d seen and heard what he’d heard, to never speak to Emilio again at all. He wanted to be alone. He wanted someone to tell him things were going to be okay. He wanted harsh truths and pretty lies, wanted everything and nothing. Grief was a breathing contradiction, twisting your thoughts and feelings into things that made such little sense. You were someone else, you were the most you you’d ever been. 

You wanted a savior and an executioner at the same time.

Asking Zane to stay felt heavier than letting him go, so Emilio said nothing. It was easier, after all, to stay silent. And didn’t he always take the easy way out? Wasn’t that what this whole crusade had always been about? 

He stayed on the ground as Zane moved away, unsure if he was hoping for the man to go without a word or to realize his mistake and finish what the other vampire had started. There was still a stake laying on the ground, and wouldn’t it be fitting? Wouldn’t it be just what he deserved if Zane buried that wood in a beating heart instead of a still one? But he knew it wouldn’t happen, even before the sound of the retreating footsteps reached his ear. Zane was different than Emilio, after all; he wasn’t a killer.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat in that alley, staring at the ground. Long enough for the sun to stream through the walls surrounding him, long enough for the sounds of conversing passersby to flitter in from the street. The wind blew away the ashes, his leg ached with his position on the ground. By the time he finally stood, he nearly collapsed under his own weight, stumbling a little. He didn’t pick up the stake. The thought of it made him want to let himself fall, made him want to lay on the concrete and not get up. 

But he had shit to do, didn’t he? He’d fallen behind. The vampire’s words still echoed in his ears. I heard she died screaming. His daughter had died terrified, calling out for a father who was only ever good at being too late. Emilio had let himself get a little too comfortable, perhaps, in pretending to be a person. He should have known better. A knife was only ever going to be a knife. And this one still had so much more to do. There were more vampires from that massacre still out there. Whoever had killed Flora was still out there. 

He’d make sure they died screaming, too.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[13uswntimagines]

Our Song (Alyssa Naeher x Reader)

Request: alyssa naehex reader thats set during quarantine w/ “Shy” by Alexander Stewart. I just kind of think it’s cute since she’s an introvert and that it would be fitting

Author’s Note: Speical Thanks To @literaryhedgehog​

Alyssa knew she should just say it, that admitting it out loud would finally put an end to this madness. She ran a soothing hand through your hair when you sniffled loudly into her chest. 

God, she should just tell you how she felt. But, she also didn’t want to overstep. That would make being roommates really awkward. Especially since neither of you were supposed to leave the apartment right now except for essential purchases. And she didn’t want to lose her best friend. That would really suck. 

But she wasn’t afraid to say what no one else would- you had a terrible taste when it came to partners. You chose people who didn’t value you, and you always ended up hurt. 

This time was no different, well, it was slightly different considering you couldn’t leave your shared apartment to cope like you normally would. Alyssa didn’t know if that was better or worse, considering that you had adapted your breakup routine to just be endless cuddles with her and your favorite stuffed animal.  

She had already spent the last hour making comforting noises. You had stopped shedding tears 15 minutes ago, so Alyssa decided it was time to go for some humor. “Hey, so now you and Taylor Swift have something in common!”

“Hmm” You hummed in acknowledgment, your eyes never leaving where Supergirl was playing on screen. 

“Well, she was broken up with over text. You were broken up with over text. I think this is the perfect opportunity to listen to her re-recording of Fearless, and really channel those emotions!”

“No, Joe broke up with her in a 27-second phone call,” You lifted your head up off of her very comfortable chest to raise your eyebrow at the woman. 

Alyssa was a great keeper, and amazing at crosswords, but she always needed your help when it came to Taylor trivia. 

“Then Joe showed more consideration as an 18-year-old child than your 32 year old wanna be soccer star. It doesn’t change the fact that I think listening to Mr Perfectly Fine would be cathartic.” 

“It’s kinda funny that she wrote Forever and Always, Mr. Perfectly fine, Better than Revenge and Holy Ground all about the same guy, they’re all so different from each other,” You mumbled, settling back down on her chest. At least she didn’t say that you had as many breakups as she did. That was a rude joke. (One Alyssa wouldn’t dare make. She was more cultured than the media asshats that chased your team around). 

“Woman’s efficient,” Alyssa shrugged. “No reason why you can't recycle the same emotion into a different song genre.” 

“At least she could make millions off her pain. All I seem to be able to do is kick the ball harder,” You grumbled. Your landlord complained about you practicing in the street because of how hard you sent the ball careening into his precious brick wall. It wasn’t your fault Alyssa was too slow to stop the PK. 

“Darling, considering you’re one of the strongest kickers on the east coast, I’d say that pain is going to a worthwhile cause. But you do kind of have the worst taste in relationships.” 

“Hey! Savannah wasn’t a bad choice, just bad timing,” You huffed indignantly. 

“So that would be one out of…. How many bad relationships?” 

“At least one for every Taylor Swift album,” 

“Okay, here’s a fun idea, choose an ex for each album,” Alyssa said brightly. Thinking about music would definitely cheer you up. “Wannabe soccer star is obviously your Joe, so represents the Fearless album. Which relationship is your… Drew?”

“You already know the answer to that question,” you said, already picking up your phone to add Teardrops on my Guitar to the music queue. You then quickly added Forever and Always and started scrolling through Speak Now for the next song inspiration. 

Alyssa nodded. It was a well-known fact that you had a massive crush on one Hope Solo growing up, and you had been absolutely enamored with her the second you set foot into camp. But Alyssa also knew that Hope was very faithful to a certain veteran. 

The veteran keeper had tried to let you down easy, and Kelley was still one of your best friends, but it had hurt in the moment.

“Kristie was my Haunted,” you said, smiling slightly. Dating her felt like a whirlwind, one that took your breath until you never thought it would end. She made butterflies flutter in your stomach, and you were so desperate to say the right thing, to be the perfect partner, that you always felt like you were walking a tightrope. Floating on air, but desperate to keep your balance. “At least she had the decency to wait until we were in the same city to end it.” 

“Aren’t the two of you friends now?” Alyssa looked down at you, watching as you scrolled through songs from your comfortable place on her chest. 

You nodded with a small smile. “Hmm, we are much better off that way anyway.” 

“I bet you I can guess who your We are Never Ever Getting Back Together person is,” Alyssa trilled, reaching down to take the phone. 

You playfully snatched it away from her. “Who’s to say I wasn’t going to choose I knew you were trouble?” You raised your eyebrow at the woman, who simply smirked in response. 

“I can tell you who that is too if you like,” Alyssa reached for her own phone and took over control of the speakers, adding both songs to the music queue. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. Who?” 

“You definitely knew Sam Kerr was trouble, and I think it took you 4 breakups with Leah to finally call it quits,” 

“I was going to say Leah for 1989, it took me forever to realize how fucked up our relationship was after we finally broke up,” 

“I’m sure the distance didn’t help.” With her in London and you in Chicago things just kind of fell apart. 

“Maybe,” you hummed, noncommittally. 

“Okay, so for Reputation. I’m thinking Don’t Blame Me,” 

“You did go a bit crazy for Jane…” Alyssa said with a roll of her eyes. You had almost moved to Houston for that girl, thank god you didn’t. You sunburned like nobody's business. 

“Oh come on. You just didn’t like the idea of me moving. And considering how long we had been dating at that point it did make sense!” You argued. 

“It was 3 months Y/n,” She deadpanned. 

“I was in a wlw relationship. That’s like practically three years, it’s not like I brought a u-haul to our first date.” 

Alyssa quirked an eyebrow up at you. “Didn’t you have one of those the first time we met?” 

“Yeah, because I wasn’t moving into my college apartment without any furniture!”

“Whatever you say, babe. Who's your Folklore?” She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly. 

“I think you skipped an album,” you said. This was weird because Lover was one of Alyssa’s favorite albums. “But, since you asked. I think Kelley is The 1.” 

“Ah, our favorite squirrel,” Alyssa’s lips ticked up. You and Kelley had dated in college (something that should have made her jealous), but Kelley was the one pushing her to admit her feelings now. 

“We were just too young and dumb,” you said, smiling. “We had a great time together, and it would have been fun if it worked out. But at some point we just realized, we were friends, but there wasn’t anything romantic there.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out,” Alyssa said, like a liar. 

“I’m not. Her and Emily are like made for each other,” You snorted with the shake of your head. “And at least she wasn’t afraid of the world knowing we were together,” 

“Well, yeah,” Alyssa smiled. She had loved seeing the way being publicly out with Kelley had brought out the best of you. “ Okay moving on! Next, we need to narrow down your No body, No Crime.” 

“I take offense. Alex is still alive, so that doesn’t count,” You huffed. 

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding. I know you didn’t kill any of your significant others,” Alyssa said, laughing. “Though if you listened to the song you would know that’s my job… ”

“Alex was my Champagne Problems,” You mumbled sadly. That relationship had been the hardest for you, as had the breakup. She was terrified of the world even suspecting she wasn’t straight. 

You had everything, except the freedom to be yourself, and In the end, you couldn’t take the hiding anymore. 

“You did your best, love. But people come out at their own pace. And it was before Obergfell v. Hodges was decided. Being queer was still more likely to be presented as a scandal in the media then.”

“She cheated on me with Serv. She doesn’t get a pass,” You grumbled, crossing your arms. 

“I’m pretty sure you were on a break dear,” Alyssa said, though she was inclined to agree with you. Being on a ‘break’ but not officially breaking up didn’t seem like a reason to start dating other people. Still getting over some of the semantics might theoretically help you move on. “BUT maybe we should move on. Who is your Lover?”

Your eyes squinted thoughtfully, a light pink shading your cheeks. “The only person who hasn’t ever left me is you. You let me leave the Christmas lights up until May and dance around the kitchen when you cook.” 

Alyssa looked away, not able to meet your eyes. ”I mean, the lights can change color, so they can be thematic all year. And you’re the one who chooses the music to listen to while I cook. I can’t help it if they’re all great for dancing.”

“You can dance to anything. I’m pretty sure you turned a Hosier song into a salsa dance last week.” You giggled. 

“The only person I dance with is you, Y/n,” Alyssa said, finally meeting your eyes. She could feel her body start shaking slightly, as the adrenaline kicked in. She was going to do it. She was going to tell you. “I don’t want to dance if I’m not dancing with you.” 

“I’d dance with you in a storm in my best dress,” 

“I have tried so hard to be supportive about your last several relationships. But seeing you dancing to your favorite song with anyone else… I’ve loved you for three years now and I couldn’t bear it.” 

The air was suddenly charged between you, and you realized your faces were just inches apart. It was hard to breathe. You never dreamed your best friend would return your feelings (maybe that’s why you had so many bad relationships). 

“Kiss me,” you breathed, slowly moving around so your heads were at the same level. 

“That’s not a Taylor swift Lyric,” Alyssa said. In her brain, there was a loading sign currently whirring in little circles, as she attempted to process what you just said. Did you mean what she thought you said?

“Baby just say yes,” You said, feeling so happy that tears were coming to your eyes. You leaned forward getting inches from her face, so close you could feel her breath hitch. “Please kiss me.”

“Yes,” was all Alyssa had time to say before she closed the distance and kissed you. 

[demonslayedher]

Why isn’t genya able to use breaths ?

In a word: *｡･✨~A N X I E T Y~✨･｡*

But to treat Breath more broadly, it is a skill that can be taught like any other, like wielding a knife or riding a bike or playing piano or like, doing math.

Although it's theoretically not impossible for most people to learn these skills, some people find themselves naturally inclined or even geniuses in their craft, while others need to apply a whole lot more effort and practice before they can apply, much less understand these skills. Even then, no matter how hard they work at it, a lot of people never get to a point where they can feel confident and claim it as a skill of their own or tool to use as they like.

Breath is an interesting choice of swordsmanship method, given how it is involved in physical and mental practices the world over in everything, so it's hardly unique that in practicing Japanese martial arts and tea ceremony and the like, your sensei will probably harp on the timing and flow of your breath. But you know what's really interesting about breathing? Most people suck at it. That's why everything from sports to singing to meditation has to place so much emphasis on teaching people how to do it right.

Ever notice how much worse people get at breathing when they are anxious or concentrating really hard, even to the unconscious but foolish point of holding their breath? That's part of why practicing breath is so crucial to teach your body to do it automatically, all the time, so that you can do it without thinking while you need to power yourself through and focus on a task.

We can assume that Total Concentration Breathing takes the real life practice and focus necessary for existing breath techniques and ups them to fantastical shounen manga levels. There's a recurring theme of needing a Breath method that suits one's abilities, but even within that we see some nuance, like Mitsuri generally forgetting her Breath in the heat of the moment until something finally clicks for her, or Zenitsu never being able to grasp most of the techniques in his own style, though his physique would had been primed for all of them.

Nonetheless, some people just aren't able to grasp it, like how some people just never pick up good breathing technique in real life, regardless of how much effort they put in. It just doesn't click for everyone (like math, to draw that relatable Genya-related comparison again).

Genya is prone to freezing up when he's anxious, probably the type to unconsciously hold his breath. It's not to say that he'd never be capable of Breath, but it would be way harder for him than for characters for whom it clicks after they work at it a while (like Tanjiro) or worse, characters who just intuituvely figure it out (Inosuke. Inosuke, stop making fun of poor anxious Genya, that's mean).

But that doesn't mean all is lost on Genya, or real life people for whom these techniques make no sense. There are always other methods, like repetitive mantras (again, a meditation technique used the world over) or, like... guns.

[m-aster-of-spinjitzu]

the hues of an empty sky

Missing memories, or having two of them for one moment - not quite the same, but if there's one thing Jay's leant over the last few weeks, it's that literally nothing makes sense anymore.

Or, some Skybound aftermath, Zane actually expressing emotions about his memory switch being turned off for all those years, and what was supposed to be a 'they tell everyone about the erased timeline' fic, but it turned into a 'two characters who barely interact on screen talk at like one am in the morning, and don't actually tell the other what exactly they're alluding to the whole time' fic that I wrote at like one am- 

Also yeah, I realized too late that they split up to look for Wu after s7, we’re just gonna pretend that they waited a few days or something, idk anymore tbh, lol.

(I also didn't have time to edit - so please tell me where the typos are? 😂💛)

Word count: 4539

Prompt: crying, from @ninjago-bingo 's warm board.

Trigger warnings: the main character has a panic attack, and squeezes their fingernails into their hands once or twice but I think that's it.

*facepalms* also, guys, i’m so stupid - i literally just realized that this freaking CHANGES TENSE HALFWAY OHMYGOSH I-  i don’t think it’s super noticeable, but ugh, apologies to anyone who actually thought my writing was good lol-

---

It's cold.

Bitterly, freezing cold.

The biting chill of the air is a bit strange for this time of year, but, heck, that's nowhere near the craziest thing that's ever happened to him - not by a long shot.

He sighs, squinting at the stars dotted liberally against the black canvas of the sky.

Cole had once joked that one of them might be the remains of their golden weapons, after they'd hurled the burning mass into the sky - in another alternate timeline; one that only existed in the memories of a certain few.

Gosh - that seemed like such a long time ago.

Wouldn't it be nice to go back to that time, when he'd still thought that their powers were the coolest thing ever - instead of despising them for all the responsibility and sacrifice that came with them? When one of his biggest worries was whether the girl he had a crush on liked him back - not wondering if his friends would survive the night?

"I did not expect to find you awake at this hour, Jay."

Reflexivity, he jumps back, his mind twisting his friend's gentle voice into the- the djin's triumphant, accented one.

You're supposed to be a ninja. What good are you if your friends can still sneak up on you?

"Geez, warn a guy before you sneak up on him! I almost fell off the Bounty!"

"My apologies. I was... surprised to find you awake at this hour," Zane answers. "What are you doing?" "Couldn't sleep. It's too cold," he confesses, not entirely a lie. Ninjago wasn't 'that' far from the Sea of Sand, but he'd grown up in a much warmer area - unfortunately resulting in his practically nonexistent tolerance to the cold. That never failed to stop Kai from teasing him about it, though. He doesn't mention the pressing weight on his chest, almost tangible - or how it constantly makes him feel. Like he's being dragged through the darkness of an empty sky, spikes of fear making everything so freaking terrifying- "You?"

"I have been analyzing my memories of Pixal, in the hope that it may lead me to her whereabouts. However, all my efforts have proved... unsuccessful," Zane answers wearily, shifting his gaze to the sky.

Oh- oh. They'd all be so caught up in the chaos of the last few weeks - hey, it's not like any of them had asked the universe to permanently be out to get them! - that they'd forgotten Pixal was still offline.

"Hey, I'm sure that she's still there somewhere," he says, earnestly. "After all - she wouldn't be your girlfriend if she didn't pull a vanishing act every now and again, eh?"

The question is punctuated with a laugh, but he doesn't say that he's a little worried about her too. They hadn't talked much, but-

I can't see one of my best friends find out that his girlfriend is dead, a quiet voice at the back of his mind points out. Well - been there, done that, wouldn't recommend, he thinks bitterly. Emotional breakdowns and frequent nightmares apply. Anxiety attacks are half off, too!

It's quiet for a few minutes, neither of them seeing a need to break the silence. The wind blows softly through the sails above them; gray wisps of cloud revealing a pale sliver of moonlight that paints the sky in its glow.

It should be a peaceful night: beautiful, calm, no one trying to kill them or destroy their city - for a change.

His hands won't stop shaking.

It should be a peaceful night, but, as usual, the world is too freaking unfair for that-

He hasn't even slept for a full night in weeks! Well, not since- since-

Don't think about it! That's only going to make it worse, duh-

"Are you alright, Jay?"

"Yeah- I- I'm good, thanks," he says quickly, ignoring the way his breathing keeps speeding up. FSM, not this-

Not for the first time, the world suddenly becomes too loud - too much. Every little thing, from trying to breathe properly or even walk- feels insurmountable, because, gosh, oh gosh, it's going to come crashing down if he even moves-

The memory starts off the same as it always does.

Rubble strewn over the temple grounds, his friends literally reduced to nothing more than statues. A shot that hit the mark perfectly, but perfectly shattered his world in the process.

A poison-splattered dress, a terrifying realization.

Her well-aimed joke, but one that never fails to sting every time. Gosh, why hadn't they just allowed her to join their team in the first place? Maybe they could've prevented this- this- whole situation, if they hadn't been so freaking egotistical-

And, again, he's overwhelmed by the sheer sense of helplessness, all his power and training and skills completely useless to one of the people he cared most about. FSM, if only I hadn't used my first w-request so carelessly! If only I'd been able to escape- or, or if only I'd been able to assemble the team faster! If only-

Despite being in what must've been unimaginable pain, she offers a strained smile - a sweet gesture that, ironically, feels like she's poisoning him, because- because FSM, this is all so wrong, it wasn't supposed to end like this-

He watches with horror as her eyes dull and she stills in his arms.

She's gone, FSM, she's gone and it's all my fault-

"Jay?" a voice asks, concern evident in their tone. Distantly, he registers that he's having a breakdown in front of one of his best friends - one of the things he'd been trying really hard to avoid.

Dang it.

"I-" he tries to say, but, great, he's breathing too fast to even get the stupid words out.

"Breathe in for four seconds," Zane says, softly.

Four seconds? Time has no meaning right now, narrowed down to, like - falling down a chasm, terrified of what's at the bottom, except the fear's all around, this- this... foreboding thing of his mind that keeps yelling that he needs to run, or fight, but he can't, can't-

Right. Four seconds.

You're okay, you're fine, no one's trying to hurt you or your friends. She's not dead.

But what if- what if they're being dragged out of this ship right now? What if it was all a dream, and she's dead anyway, because all of us were too stupid to come up with another plan, and none of us could even do anything when she-

After a little while, when he could breathe a little easier, and the fear didn't feel like it was slamming into him from every possible direction, he slowly opened his eyes. Shakily, he wiped a tear from his face - as if that would wipe away all the weeks that had, theoretically, never even freaking happened.

The sky comes back into focus - pinpricks of light against pitch black. 

How was he going to come up with some sorta explanation without... well, explaining everything?

Great.

My nerves are frayed, and I have to lie to a walking lie detector - what could possibly go wrong?

"Are you alright?" Zane asks, his brows creased in concern.

"Heh heh, yeah. Probably just too many video games," he replies quickly, laughter a bit strained.

"You were muttering to yourself," his friend replies quietly. Ugh, trust the way-too-observant-nindroid to call him out on the remains of his facade. "If you do not mind me asking, what was 'all your fault'? I am sure that it was probably a misunderstanding."

You're the one who misunderstands everything, he thinks wearily, ignoring the part of him that yearns to tell someone else about... well, everything that's happened because of that stupid teapot. He's not one to keep secrets by nature, and it's been taking a bigger toll of him than he'd thought it would. Is this how Nya felt when she was still the Samurai? "It's- it's nothing, probably just nonsense."

"Are you sure? You seem... quite worried about something."

Dang it, were his hands still shaking? He presses his fingernails into his palms, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

He's talking to one of his best friends, FSM. Weren't friends able to tell each other anything?

"Do you think it's easier to forget? Better?"

He didn't even realize he'd asked a question until Zane's eyes widened in surprise.

A forest coated in snow, ice crystals dangling from the tree branches above their heads. Plenty of screaming - way too much, he reflects, couldn't they have been a bit nicer? It must've been pretty jarring to learn that you weren't human, or that your father had erased years of your life from your mind - in that weird underground treehouse. Those crazy tree monsters - and the realization that they all had much more power than they'd thought.

"N- nevermind," he stutters, fleetingly thinking of kicking the deck. "That's way too personal, you don't have to answer it-"

"I do not mind," Zane says, a bit sadly.

Oh.

Heck, his friend was way too nice.

They gaze up at the stars for a few minutes, not really seeing them - one drowning under the weight of too many secrets, the other, too many memories.

It's quiet - too quiet.

Ugh, he thinks, sighing, that sounds like something a low-budget horror movie would start with, cringey sound effects to match.

But the silence is a painful reminder of the days he'd spent tossing and turning in a cramped cell - nothing but his worries and the bruises on his leg from that stupid ball and chain keeping him awake.

He's been trying hard - maybe too hard - to avoid being alone, avoid being in a situation where they've gotta be quiet ever since then, because, dang it, his memories always seem to fill the silence, and they're always far more terrifying than they should be-

It's easier, in a way, to be mocked for his stupid jokes than it is to relive a single moment from those nightmarish few weeks.

Almost reflexively, he grasps for something to fill the quiet.

"Heh, this is a bit awkward. It's okay if you wanna leave-"

"I do not mind," Zane echoes, walking a bit closer. "It is not as if I need to sleep. But... I do not quite know what to think of your question."

There comes the answer - or a semblance of one at least, and it's the last thing he'd been expecting.

"You don't know?" he blurts out before he can even think of trying to filter the thought. Way to treat your friend who's been nothing but kind to you, Jay. "But you're- you're a nindroid! You know everything-"

"Pixal," his friend mutters softly, sighing, and the hurt, the fear, laced through the word makes something in his heart practically twist. He knows all too well what it feels like to be in that situation - even if, technically, it had never happened.

Then- "I wish that were true. But I suppose that my emotions make certain situations much more complicated than... than they need to be. Thus I cannot give my perspective on this - or, at least, without sounding quite conflicted."

"You know that you're allowed to be conflicted, right? Even the coolest Nindroids don't know everything."

"...Yes, I suppose so."

Jay frowns at the almost subconscious hesitation, eyebrows creasing in concern.

"Seriously," he starts earnestly. They're both leaning on one of the railings just above the deck now. "Just 'cause you're a nindroid doesn't mean that you've gotta chase some kind of perfection that doesn't even exist."

He doesn't miss how Zane's eyes widen in shock, their bright blue hue glowing a little brighter - and heck, if that doesn't hurt even more than the earlier realization.

"Besides - it's not like none of us haven't made mistakes before. Hate to go all Wu on ya, but they help us learn or some stupid thing like that. Even if the mistake is trying not to make 'em, you know?"

"Thank you," Zane replies, a tired smile on his face. "Even the most advanced tech is susceptible to error, I suppose."

They've all made lots of mistakes, heaven forbid if one of them is still agonizing over messing up over the crazy situations the universe constantly put them in. It's not like they were told they'd have to face more ancient evil armies than they could count, were they?

Maybe it's time to stop focusing on events that never even happened, and pay more attention to your friends. What's the point of being part of this team if you're always scared or selfish?

"Shut up," he mumbles, rubbing his temples. What's the point of fighting if your own brain is gonna fight you whenever it gets a chance? A few seconds later, he schools his face back into his default anxious grin. "Great, cause I- I- could use your advice on something." "Alright," comes the quiet reply, his friend seemingly lost in thought.

"What if you wanted to tell someone something, but you couldn't?"

His breathing starts to speed up again, but he grips the deck until his fingers are practically bruised, stark white against his tanned skin. Not this time-

"Is this what you were referring to earlier? An event that you blamed yourself for?" Zane asks, eyes flitting between the floor and the sky.

Dang it, way too observant as usual. He masks his surprise with a laugh, but the conversation definitely isn't going as planned and, oh gosh oh gosh, what if-

No, there's no way that any of them would even believe that. Besides - no one can remember stuff that they've forgotten, especially if magic's at play.

"Yeah, kinda," and he's surprised by how steady his voice sounds. It's not easy to even think about that- event, talking about it is a whole different thing. A much more difficult thing, but also - a bit, a little bit, easier. "I-" "Apologies for interrupting," his friend interjects. "I suppose that I have not been entirely honest with you." What?

"A few days ago, I discovered a number of deleted memory files buried deep within my code."

Just like that, his whole world tilts out from underneath him.

It takes every ounce of his strength to keep himself from falling into the abyss again.

Wait, what?

Has he really known for all this time? It's been weeks! Surely he would've said something? It can't be, it never even-

The rational part of his mind points out that he can remember every day of those few weeks. Well, he was the one to make the wish - magical logic is kinda stupid, but maybe that's why he had to remember it or something?

Well then, a small voice interjects, why was Nya cursed to remember everything too?

Of course, even the stupid magical logic doesn't even make sense to the one who caused this whole mess in the first place.

"They were almost entirely corrupted - scrambled in a way that I am not familiar with. However, I did realize that certain files bore dates that have not even occurred yet. I dismissed it as a problem with my code, however..."

Breathe, calm down, it's not like he was able to process them or anything-

We agreed that no one was supposed to know! What if they end up blaming us for keeping it a secret this long, or, or-

"I mean, they could've been-" he starts, but the way in which he's nervously twisting his fingers is a pretty clear indication that he's lying, dang it.

"So when you mentioned that you were unable to tell someone something - did you mean that it was because they had quite literally forgotten about it?"

Great. Fantastic. Of course the literal robot has pieced it together by now-

He squeezes his eyes shut for a minute, hoping that if he ignores the problem, maybe it'll go away.

Okay, fine, maybe he's trying to figure out a way to fix this whole mess. Doesn't mean that he's any closer to coming up with a solution, though.

"Er, yeah," he whispers, shoulders slumped, eyes still firmly shut. Because gosh, he doesn't want to - can't, can't - see the realization dawn that, yeah, he's lied to people he's known for years and years, even though they've all seen way too many times that secrets bring nothing but trouble-

"Well, then - I would say that you don't have to tell them," Zane replies, surprisingly... earnestly? That, or he's either too freaked out to understand the tone properly. Could be either.

He opens his eyes, hesitantly.

And it comes as a bit of a shock to find nothing but concern reflected in his friend's.

The almost persistent weight on his chest feels a little lighter now, like the sky isn't as quite so empty.

Well, it still kinda is. But that doesn't hold as much weight as he'd thought it did - not if one of his friends is willing to look past that; past the heaviness of holding up all those memories with nothing his single star, flickering in and out of the darkness, to try and light the unforgiving darkness of the sky.

"Why?" Jay asks, so quietly he can barely hear it himself. "Don't I owe it to them? Do you?"

"No. Definitely not," comes the reply, so full of conviction that he almost stumbles back. Why-

"My father..."

Oh- oh.

"thought it was better to spare me the pain of mourning him than for me to know who I was," Zane confesses, hesitantly. "Not that I disagree, necessarily. I just..."

He trails off, clutching the railing so hard that the wood almost snaps beneath his titanium fingers.

It takes Jay a little while to realize why - why exactly his friend, who has access to a wealth of knowledge and information, is grasping for an answer. Because- because, well, even if someone does something in your best interests - sometimes the choice isn't always up to them. Or maybe it is, but it was... difficult, to say the least, to let go of the fact that his parents had never told him the truth sooner. Not that he blames them, necessarily - it's not like they knew that his father would pass on before he'd even get the chance to meet him - but... it's confusing, and difficult, not to know why you were left at a junkyard as soon as you were born. Maybe if he'd known that sooner, he could've asked the one person who might've had answers - although it's not like hoping for the past to change will actually change it.

They don't even know that you know, a small voice at the back of his mind points out, and suddenly everything makes a lot more sense-

"You wanted a choice," he breathes, eyes widening. A choice - like one that he'd never been given, one that he stills struggles not to hold against two people who've always had his best interests at heart. Even if they did have the right to withhold that one thing, after all they've done for him - the 'what if's' still echo in his mind far more often than he'd like. "There's nothing wrong with that, even if it feels that way. I kinda get where you're coming from, dude, and it's... super confusing, but I'd be pretty mad if my memories were tampered with like that."

So would anyone, he realizes, heart sinking. Oh, great. Not helping-

"I- I suppose so?" Zane answers, but it sounds more like a question than a reply. "However, in the same vein, it would be unwise for you to give away your choice whilst you still have one." "But don't I owe it to everyone? You just said it, it's horrible to alter people's memories and I- I-" "Did we forget... whatever it was for a good reason? "I- I mean, I guess, but..." "Then you do not owe it to us to relive something that we do not even remember." The words should be a relief - and they kinda are. But some part of him really does want to explain the crazy alternate timeline, and everything that happened in it. It's just... really, really freaking difficult.

"What if- what if I wanted to, though?" Jay asks hysterically, running his hands through his hair in a frenzied sort of way. "And I still couldn't? I just, I-"

He cuts himself off with a bout of forced laughter.

Zane takes a moment to reply, the bright blue light in his eyes flickering - a small tell that he was thinking so deeply, his processors were literally sparking up a bit.

"You queried earlier if it was easier, or better, to forget. And while all situations are different, I suppose it is... well, subjective. What do you think?" Zane asks, softly.

Derailing the conversation a bit, but his friend's obviously smart enough to be leading up to something.

Sure, he'll go along with it.

"I mean, there are some things I'd rather forget, you know? I guess we all know what that feels like," Jay replies, the statement with oddly sad air to it. They're still kids, after all, and it gets a bit exhausting pretending that their superhero lives were all fun and games - when they'd just given him enough grey hair to last then lifetimes, and enough nightmares to keep him from ever getting the normal amount of sleep his mum always prattled on about.

Sleep, heh heh. Practically a foreign concept, now.

"And I know that stuff that happens, like shapes us or something - and Master Wu would probably go off on a whole ramble about why we learn from our mistakes or whatever," he laughs nervously, resisting the urge to just fall headfirst onto the deck of the stupid ship instead of continuing the conversation," and how 'our scars only make us stronger', crap like that, but I just-"

"I'm just really... tired of this," he confesses warily, shoulders slumped. "W- I remember so many horrible things, and I-" he breaks off, laughing bitterly. His voice takes on a sort of brittle quality, way too high pitched, "and I can't even talk about them, dude. If that's not the most pathetic thing ever, I dunno what is."

"It does not-"

"Don't say it," Jay mutters, rubbing his temples. "I know, I know, my feelings aren't pathetic, they're always valid, whatever, spare me the lecture-"

"That is not what I was going to say," Zane replies gently. "It just seems that you have answered your own question."

"Gee, which one?"

"I do not know how much helpful assistance I can provide in this situation, but it is understandable to wish certain events had never occurred. However, seeing as we cannot change the past, it seems unwise to dwell on said events if you can avoid it."

Jay stiffens, clamping a shaky hand over his mouth. Something seems to press down even harder on his chest, a heavy sort of weight that causes his breathing to speed up again. Don't say it don't say it there's no reason to warn them this time-

"If you would like to tell any of us about something, of course you are welcome to. It does not to be the whole story, after all. Just make sure that it is the decision you choose, not one you choose because of what you think how it will affect others," Zane finishes quietly, ducking his head as if he's embarrassed.

The stars are still white-hot, burning away some million miles above them.

"Thanks," he says, and puts his hand softly on Zane's shoulder. "I mean, I know - that all makes sense, I guess. It's just- I-"

"You want to?"

"Yeah," Jay starts, sighing, "I do. It's just- it's not just my choice. And I'm pretty much dying already right now, so, as fantastic as making it all worse sounds, hard pass."

Oops, maybe he shouldn't have said that last bit. They'd agreed not to tell anyone about it - even this conversation was cutting it way too close. It wasn't impossible for them to put everything together - they were a pretty smart group, after all, even without their resident inventor and engineer - and Jay didn't really know what he'd think if they did. Fearful? Relieved? Angry?

"That does... not sound great? Dying certainly does not seem-"

"It's called sarcasm, Zane."

"Oh- yes. My memory now accesses the fact that people often speak in that manner. It does seem a bit counterproductive, though. Why not just say what you mean?"

"Shut it, you have no clue how integral to my life it is," Jay replies with a halfhearted grin.

A few seconds later, he remembers something his friend had mentioned earlier, and the grin disappears.

"You know that you can talk to us if you're not happy, right?" he asks, earnestly. Sure, it's not like he could always do that, considering, well, a stupid djin and even stupider magic, but it's not like he needs to. It's- well- he'll be okay, probably. Maybe. Kinda.

Zane's eyes blink on and off again, blue fading in and out. "I... I suppose that I was not quite aware of that."

Okay, they've screwed up way too many times, but this... this is pretty bad. Dang it, how long does it take for them to throw self-preservation instincts at their friend before he freaking- picks them up or something?

"However, will it not hurt those who have experienced the same unfortunate events?"

Dude, not the best question to ask someone wondering the exact same thing-

"It's been... uh, nice, kind of, talking to you. So- I don't think so, and I'm pretty sure someone would say so if it did. Besides, don't we talk about our adventures all the time? It'd probably be better if we... uh, well- heh heh, nothing."

"If we talked about the less than positive elements of them? Perhaps, but I still-"

Maybe it's the fact Zane has always tried to be there for him, or maybe he's too sleep deprived to care anymore, but this is a way too familiar situation and-

Well, not ignoring the issue would be a start.

"Sorry to interrupt, but we're family, Zane. We care about each other. And, gosh, that means that we care about you too. Memories are stupid and annoying sometimes, but we have to make good ones too, right? To block out the bad ones a bit, I guess? Kinda, at least."

They both look away from the stars now, grappling for something else to say.

In the end, they leave it be with a hug and a fondly exasperated warning about sleeping, if you happen to need it.

After all, they're family. They don't have to be perfect, or tell each other everything - even if it does take them a long time to realize that, and an even longer time remembering it.

---

The next time Jay startles awake from a nightmare, the sky is still empty - painfully so, like an ache that simmers beneath the surface even when it's not able to be seen.

The hue, though, is a little lighter.

Just a little - the all-encompassing darkness of it is now a navy sort of blue, his star shining a little bit brighter.

It's still not sunrise, not even close - but he'll take it. AN: the ‘sky’ mentioned at the start and end is a stupid metaphor that i somehow ended up liking too much to trash, it’s ‘empty’ because he hasn’t told anyone about the timeline, and Nya’s not included because they never had a chance to tell each other everything significant or even talked about it or processed it on screen. so yeah! if you read this,,, not great thing, can i send you a hug or good vibes or smth? tyy🥺

[soulmate-game]

Part 2: The same prompt, but Siblings this time

Tim paused the video on his computer, the red figure on it in mid-leap off of a building. Be rewound the video, played it, paused again at the same time stamp.

No, his eyes were not deceiving him. The video was not doctored.

So what the hell was going on?

“Hey Timmie, find anything on that Paris situation Bruce asked you to look into?” Dick’s voice made Tim startle, nearly spilling his coffee all over the keyboard and possibly deleting his hard-earned research. Rescuing his lifeblood from certain doom, he hugged his mug to his chest and glared at his older brother for a second. Dick was not in the least bothered, used to this sort of reaction from the younger detective. Dick just grinned, leaning on the back of Tim’s chair and looking up at the images on the large computer screen above them. He whistled lowly, impressed. “You’ve made a lot of progress, nice! Anything you wanna share with me before the debrief tonight?”

Tim clenched and unclenched his jaw, weighing his options. Dick waited patiently, knowing that sometimes Tim needed a minute to sort through his rapid-forming thoughts. Finally Tim sighed, setting down his mug grimly.

“Actually, yes,” he admitted. Tim’s tense tone immediately made Dick stiffen, straightening up. His eyebrows pulled down, and he returned his gaze to the computer.

“Okay, that’s your serious voice. What is it?”

“I… need your confirmation with something,” Tim turned around and looked straight at Dick. And he hesitated again, because certain… past interactions with his eldest brother once again flashed through his head. The entire Bruce-is-alive and being threatened with Arkham interaction, to be specific. But Tim needed to know the truth, it was his fatal flaw he supposed. He couldn’t back away in fear of how Dick might react.

“Ohhhhkay?” Dick just grew more and more concerned the longer that Tim took to actually speak.

“So, just to recap. There are only four people in history who have been able to do a quadruple somersault, right?” Tim asked, knowing full well the answer. Dick, predictably, shifted and grew even more on alert at the inquiry. He knew that couldn’t mean anything good. His jaw clenched, and his hands formed tight fists. But Dick also remembered the Bruce incident with Tim all that time ago, and he didn’t want to repeat his mistakes. So he forced himself to take a deep breath, and shake himself away from jumping to conclusions.

“Yeah,” Dick nodded. “Me, my parents, and my sister,” he confirmed rigidly. Tim nodded, and then rewound the video on the screen again, nodding to show that Dick should focus on it.

“Okay. But watch this,” Tim suggested, starting the video again. Dick watched as the red and black-spotted heroine of Paris, Ladybug, zipped through the air and around buildings with her yo-yo. He watched as she let go, at a height that even a normal person could manage, and executed four perfect somersaults in mid-air before landing nimbly on the ground. Tim paused the video again, his eyes never leaving Dick’s tense face.

“It isn’t doctored,” Tim said, filling the silence and preemptively answering the questions he knew he would get. “I checked. Magic is involved, but Constantine and Zatanna both confirmed it would have no hold over basic physical abilities like flexibility or… gymnastics. Only specifically combat styles used by past Ladybugs can be transferred magically to the next Ladybug, not this.”

“Tim,” Dick’s voice was terrifyingly blank. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing yet,” Tim was quick to hold up his hands in surrender. “I’m still doing research. It’s possible, though extremely unlikely, that she managed to teach herself how to do that. You tell me, Dick, how likely is it?”

Dick swallowed, not wanting to say it but knowing he had to look at the facts. “... At her age? Next to impossible,” he admitted. “She could learn it, theoretically, as young as seven or eight, but only if someone who knew what they were doing taught her since she was about three.”

Tim nodded again. He knew those numbers, he knew where they came from.

“Then— and this is only a theory right now— we have what I think is the more plausible scenario,” Tim swallowed. This was the hard part. “Your sister was kidnapped after your parent’s death, but the body that was found wasn’t actually her’s. It wasn’t in a state to be physically identified, so—“

“I know what state it was in, Tim!” Dick snapped, forcing himself to take a few steps back and just breath. Even now, the image of a tiny body burned beyond recognition was burned into the inside of his eyelids, there to taunt him whenever he blinked or slept and let his mind wander in just the wrong direction. She would be… what, Jason’s age, now? She was seven… only seven, when their parents died and she ran off into the Gotham streets in despair. When she was kidnapped, as is what happens in Gotham.

When Dick was presented with a body he could not say WASN’T her’s a week later.

“The DNA…” Dick tried. “They said…”

“I know,” Tim’s voice was carefully soft. “But the records on your family’s DNA were all kept by the circus back then. The Talons had access to those files. It’s very possible they were tampered with. Switched. It wouldn’t be hard for them to burn your sister’s actual medical files and replace them with forged copies that had someone else’s DNA on them. The data of the girl who actually died.”

Dick closed his eyes, shaking his head. He didn’t want to hope, it would hurt too much if Tim was wrong.

Tim had been right about more unlikely things than this, a voice in the back of his head whispered. And yeah, that was true. But Dick was still too scared to hope.

“Finish your research, Tim,” Dick’s voice was strained with suppressed emotion. He couldn’t even look at the younger vigilante as he left the Cave. “Find out who Ladybug’s civilian persona is, and then we’ll talk.”

Tim could only sigh in relief when Dick was gone. That could have gone much worse.

—*—*—*—*—*

A week later, the entire family was gathered. This was the full debrief on the Paris case, rather than the progress update that they had had to do before. Research took longer than Tim had expected, he had years of data to go through after all. But he had come away with exactly what he had been looking for.

After running through the overall situation and where the fight against HawkMoth was at in the present day, Tim licked his lips and took a deep breath. This was it, the Who-Is-Ladybug part.

“I was able to get security footage of her detransformation, just one lucky shot from ten years ago, when this whole thing began,” he prefaced. “She was thirteen years old, and untrained as far as heroism goes, so it stands to reason she didn’t know yet how to be properly careful about transforming. This is that security picture,” he carefully put the enlarged picture up on the Batcomputer, as well as sliding a physical copy onto the table for everyone to pass around.

Dick didn’t even try to grab it, his eyes glued to the computer, expression unreadable. The picture was a little grainy, but most of the girl’s face could be made out. Pigtails, dark black hair that shimmered blue in direct light, blue eyes.

But it was the next picture that Tim pulled up that pushed everything over the edge.

“These are the official pictures of her that I was able to get from Paris records. This first picture is of her at the same age at the security footage, thirteen. The second picture is her now, age twenty-three,” Tim said, before the side-by-side came up on the screen. Tim’s eyes slid over to Dick, who was frozen in his seat, just staring at the images silently. He wasn’t even breathing.

“Dick?” Bruce asked, immediately noticing the behavior. His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Dick’s next breath came in with a shudder, and he clenched his eyes shut in a futile attempt to stop the tears that came out. He choked out a broken chuckle, shaking his head and giving out a lopsided, watery grin.

“Heh. Another point for Timmy being right,” Dick jokes weakly, rubbing at his eyes.

“What do you mean? Tim?” Bruce turned to the younger of the two insistently. “What’s going on? Who is she?”

“Currently, according to Parisian records, she is Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” Tim told them. ���More specifically, her full name is Marinette Gray Dupain-Cheng. Which I believe is what she chose to change her name to after she was kidnapped sixteen years ago from right outside Haley’s Circus, and illegally transported to France,” Tim clicked another button to bring up a third picture in the side-by-side. It was of someone who was clearly a younger Marinette, but in the very familiar costume of the Flying Graysons, standing right next to a twelve-year old version of Dick. “Because her birth name is Marie Natalia Grayson. Dick’s younger sister, who until now was presumed dead. But I was able to confirm that the medical records back then for Marie were forged, and the information on them could not actually belong to her. The body that was presented as Marie’s… was a red herring to hide that Marie was no longer in America at all.”

Dick’s sob-laugh drew everyone’s attention back to the first Robin, who was now silently, openly, crying. Nobody really knew how to deal with that, and the room descended into awkward silence as Dick tried to regain his composure a little.

“Marinette… Gray,” he whispered, chuckling again and shaking his head as he wiped at his cheeks. “That idiot… her ability with subtlety hasn’t gotten any better, that’s for sure,” he was smiling now, still staring at the pictures of Marinette on the screen. Of his beautiful little sister, all grown up and not buried six feet under like he had thought for far too long.

Because this was different from Hope. This was certainty. The face, the far too on-the-nose name, the somersaults, Dick had even noticed it in the way she swung on her yo-yo. The body memory from years of Trapeze, those little quirks he recognized as belonging to his sister that he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge. But now, all together, he could admit to himself that it was her. It was really her.

Could it be a clone? Maybe. Maybe. But that was why Dick snuck out to France the very next day, informing absolutely nobody.

Because he had a test that only the real Marie would be able to pass.

—*—*—*—*—*

"How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that,” the deep, unfamiliar male voice made Marinette squeak in shock, nearly dropping the phone in her hands. She leaned so far to her right that she almost fell over, but her nearly perfect balance (that only failed her when she was nervous or self conscious) kept her upright.

Her eyes darted down to her phone screen, where an app that Max had helped her create was opened. It utilized at least five hundred little fly-shaped drones that Markov managed and kept track of to scan the city for corrupted butterflies and recognize the level of stress or other negative emotions that civilians were experiencing. It cut down severely on patrol time that the crew had to do, making it easier for them to balance their hero and civilian lives and also allowed for them to arrive at the scene of Akuma attacks twice as fast as before— along with helping with the original purpose of catching evidence to use against Hawkmoth, of course.

Marinette straightened her back, smiling sheepishly and closing out the app. She had just been making a routine check, it had only been open for a minute. How had he managed to sneak up on her in that time? Only chat could do that anymore.

That is, until Marinette turned around the rest of the way and got a good look at the man. Her eyes widened— what was Nightwing, a vigilante from Gotham, doing there?

“I don’t see what plausible deniability has to do with anything,” she replied in easy, unaccented English. She might not speak it often, but she did stay in practice. Even now a lot of her fashion notes and thoughts were in either English or Romani. “It’s just a game app that my friend created,” the practiced lie flew easily past her lips, and she was able to even smile confidently and begin to happily ramble about Max’s (public) achievements like she would in any normal situation. “It is still in the test phase of course, but it uses virtual reality and mapping technology to create a treasure hunt sort of adventure game that people can do as they walk around. Like Pokémon go, but with real-time footage of the city— with people not included besides the game characters of course— and it rewards caution as well as keeping active,” she explained their cover story for the app happily. But Nightwing only smiled easily at her with his arms crossed, clearly not believing a single word.

“Ah— but that probably isn’t interesting,” Marinette purposely stuttered, turning her face into one of (surprisingly genuine) confusion as she looked at the vigilante. “What are you here for anyway, Monsieur? This doesn’t seem like—“

“I have a riddle that a friend of mine told me to ask you,” he interrupted, instantly putting Marinette on guard. She took a step back, eyebrows pulling down at the odd request. But still, she chuckled nervously and shrugged. She had to maintain appearances after all.

“Uh, sure..? Riddles are fun, in the right circumstances I guess.”

Nightwing beamed happily, nearly blinding the poor girl. “Awesome!” His next words came out in fluent Romani though: “If a Hummingbird ever gets lost, what kind of animal will track it down?”

Marinette’s mouth went dry, her shoulders dropping. Her mouth opened and closed, the shock of the question leaving her unable to even pretend she didn’t understand exactly what was said. Nightwing’s gaze grew more intense, yet his smile got impossibly soft.

Marinette swallowed thickly, and she took a deep breath before responding in Romani: “You shouldn’t— only one person—“

“That doesn’t answer the riddle, ma’am.”

Marinette’s confusion turned into a harsh glare. “He would never tell someone else to ask me that. What are you trying to play at, Nightwing?” She hissed harshly, still in her native language.

“Listen, Marinette,” Nightwing held up both hands to try to calm her down. It did the opposite, making her take another step back. “Batman and the rest of our team has been looking into the Hawkmoth security—“ Marinette cursed, clearly seeing where this was going. “— We believe he found out who Ladybug is. But, we also found signs that your real name is—“

“Shut up!” She yelled in English, fists clenched tightly. Luckily she had gone into an alleyway to check her phone, or else they would be attracting attention by then. Her eyes sparked with anger. “You don’t get to use that name. And if you’re so smart,” Marinette tucked her phone into her purse and scaled the wall next to her nimbly, perching on the roof as Nightwing cursed and began to follow her. “Then try to predict my moves, birdy.”

It only took a few minutes and crossed rooftops for Marinette to call on her transformation and pick up speed. She knew by then that Nightwing, and probably the other Bats too, already found her out. Not ideal, but manageable. Now she wanted to show him why he shouldn’t come into her territory and dig into her past and think he could get away with it.

Somewhere during the chase, more Bats appeared one by one. Judging by what Ladybug was able to overhear, they had come as soon as they realized where Nightwing had snuck off to.

That made Marinette pause from where she hid behind a sloped roof, in the middle of a call to her own teammates. Nightwing hadn’t come on his team’s orders?

Why the hell had he come, then?

She shook thought thoughts away, focusing on her plan. Paris was her city, and she would make sure the Bats learned their lesson when it came to sticking their nose in Parisian business.

“Bug?” The soft, concerned call came from her yo-yo and pulled her from her contemplating. Max, in full Pegasus attire, was frowning at her in worry on the small screen. She just shook her head at him.

“I’m fine, Peg. Just don’t like how this feels like Gotham ruining my life again,” she remarked sourly. “But I’m fine. Start plan We’re Not Kids.”

Max nodded, but rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like; “even though we made this plan when we actually were kids…”

A portal opened in the air a few seconds later, releasing Honeybee in all her gold and black glory. The winged hero zipped through the air, immediately putting team Miraculous at an advantage since team Bat didn’t want to actually harm them.

It took a glorious five seconds for Honeybee to paralyze them all before Tortoise dropped out from another portal and surrounded the temporarily paralyzed vigilantes in a dome shield that kept them in just as easily as it kept everything else out.

One by one, Marinette’s teammates dropped out of more portals until Pegasus himself joined them. Ladybug took that as her que to come out, leaping over her hiding place to land in front of her friends, who had formed a half-circle in front of the trapped dome.

“Vixen,” she called to the fox-themed hero, whose ears twitched before she straightened to attention. “Create an illusion to hide us. The last thing we need are any pictures or anyone asking questions.”

“Got it!” Vixen agreed easily, raising her flute to her lips. A short melody later, and their surroundings warped. To those inside the illusion, it seemed as if the world merely ended off of the rooftop they were on, into only blankness. Outside, that very rooftop appeared empty.

It was then that Chat Noir stepped up to take Ladybug’s side, his acidic green eyes scanning over the Gotham vigilantes trapped inside Tortoise’s protective barrier.

“You can release the paralysis, Honeybee,” his order was noticeably softer than Ladybug’s clear commands. It was obvious that he was the deputy in this situation, the flexibility to Ladybug’s iron leadership. That was when the red clad hero crossed her arm, resuming control of the situation wordlessly. The Gotham heroes briefly glowed gold as Honeybee let their paralysis begin to gradually wear off.

“Paris is my city,” Ladybug’s voice was at a normal volume, but came out with such auditory steel that it was clear she expected to be listened to, or she’d know why. “If I needed or wanted your help, I would have asked for it. Now, if you had come here normally to offer aid, then we might be having a different discussion right now,” her eyes narrowed further. “But you dug into my past. You violated my privacy. And Nightwing, you crossed a line,” she would have continued if the blue and black clad hero didn’t use his sudden ability to move to rip off his mask.

Marinette’s voice died in her throat, and for a while she thought she might be hallucinating. Those eyes, that face— she knew them. She knew them, because she saw them whenever she dared close her eyes. Because the dreams she had, the dreams that made her never want to drag herself out of bed because she wanted to believe those dreams were real so badly, always contained those eyes. And that face, though it had been much younger in her memories.

She stumbled, and only Chat’s presence at her side kept her from toppling right over.

“Bugaboo?” He asked frantically, distraught. She just shook her head dazedly, pushing herself back to her feet and away from her partner.

“I’m fine, Chat. Just…,” she assured her partner, but her eyes never left Nightwing. She licked her lips nervously, before continuing; “... Bluebird,” she whispered, making Nightwing’s eyes widen. Her brother’s eyes. “That’s the answer to the riddle, right?”

Slowly, a wide smile split his face before he began to laugh happily, despite Robin slapping Nightwing’s mask back on his face with a furious grumble.

“Ladybug?” Tortoise asked, stepping up to her other side cautiously. Seeing as they were all adults now, none of them had to worry about time or power limits anymore. “Are you..?”

“Release the shield,” she ordered instead of answering, her eyes clearly damp behind her mask. “I need to strangle my idiotic older brother for scaring the hell out of me.”

That made the rest of her team make their various exclamations of shock, but Chat and Tortoise stayed silent. Chat just put a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder in support, while Tortoise zipped his wide gaze back to Nightwing before sighing and releasing his ability.

“Only you, Bug,” the green clad hero groused playfully. “Only you.”

If Marinette Dupain-Cheng suddenly introduced her long-lost brother to her closest friends and family that same night, nobody voiced the coincidence out loud.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 1: Romance

Part 3: Bio!Parent

[votederpycausemufins]

Welp, it’s finally ready. I’ve started writing for the Scattered au by @hermitcraftheadcanons and their community. I didn’t find them until after it was made, so I couldn’t shove my ideas in there and while I’m in the discord, it’s a little overwhelming for me in there.

so next best option is to just write what I want to write. I’ve already got the first two chapters prepped and ideas for after that, but I’ll take suggestions on who people want to see next. (Especially from @helleborusangel​ for they give me so much in the way of rambles and I want to give back to them.)

The name of the story is Hermitcraft Season Beta 1.17, so look out for the masterpost with that title.

Welcome to Season Error

When he first spawned into the world, Xisuma was a bit confused. He couldn’t see anything. Everything should have been set up correctly. There was nothing at spawn and it should be day. Looking up, the admin can’t even see any stars. He went to tap his helmet and check on the world information when he heard an odd noise. It sounded like a sculk.

In researching the new biomes and creatures, he had grown familiar with the sound, and he was sure the hermits would find them before long, hearing it first thing into the world should have been impossible. Still, Xisuma took another step and heard the noise again, this time catching the bioluminescence of the sculk.

The admin was confused even more, before using the light to look at his surroundings, having to take a few steps to keep the creature lit. All around him was stone, specifically deepslate. That meant he had to be close to y-0, which made no sense.

Again, Xisuma reached for some buttons on his helmet, ready to sort things out, but a growl stopped him in his tracks, keeping him frozen in place. A warden. The admin could barely breathe as he strained to look in the pitch black. His helmet was helping ever so slightly, but it was still extremely dark. He carefully stepped away from the sculk, sneaking so as to not alert it. Netherite was barely enough to face this thing and he had nothing. He needed to get as far away from the monster as possible and try to find a way higher into the cave, hopefully not needing to mine.

Xisuma heard another sound from the warden and froze again. It sounded closer this time. His mind raced slightly in panic, starting to get a message ready to send to the other hermits, when he saw some messages in the chat.

ZombieCleo slain by Iron Golem

MumboJumbo slain by Vindicator

FalseSymmetry drowned

ImpulseSV drowned

StressMonster drowned

Docm77 hit the ground too hard

MumboJumbo slain by Vindicator

ImpulseSV slain by Guardian

ImpulseSV slain by Guardian

FalseSymmetry drowned

StressMonster drowned

MumboJumbo slain by Vindicator

GoodtimeswithScar fell out of the world

ImpulseSV drowned while trying to escape Guardian

Though he was still quiet, Xisuma took a step back in shock at the messages. He wasn’t the only one who came through, and he wasn’t the only one in a bad situation. What had- He stepped back and yelled in surprise as his foot was caught. He had forgotten about sculk jaws.

The admin managed to free his foot, but then he was slammed into a wall. He was hanging on at half a heart, not sure how he survived the blow. He tried some of the buttons on his helmet for emergencies, but it just sparked, broken from the impact. Before he could even take another breath, he was killed, respawning behind the warden since he hadn’t gone far in the first place.

Xisuma tried the buttons again, only to find the helmet still broken even after respawning. That didn’t make sense. It should have been- he ducked at the last moment, dodging the fist of the warden. Not having anything else to do, Xisuma ran. He knew there was no way he could outrun the monster, but at the very least, he could lead it away from his spawn.

Another death, and it seemed to have worked. The warden was far enough away that it didn’t notice him. Taking what little time he had, Xisuma pulled up chat to find more death messages, and at the very least, a few advancements from hermits who hadn’t died. He quickly put in a message and sent it, only to get an error. The message had failed to send. At the very least, that explained why none of the hermits were asking questions in chat.

Xisuma’s next option was to use admin commands that weren’t linked to the damaged part of his helmet, but that wasn’t working either. Theoretically, it should, but since the admin was essentially blind, for all he knew, the damage was much worse. At the very least, it was still functioning enough for him to breathe. It also let him access chat, but right now, that seemed less of a blessing than a curse.

And then the warden found and killed him again.

.

.

“Alright! Welcome to your new first season of Hermitcraft!” Grian said happily, gesturing to the land in front of him. Except, there wasn’t much land there. “Wait, I thought we were spawning in the plains.”

The avian hermit looked around. There were no plains in sight. There weren’t even any grass or trees. He was just on the top of a mountain, all alone. Well, he wasn’t completely alone. “Dad? Why are we on a mountain?”

Grian looked down, Grum and Jrum looking up at him. Originally the plan was to leave the two of them behind to look over the old world, but Grian couldn’t take it, so he and Mumbo gave the robots their own reasonably sized bodies. They took a day to go over everything with the bots, well, two because they needed to comfort Grum when he learned the past few months of his life had been a lie. But after that, they were ready to all move to season eight.

“I don’t know. This doesn’t make sense. Let me just-” He cut himself off, pulling out his communicator and seeing the death messages starting to fill up the chat. His eyes focused on the message of Mumbo being killed by a vindicator. That made no sense, but neither did spawning almost alone on top of a mountain. Grian tried to message something in chat, but it didn’t work.

The avian pulled a hand away and breathed into it to warm it up before switching hands to warm the other. He may have been wearing a sweater, but against cold like this, it wasn’t the best. “Okay, it looks like something went wrong. Your daddy seems to be at a woodland mansion, Cleo’s at a village, Impulse in a sea temple. I think Scar’s in the end or something and Xisuma’s dealing with a warden. Doc’s somewhere high, False and Stress are underwater…” A new message came in. “And TFC is fighting the Ender Dragon.”

“Does that mean we’re stuck up here?” Jrum spoke up, sounding concerned.

“Uh, no, of course not.” Grian smiled to reassure the bots. “You two can stand the cold much longer than I can since you’re robots, but I can just g-glide down. I’ll just g-grab some wood and b-be right back.”

The avian put his comm away and rubbed his arms for a bit of warmth before jumping off the edge. He let his wings open up and ignored the sting from moving them. He was just about to the cloud layer, ready to look for trees, when his wings suddenly stiffened up painfully. Grian yelled in pain, glancing back to see ice crystals that had formed on his wings. In fact, they were still forming. They matted his feathers, keeping them from catching the air as well as making him heavier.

Grian looked back down. He just needed to make it to the ground safely. He could last that long, right? Once he was down, he would get everything sorted and help the bots down. Then they would figure things out. It was going to work. It had to work.

And then he was falling.

Grian respawned back on the top of the mountain. Before the bots could say anything, he jumped again. He was so close before, but now that he had respawned, he could make it this time. Because now his wings were- still frozen over. Instead of gliding, Grian immediately dropped like a rock, once again killing himself from the fall.

“Dad? What happened? Are you okay?” Grum asked. Grian didn’t respond, just pulling the bots into a hug. It was a stupid idea, the metal of their bodies sapping what heat he had, but right now, he was too distraught to care. They were stuck, and there was nothing they could do.

Grian tried to ignore the damage he was taking from the cold. At the very least, he would just respawn there again. He knew where everyone was, or at least a number of people, from their death messages. He would just die a few times and people would know where to look. But the bots. The bots would have to watch that. They would have to watch him die over and over until who knows when help would come. But there wasn’t any other choice. He felt as his life slowly drained, recognizing he was on two hearts, then one and a half, then one, then just half. Grian closed his eyes, ready for his death.

His eyes shot open, glowing purple. His health was suddenly fully restored and fire appeared in his palm, warming him and the bots. But just as soon as it happened, it was gone, Grian slowly freezing once more. He couldn’t die, but he couldn’t actually survive. They were stuck, and it was worse than he thought.

.

.

Impulse entered the new world and tried to take a breath, only for water to fill his lungs. In shock, he looked around and saw the familiar sights of a sea temple. He panicked and tried swimming, lungs burning from the salt water filling them. He swam out of the room he spawned in, hoping and praying to find a way out. Spots started filling the edges of his vision, but Impulse just kicked harder. He just needed to find a way out and-

He drowned, respawning in the same place. Part of Impulse was hoping it was a fluke and upon dying, he would respawn at spawn, able to jokingly tell people he found the first sea temple. But he was back underwater, and this time, there was a guardian in the room with him. It killed him once, then a second time. Before it could try a third time, he swam out of the room, cutting its vision off from him. He had less health this time, but he needed to find a way out. There had to be a way out.

His lungs were burning again and the guardian shot at him. It hit him once, leaving him with barely any health, and then drowning finished the job. He respawned in the same place, though the guardian was absent this time. He tried punching at the wall, hoping just maybe he could break through the block before dying again. But it was tougher underwater, not to mention every minute, the elder guardian would lay its curse on him.

So breaking out didn’t work, so he tried swimming again. Trying every path, hoping to find a way out. But the best he could manage was finding one of the elder guardians. After that, he gave up. There was no escape. With nothing left to do, he finally pulled out his communicator and saw others were in a similar situation. There was just death. Even Xisuma was stuck. And if Xisuma couldn’t keep from dying, there was no hope for him.

.

.

“Okay. Real funny guys.” Scar rolled his eyes, having spawned on an end island. “Did we have to start with this?”

There was no one around, so Scar just huffed and walked to the edge of the island. “Alright, let’s just get this over with.” And he jumped into the inky abyss. For just a fraction of a moment, he thought he heard someone yell, but then he respawned and found himself back on the island. “Ohhh no. This is not good at all.”

Scar looked around. There were no islands close enough for him to jump to, and he had nothing to bridge across with or use to get materials for a bridge. Then, to add insult to injury, he could see an end city, sitting in a place he couldn’t reach.

Scar grumbled. Obviously something went wrong, so he would just need to wait for it to be fixed. At the very least, while his island was small, it wasn’t a miniature one, so there was chorus fruit growing there. He pulled off a branch and watched fruit fall from the plant, glad for something to eat. At the very least, it would grow back as long as he didn’t take the full thing. And maybe if he got lucky, it would somehow grow into a bridge.

That being said, if he was really lucky; eating some chorus fruit would take him to another island. He tried to hope for the fruit to be wizard fruit, since that teleported much better than regular chorus fruit. But no, he was just taken to another part of the island, stuck all by himself.

Sighing, he flopped down on the island and looked up into what substituted as a sky there. After a while, he sat up suddenly, thinking he heard someone, but carefully looking around, all he saw were enderman, well, at least he saw their legs.

Scar sighed again and looked back up at the ‘sky’. At the very least he wouldn’t starve. And maybe if he got lucky, he could eventually get over to another island. And since there was an end city nearby, he wasn’t completely hopeless for gear. Sure, some things might have curses, but at this point, something was better than nothing.

Scar suddenly regretted looking up at the sky as an enderman walked into his line of sight. In a panic, Scar ran to hide somewhere, only to not find anywhere to hide, there being no cover in the island. With no gear, it only took a few hits before he was respawning. This time Scar made sure to look at the ground, lying on his front this time. And this time, as he rested there, he could swear there was some whispering from nearby.

.

.

Mumbo didn’t expect to spawn in a pile of wool when entering season eight. He didn’t think he was late to moving to the new season, but he supposed he could be wrong. It was also dark instead of morning, so perhaps he was just late. He got up, surprised to see the wool was shaped in the imitation of a bed, but not actually making a bed. There weren’t any torches around, but there was a window, which showed it was actually day outside.

Confused even more, Mumbo started to walk out of the room. “Hello? Anyone here?” He called out, and then almost immediately got an answer as an axe chopped into him, killing him almost instantly. Mumbo respawned, back on the makeshift bed. The vindicator that just killed him was outside the room, so it didn’t see him immediately, so he still had some time to think. He was in the middle of a woodland mansion, all alone. That made no sense, they would never choose a new world that would spawn them there. And by the window of the room, it didn’t even look like he was on the first floor.

Mumbo paled. He wasn’t even on the first floor. He needed to get through the illagers alive and somehow find the stairs down to the first floor and hope to void he wasn’t on the third floor. He went to pull out his communicator to send a distress message, but then the vindicator wandered in again and killed him.

With the room he was spawning in no longer being safe, Mumbo immediately started running as he respawned. He ran through the halls, trying to remember his way while also not dying. He dodged a zombie and turned a corner, only to freeze as he met eyes with an evoker. It started to cast a spell and he immediately backed up, only to find the vindicator that had been chasing him kill him once more with its axe.

Respawning, he tried another path, but this one was filled with vindicators. One hit him, and he was surprised to still be alive, but then he was trapped between two more and killed. Maybe since he knew about the evoker this time, he could take that first path, so Mumbo went that way instead.

He ran down, dodging the zombie again as well as the vindicator from before and ignoring the evoker. He kept running, getting hit once, but still alive. And then he got further, only to reach a dead end with two zombies standing there. Between the monsters, Mumbo found himself killed by another vindicator, spawning back on the faux bed.

This time, nothing was in the spawning room, so Mumbo pulled out his communicator, only to see messages from other hermits dying. He sent one asking for help, but only got an error. He had no way to contact anyone, and based on the messages, everyone was in similar situations to him. That meant all he could do was run and hope to get out.

Putting his comm away, Mumbo tried again. He tried the second path, turning the corner, dodging a new evoker. His eyes widened in excitement as his eyes landed on the stairs. He quickly raced down them, glad to see the exit right there at the bottom. He would be fine. He could escape. He could- get shot by a skeleton that happened to have a punch bow. It pushed him back into the mansion and into yet another vindicator.

Grumbling, Mumbo tried yet again, only to find the vindicator at the exit. Fine, now he would have to lead them away and try again. So he did. Only to find them on the stairs and killing him again. Another attempt had him out the front door, but the place was surrounded by water. He wasn’t able to swim away fast enough when a vex came from out of nowhere and killed him, leaving him frustrated. So he tried again. And again. And again. He respawned again, only to find an Evoker in his spawning room, and Mumbo gave up to the death loop.

.

.

Etho appeared in the new world with plans for the season already in his mind. His feet touched down in the plains of the large starting island. From here, he could see the even bigger island that they were planning to use as the main district with the first one getting converted to an initial spawn area.

Looking around, he was a little surprised to only see Joe and Beef with him at spawn. His first thought was that maybe there was a delay, but then his communicator buzzed with a message. Joe and Beef didn’t have theirs out, so it couldn’t have been a message from either of them. Etho pulled his device out as the pair did the same. Another message came in at the same time, and Etho was surprised to see some death messages appearing in chat.

He tried to send something, hoping to figure out what was going on, but there was just an error. He tried again, but again, the message didn’t go through. Etho looked back up, hoping that the killed hermits would reappear at spawn, but there was no luck of that. “Guys, I think we’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, I think that’s kinda obvious.” Joe replied. “Question is what we’re gonna do about it.”

Etho looked back at his comm. “Well, we seem to be at spawn at zero zero. It looks like everyone else is scattered though. Since we can at least look at coordinates, others probably can too.”

“So if they’re not dying, they’ll probably come this way, right?” Beef asked, Etho nodding.

“Now for the most part, I don’t like it one bit. But if we’re probably the only safe people right now, we can’t go out looking for everyone.” Joe spoke up. “At least, we can’t right now. I mean, Mumbo’s at a woodland mansion, Impulse is dealing with guardians, and it seems like Scar and TFC are in the end.”

“And Wels just got killed by a hoglin, so he’s in the nether.”

“Right, well, without supplies, we can’t do anything. Since people are probably going to get back to spawn, we need to make sure they’ll be safe.”

Etho nodded at Joe’s statements. “So for now, we’re just going to have to pretend everything is normal and set up for anyone who needs help.”

“I guess we’ll start by getting wood.” Beef spoke up, walking to the nearest tree. Etho and Joe followed him, doing the same. They did the normal starting rigamarole of getting wood, replanting saplings, and getting a shelter in place. Joe went out hunting for sheep, hoping they could at least make beds. If people were stuck in horrid spawns, they likely would want to die and get stuck there after travelling so far.

Etho was the first to go mining, bringing back stone, coal, and even iron. He continued to staircase, trying to gather as much as he could. Every time his inventory looked even a little too full, he would go up and drop off supplies just in case. It was good that he did, because at one point he dug into a cave. A zombie attacked him, shearing off a few hearts. Etho was able to kill it, but then realized something and ran back to the surface.

“Guys, I’ve got some more bad news.”

“What is it?”

“I just ran into a zombie.” Etho said, holding his wound before moving his hand away from covering it. “My health isn’t regenerating.”

“Alright, I guess we’re going to have to be even more careful. You want one of us to mine now?”

Etho hesitated before shaking his head. “No. Even if I die, I should just come right back here.” He tore off some of his shirt and wrapped it around the wound. “We’re not dealing with what everyone else is, so we owe it to them to push through this.”

Before Joe or Beef could say anything more, Etho went back to the mine. He was able to make two more deliveries, but then he ran into a dungeon. He lit the room up and started grabbing things from chests, racing back up to tell the others. He had to be a bit fast, as a skeleton spawned in a corner that wasn’t light enough.

Etho reached the top of the stairs, shouting to get the attention of the other hermits. Then they watched as he was hit in the back and killed. And then were horrified as they didn’t see him respawn.

But Etho respawned, just not where he started, now finding himself in a ravine. While he was left there confused, he suddenly heard Ren’s voice saying his name before it turned into a shout and his voice got quieter as he fell into the ravine. It looked like there was even more going on here than they thought before, and Etho wasn’t sure how to feel about it yet.

[beepbeepbobop]

Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so!  It goes here.  As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future.  Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious.  Maybe one day.)

So!  The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!.  No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are.  Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has.  Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change:  His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death.  This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way?  Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him.  Chane is the opposite:  While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to.   Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world.  Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones.  Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain.  Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body!  There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's.  Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories.  If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function.  Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain.  Which brings me to my next point:  If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept.  One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories.  Imagine the strain that would cause.  And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem!  The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously.  This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time.  Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other.  And yet, they are!  The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?).  The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way.  Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day.  But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD!  ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter).  Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past?  Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death.  (Gretto being his brother.)  Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries.  Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with.  This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically.  I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades.  Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him.  But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child.  Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir.  But...mn.  It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old.  Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect.  There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis.  (He is shy.  Very shy.  Did nothing wrong ever.)  Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes!  The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this.  It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn.  One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet.  There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere.  More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet.  It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse.  And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger?  But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations.  There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance!  Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance.  I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point.  The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically.  (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.)   So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind.  (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.)  This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that.  The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions.  In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to!  Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course.  It only makes sense.  And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change.  It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things).  So of course he snaps as hard as he does.  It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR:  Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma.  Sorry for that.

[riversofmars]

Prompt - - Post Library River coming to live in the Tardis with 13 and finding everything a complete mess or things just not done properly. (bonus if you do something about the waste tanks on deck 7)

Thank you for a brilliant prompt, hope you like it! <3

Word count: 1500

Rating: G

Call For Help

“Ah there you are, hello Swee… what the…“ River stopped mid-sentence as she closed the door behind herself and looked around the TARDIS. The TARDIS gave an unhappy wheeze and whimper and River was utterly dumbfounded.

“Right, okay, I see why you called.“ River gave the TARDIS a reassuring smile as she stepped over a large pile of tools. The console room was a mess, there was stuff everywhere. Tools, equipment, books, sheets of paper, blueprints, charts, messy notes… “Has she gone full on mad scientist now?“ River asked as she picked up some notes. The TARDIS just hummed helplessly. “Where is she?“

“How did you get in here?“ A voice sounded at the far end of the control room and River looked up.

“Oh, hello there.“ She greeted Yaz with a smile. “Door was open.“

“You can’t just walk inside the TARDIS.“ Yaz stated, unsure what to make of this mystery woman.

“Fair enough, she let me in, let’s say it was a call for help… looks like I got here just in time.“ River gestured to the mess all around.

“The TARDIS called you?“ Yaz frowned. She had never seen the woman before but so far, she didn’t appear dangerous.

“So where’s the Doctor hiding away?“ River asked with a kind smile, trying to reassure her. She realised that this was probably the first time Yaz was meeting her. Life as a time traveller was complicated, she couldn’t be sure. “Is she okay? Because this doesn’t inspire confidence… what happened?“

Yaz hesitated for a moment. It was obvious that this woman knew the Doctor and that the concern in her voice was genuine. The TARDIS’s encouraging humming convinced her to answer at last:

“Well, some of our friends decided to stay back on Earth and stopped travelling with us… she didn’t take it too well. I think it reminded her of the people she’d lost before now… But she keeps saying, not all those endings were final and there are some things she could fix, given time… so…“

“She threw herself into all sorts of research trying to undo past mistakes?“ River concluded and the TARDIS wheezed with confirmation too.

“I guess… We were meant to go travelling but she got sidetracked…“ Yaz help up the mop and bucket she was carrying. “Now the only travelling I’m doing is down to Deck 7 to clean up…“

“Waste tanks?“ River asked with a compassionate smile. “She always forgets those are down there…“

“Got emptied during some experiment or other… how do you know that’s what’s on Deck 7?“ Yaz frowned, feeling like she needed more information about her.

“The TARDIS and I go way back.“ River answered with a chuckle.

“So you’re a friend of the Doctor’s?“ Yaz confirmed.

“You could say that.“ River smiled. “Like I said, the TARDIS called for help, so here I am.“

“Are you going to get her out of her funk?“ Yaz asked hopefully. The Doctor had been very hard work the past few weeks.

“I shall certainly try my best.“ River confirmed. “Care to show me where she’s hiding?“

“This way.“ Yaz smiled and gestured for her to follow.

River followed Yaz and even the corridors along the way were messy. Things had been dropped, left for later or simply forgotten about.

“Doctor?“ Yaz called out as she opened the door to what River knew to be one of the many on-board laboratories.

“Not now, Yaz, really critical phase here, if I don’t get this to the right frequency it won’t work against the Vashta Nerada and you and me will be very sad looking skeletons.“ The Doctor retorted working some sort of huge transmitter.

“She keeping going on about this, really incredibly cheerful subject.“ Yaz sighed to River who just shook her head in disbelief at the state she was finding the Doctor in. The lab was even worse than the rest of the TARDIS. Equipment and books were stacked high, left over and forgotten about food and drinks was scattered everywhere. There were about five open packets of custard creams and amongst it all, the Doctor was wearing huge goggles to complete the messy scientist look. It seemed as though she hadn’t left this room in days.

“And once you get past the Vashta Nerada, what are you going to do then?“ River called out but the Doctor didn’t look up, she didn’t even seem to register someone else apart from Yaz being there.

“Well, there are several options, android body, clone, download to my phone for the time being if anything else fails.“ The Doctor replied with a shrug. “Damnit!“ She exclaimed when the transmitter she was working on suddenly started sparking and shut itself down.

“Or you could arrive a bit earlier than planned, before the Vashta Nerade swarm the place and destroy the body. You know Timelords, even ones that don’t have any regenerations left, take forever to die…“ River suggested watching in amusement how the Doctor still hadn’t realised she was there.

“My regenerative energy, theoretically my supply could be limitless…“ Her suggestion seemed to have reached the Doctor as she seemed to be contemplating it. “If she’s not dead yet, I could give some to her and… Yaz, that’s brilliant!“ The Doctor exclaimed as the penny dropped.

“Wasn’t actually me that suggested that…“ Yaz replied and River chuckled:

“You’ll have to forgive her, she’s probably not slept in days.“

“More like weeks…“ Yaz sighed.

“What…“ The Doctor turned towards them and took her goggles of, staring at them in shock.

“Yes, dear, I’m not a figment of your imagination. The TARDIS is rather concerned about you and I can see why…“ River smirked and gave her a little wave. “Love what you’ve done with the place…“ She looked around shaking her head at the mess in front of her.

“River…“ The Doctor spoke softly, not knowing whether to believe her eyes or not.

“Hang on, you’re River? River is who she’s trying to save!“ Yaz’s head whipped around as it occurred to her that she never bothered to ask for her name.

“It would appear so.“ River grinned.

“River, how are you here.“ The Doctor stepped closer and nearly fell over a pile of plates.

“Spoilers.“ River chuckled with a wink. “The TARDIS thought you might need a bit of cheering up and to show you that, yes, you will figure this out.“

“You just told me how to save you!“ The Doctor exclaimed as she skipped over the last obstacle and flung herself at River. River laughed and hugged her tightly.

“Did I?“ She feigned innocent. “I’m pretty sure you just figured that out for yourself. Secret to a successful marriage, Yaz. You put ideas in your spouse’s head and make them think they were their ideas all along, works every time.“ She winked at the young girl next to her as she let go of her wife.

“You’re… married?“ Yaz asked in surprise. The Doctor hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with information about the mystery woman she was so keen to save.

“Not even death can do us apart.“ River smiled and the Doctor tried her best to cover up the effect River’s sudden appearance was having on her. With a little sniff, she quickly wiped her face, trying to compose herself.

“You let your wife die, Doctor?“ Yaz crossed her arms in front of her chest and frowned at the Doctor accusingly.

“I didn’t know she was my wife at the time…“ The Doctor replied averting her eyes in embarrassment. “And I’m trying to fix it, okay?“

“Yes and maybe you should also try tidying up around yourself every now and again, hm?“ River suggested playfully. “Eventually the TARDIS will kick you out… Like the last time you exploded inside her, she tipped you out.“

“She told you about that?“ The Doctor exclaimed.

“She tells me everything.“ River shrugged.

“Who’s side are you on?“ The Doctor called into the laboratory.

The TARDIS gave a wheeze and a hum that made River grin and the Doctor groan. Yaz laughed, the answer was pretty obvious without her being able to understand her like the other two seemed to.

“Get tidying, Doctor.“ River chuckled and hooked her arm around Yaz’s. “Let’s have afternoon tea, Yaz, get to know each other. You come join us when you’re done, Doctor!“ She waved goodbye to her wife and set off down the corridor towards the kitchen with Yaz.

“Do I not even get a kiss?“ The Doctor called after them.

“Not until you’ve tidied up your mess.“ River called back and Yaz laughed. She was sure that having the Doctor’s wife around would prove to be fun.

[uglymanchronicles]

Ugly Man Chronicles Reignition Book 2 Chapter 2: My Breakfast With Evan

Just a couple dudes getting to know each other.

“If you must know,” Evan sighed, spearing a glistening sausage on the end of a flimsy plastic fork, “my jackass older sister thought it would be hilarious to give me a cupcake she'd baked with about a dozen powdered viagra for my fifteenth birthday. I wound up passing out eventually. Burst a lot of blood vessels. Damaged the erectile tissue beyond usefulness.”

Titus froze mid-coffee-sip. “Seriously? What a bitch!”

“Buddy, you don't know the half of it.”

“So... no signs of life down there?”

“Nothing for twelve years.”

“I think I would literally kill myself.”

“It's not so bad, I guess. At least I don't have to drain the blood out of it any more.”

“Eugh! Fuck! Did not need to hear that!”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't ask questions you don't want the answer to.”

“Do you get, like, blue balls all the time, then?”

“That's basically my ground state of being.”

Titus whistled flatly, avoiding looking Evan in the eye. He settled for staring at the table. There wasn't a lot of Evan's face that he felt comfortable looking at; every part seemed to at least be adjacent to some unpleasantry or another. About the only safe area was his right eye, which, as luck would have it, was directly opposite Titus's 'good' eye. Titus rallied and met Evan's gaze again. “Alright, your turn.”

They'd agreed on a sort of mutual interview process, taking turns asking questions to suss out what the other was capable or if he was worth having around. Evan took a bite out of the sausage and chewed thoughtfully for a moment.

“Who's Moreno?”

Titus hissed through his teeth. “A real piece of shit.”

“I'm going to need more than that.”

“I'm getting to it. He's basically, like... a freelance henchman? Like, sort of a mercenary criminal. Sells his services to the highest bidder.”

“And why's he matter?”

“That's another question.”

“No, it is not,” Evan said, quiet and serious. “Do not argue with me in bad faith, Titus. I have very little patience for it in the best of times.”

Titus regarded him for a long moment. The man across from him was wider than the table they sat at. His muscles were so pronounced in some points that Titus could tell when he was about to move by the way they bulged and contracted. Yet he gave the impression that he was constantly trying to pull himself inward, to make himself smaller. He spoke quietly and with a simple formality, but only hours before Titus had watched him single-handedly beat down some of the nastiest people he'd met in the past month.

Hmm.

“Fine. Moreno matters because I'm after the guy he's working for. You see, Moreno isn't just a normal scumbag. He works for people who need nasty things done. Not like regular nasty, either. How much do you actually know about magic?”

“I've got some... notes. So far I'm not able to find a lot of coherent rules. It mostly seems like it relies on things that nobody would normally do.”

Titus snapped his fingers and pointed at Evan. “Hit it right on the head. Rituals, reagents, that kind of thing... the reason—well, one of the reasons—magic doesn't just happen all the time by accident is that it's all weird little things. A lot of the more heavy magic relies on some pretty elaborate and obtuse shit to get it going.”

Evan momentarily thought back to the Book of Fate and his ritual in the woods. “So Moreno does these things for people?”

“Yeah. Thing is, though...” Titus stopped raising a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth and set it down again, as if he'd momentarily lost his appetite. “The people who use his services generally practice some pretty vile magic. Real depraved shit. And to empower depraved magic, you need depraved rituals. Moreno is the guy you go to when...”

“I think I get it,” Evan interjected, since Titus seemed to be struggling with deciding whether to continue. “Your turn.”

Titus tapped his fingers on the table for a moment, then looked Evan in the eye. “How smart are you?”

The scars on Evan's face squirmed around as he actually smirked. “What kind of question is that?”

“Hey, we agreed no 'whys'.”

“Alright, alright. Well, there's really no objective metric for it, but... I have Master's degrees in computer science and theoretical physics, Bachelor's in those in addition to mathematics and electrical engineering, and associate's degrees and certificates in everything from EMT training to ballet. I should have my doctorate in physics, but...” he said, with a bitterness that Titus made a note of, then changed gears. “Oh, and I also speak Mandarin, Spanish, Japanese, French, and Arabic pretty fluently. I also know ASL. I can get by in German and Russian, too. I don't know if any of that is what you meant but--”

“Jesus, I get it,” Titus muttered, rubbing the side of his head. “How the fuck do you make money?”

“Software consulting, mostly. I specialize in security and processing efficiency. People pay me to break into their systems and then patch the holes, or to make their code run quicker or make their programs smaller. I've got a few patents I've licensed that bring in most of my income nowadays, though.”

“Anything I would have heard of?”

“If you've used a computer made in the last four years it probably has something I wrote integrated somewhere into it. I also helped develop a protein-sequencing program that helped develop a vaccine for this nasty SARS variant that broke out in China last year. They say if they hadn’t nipped it in the bud it could’ve spread worldwide and we’d be looking at millions of deaths by now.”

Titus scrunched up his face. “Oh yeah, just say that like it’s no big deal.”

“I’m just glad it turned out not to be one. What I'd really like to do is get my compression algorithm out there, but if I do that, somebody's going to try to hoard it all for themselves.”

“Are you talking to yourself or me?”

“Look, I... a few years ago I figured out a way to compress memory down by a exponential factor of six with zero loss. All it takes is a couple software plugins that don't take up much room themselves. Essentially, I could make a gigabyte fit in a kilobyte with very little trouble, now that the math's figured out.”

“Holy fuck, that's insane! Why haven't I heard anything about this?”

“Mainly because I don't tell people. If I put it up on the market, some ISP would buy it and bury it. If you make information smaller, you make it faster. Can you imagine what it'd do to internet access if dial-up and barebones cellular networks suddenly had the bandwidth of fiber optics? It would... maybe not revolutionize our society, but it would level a lot of playing fields. Bring a lot of underdeveloped areas of the world—hell, this country—up to modern levels with no extra cost. The telecomms would crash and burn so hard. But I don't have the means to get it out there without going through someone else. Yet,” Evan added. “So I basically work watered-down versions of the compressor into the software I make. Nothing that can be duplicated, and nowhere near its full potential, but enough to get me hailed as some kind of genius and pay the bills.”

“So why aren't you on your own private island or something somewhere instead of puttering around God's Ashtray in a shitty old Bug?”

“Hey, the Beetle is not shitty,” Evan said, defensively. “And I'm just waiting for the AC in my RV to get fixed or I'd be driving that.”

“Oh hot damn! Now that's the way to live!”

“Not the one I'd choose voluntarily, but it could be worse.”

“How come you're doing it, then?”

“I think it's my turn to ask,” Evan said, mildly.

“Fine,” Titus said grumpily, crossing his arms.

“How do you make money?”

“That's easy. I'm basically a freelance bailbondsman. I just roam around, drop my advertising around bars and courthouses.”

“You get many clients that way?” Evan asked, cocking his remaining eyebrow.

“Oh, you'd be amazed how desperate people can get,” Titus said, shrugging. “Of course, they're usually not the most responsible people, so when they bounce, I track 'em down myself, drag ‘em back to jail, get the money back. My eye usually makes it super easy. Sometimes they don't even see me before I get the cuffs on 'em.”

“Why did you feel the need to rob a bunch of drug dealers, then? The thrill of it?”

“I had a pressing need for a large amount of cash that my normal work doesn't bring in. That got me enough to hold it off for a while. My turn.”

Evan waved down a waitress for a refill of his coffee, trying not to take it personally when she gasped upon seeing his face. “Go ahead…”

“No, no, hang on.” Titus waved a hand dismissively. “I want to try something. Take your hair out of the ponytail.”

“What? Why?”

“Humor me.”

Evan groaned and reached back, removing his hair tie. After shaking his head, his hair fell over his face, obscuring everything but his nose and mouth. Titus pursed his lips and regarded him seriously for a moment.

“Can you see?”

“Yeah, I guess. Well enough to not walk into things, I think, and I could probably read if I had to.”

Titus snapped his fingers. “Good. Go with that from now on.”

“Why?”

“Because now you don’t look like God’s mistake. Now you look like a big, dumb-but-lovable goon. Like Jack Black would voice you in a cartoon.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“Do you like seeing people contemplating their own mortality and the general cruel absurdity of the tragic farce that is human existence when they get a glimpse of your face?”

Evan felt his cheeks burn and was actually grateful his hair was covering most of his face. “…not particularly, no.”

“Then there you go. You’re welcome. Okay, question time. Uh… how did you get your powers?”

“Which one?”

“Oh, now who’s arguing in bad faith? Fucking all of them, you thick-lipped gargoyle.”

Evan had the feeling he hit a sore spot. Titus's easy-going, jocular tone had bled away from him, leaving behind the hard-edged razor-blade of a man that had ambushed him the night before. He decided not to belabor the point.

“I don't know why I can rege—why I heal so quickly. No, I'm serious, as far as I know, it just started happening sometime in the past few months. I can't remember. Don't look at me like that, I'll get to that in a minute. When I was younger I recovered from a lot of injuries a lot quicker than the doctors thought I would, so maybe it's something I was born with and it just got stronger recently for some reason.”

Evan took a sip of coffee, mainly to buy a few seconds to think of how much to explain for the next part.

“The ability to shut off powers... that's part of, well, I guess you'd call it a magic ritual, because I don't know what else to call it. I found a weird old book that said it contained the key to making someone an instrument of universal justice, or something of the sort. Since then I can see... I guess they're souls? Maybe? I can sort of move mine and when I run it into someone else's it seems like I can shut off their powers. Or... take them entirely, if they're dying.”

“Horseshit!” Titus scoffed. “That's... that's like meta-magic. I don't even know if that's real.”

“No, seriously! I don't think it's just magic powers, I think it... 'normalizes' things.” He briefly recounted his encounter with the pain monster.

“Are you kidding me? That...” Titus took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair, exhaling slowly and loudly. “Look, I don't know much, but the fact that you even ran into something like that, let alone survived... those odds are astronomical. And you say you negated not just its powers, but its whole form?”

“Yeah. Once I... reached into it, like I did with you—oh don't make that face. Grow up—I kind of disrupted what made it... different, I guess? Like I cut it off from its special qualities. Like it was...”

“Disjuncted,” Titus cut in.

“Yeah, that's a good word for it. Like the old Mordenkainen spell?”

“Fucking nerd.”

“Eat my ass. Anyway, after I killed it, I was able to reach into its... soul? Animating force? Aura? I don't know what to call it. I was able to grab something and pull it out and it just got pulled into me.”

“Not aura.”

“What?”

“Aura's a different thing,” Titus said, dismissively. “So what did you get from doing that?”

“I.. I feel pain differently. I don't flinch or get adrenaline rushes from injuries that don't actually impede my ability to function. I think I have a better sense of what is actually dangerous to my body now. It still hurts, but I don't react to pain like people normally do. It's like...hmm.” Evan drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about video games? Fighting games, specifically?”

“I used to fuck around on an old Alpha 3rd Strike cabinet when I was a kid. Why?”

“Do you know what 'super armor' is?”

“Isn't that where a move can't get stopped by being hit when you're doing it?”

“Right. I'm kind of like that now. Pain doesn't interrupt me.”

“Fucking nerd.”

Evan's fist involuntarily clenched. “I'm trying to put this in terms you can understand, you stupid reprobate. My experience with your judgment thus far hasn't given me much faith in your intellect.”

Titus burst out laughing. “So he does know how to banter! I thought you might be one of those Rainman types.”

“Oh sure, call it 'banter' to try to excuse the fact that you've been insulting me for the past half hour. Do you say you're ‘just joking’ when people get mad at you for saying stupid shit, too?”

“C'mon, lighten up! We're partners now! Tell me more about this soul thing. I still think you're full of shit.”

Evan sighed through his nose, then held up his left hand, forming his fingers into a circle and peering through them.

“Yours is... a sort of cross between a sea green and an oil slick. The tendrils of it keep reaching out and snapping back, going all over the place. It seems to keep expanding and contracting. It's almost flickering, like... it's indecisive. Very chaotic. The tendrils that aren't snapping around seem to be kept pretty close to your body, wrapping around you like... I can't tell if it's protective or restrictive.”

Titus's expression slowly became serious. “What does that mean?”

“I don't know. I have a lot of theories, but nothing solid to go on. I'm not sure if it's allegorical or a literal representation of a person's... power, maybe? Yours definitely looks a lot different than most people's.”

“I don't believe this for a second. Let me see.”

“How would I do tha—hey!”

Titus grabbed Evan's wrist and held his hand up to his eye. “Ho-lee...”

He pulled back from Evan's hand, staring at him. Then he looked around the room, mouth slack as he took in the diner's other occupants.

“Huh. Did you know it keeps working until you blink?” He said after a moment, a faraway tone to his voice.

“I didn't even know other people could do it,” Evan said, awe in his voice. “Hey, wow, you're right!”

“Jesus, yours is, like, really blue. It looks like... a bunch of steel cables. It's weird, I felt like I both could and couldn't see the edges of it...”

“I can kind of move it, but I'm not sure if I can do anything with it beyond interfering with people's powers. It's like learning to use a muscle you didn't know you had.”

“Huh.” Titus was again silent for a long moment. “Your turn.”

“Can you do anything else supernatural? Besides your time-eye?”

“Don't call it that, it sounds stupid. And... sorta. I seem to have whatever innate talent you need to actually do magic, but it's not like it's easy to find instructions. Most of the people I know who can use it just dabble with half-broken magic items—wands, amulets, charms,” he pulled the silence charm out from under his coat and bounced it at the end of its chain. “I guess I'm sort of a dabbler. I know a few tricks, I can use a lot of magic tools, I can sense magic pretty well, I can dowse... Most of the time I really never have to use anything besides the eye, though.”

“Is the eye all-or-nothing?”

“Yeah. It's not nearly as useful as you'd think, but any edge is an edge.”

“When I turned off your power and it was coming back, though, you started speeding up—or, I guess, everything else was slowing down? You were moving faster, one way or the other. You were able to touch me, and those punches hurt.”

“Huh, yeah, you're right.”

“Do you think there's a way you could learn to only partially activate it?”

“That'd be great, wouldn't it? Thing is, just using it is a huge strain, and that time spend outside of time adds up. Going by normal calendar time I'm only 26.”

“Fuck, I'm 27!” Evan laughed.

“Yeah, well, I'd rather be prematurely gray than what you've got going on. My turn. Uh... huh, I can't really think of anything else. Uh... are you gay?”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“No, but the question still counts.”

“I'm bi,” Evan mumbled, crossing his arms across his prodigious chest. “Not that it matters. And before you ask, no, you are not my type. We're done talking about this.”

“Huh. You ever sucked--”

“We. Are. Done. Talking about this.”

“Fine, God. Go.”

Evan mentally circled back to an earlier question he felt hadn't been properly answered. “Why are you after Moreno?”

To Evan's surprise, Titus didn't hesitate. “I'm actually after his current boss. He's just the best lead I have to go on.” He took a deep breath, then started talking with a rushed, deadpan pace, as if he was eager to get the words out as quickly as possible so they wouldn't be in his mouth very long.

“Moreno is working for a guy only known as the Soultaker. He has an innate supernatural ability to pull a person's soul out of their body. When that happens, the person just... shuts down, usually. No motive force behind them. Eventually they just die of dehydration, usually. I've seen some people so set in routine that they keep going without a soul, but... it's not really life.

“It seems like the extraction process takes a while, so he can't just walk past you on the street and pickpocket your entire essence. So he needs people rounded up for him, held until he can do his nasty juju. So that's where a degenerate like Moreno comes in.

“So when he pulls out a soul, it, well, it looks like this.”

Titus pulled a battered, faded Crown Royale bag out of his jacket. It bulged strangely and made a quiet clacking when he set it on the table. He pulled out what looked like a large marble, or maybe a dull pearl, and handed it to Evan.

Evan brushed his hair out of his eyes and peered into the milky depths of the sphere. After a few moments of staring, the murky clouds inside the thing seemed to clear and a face floated to the surface. A black man, maybe in his late 40s, going thin on top. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be sleeping, but his expression had a look of discomfort to it, as if he was having a bad dream.

“Jesus Christ,” Evan whispered, “I've seen this guy... Martell Calloway? I saw some news article about how his family found him tied up in his apartment and completely comatose! But he didn't have any injuries beyond being a black eye... so he's dead?”

“Life support,” Titus said, taking Mr. Calloway's soul back from Evan's unresisting fingers, “technically, he's one of the lucky ones. They found his body before it wasted away to nothing, and I was able to intercept his soul before it got to a buyer.”

“Why would someone buy something like this? What use is it? Can you fix him?”

“A human soul is a damn near exhaustible arcane battery,” Titus said gravely. In the split second between sentences, Evan noticed something—after he'd put the bag back into his jacket, Titus surreptitiously touched a pocket on the other side of his jacket, as if he was making sure something was still there.

“If you know what you're doing, you can power a lot of magic using a soul. And you can reuse them as long as you don't overdo it. If you know what you're doing, you can wring all but the last drops of essence out of a soul and let it heal or recover or whatever, and it'll eventually be back to full strength. Very resilient things,” Titus continued. “I don't think they're conscious in there, but... anyway, it's supposed to be really hard to extract a soul. But this guy was born with or spontaneously developed or somehow figured out a shortcut to the whole process. So the market is getting flooded with torture-batteries and ECUs are getting flooded with vegetables. And families are winding up with loved ones who are as good as dead, without having any idea why this happened to them. Dozens of them have been taken off life support in the past few months. Half these souls have no body to return to. And no, I can't fix it. At least not yet,” he sighed again. “I was hoping once I found him, I could somehow get the secret out of him or force him to put them back, or... maybe I thought if I killed him it'd reverse the effect. He needs killing, either way.”

Titus's eye widened as a thought struck him and he looked Evan in the eye for the first time since he'd started the story. Evan realized what he was thinking and looked down at the tattoo on his left arm, flexing his fingers.

“If you can take people's powers after they die...”

“...then we can save these people.”

Titus put a hand over his mouth and for a moment Evan thought he saw his eye well up.

“I'm in,” Evan said, a sense of righteous purpose welling in his heart. “I don't really know what the universe wants, but I doubt... I know it's not this. We'll find him, we'll stop him, and we'll save as many of these people as we can.”

“...thanks,” Titus mumbled behind his hand. He swallowed hard, then seemed to come back to himself. “We're back to square one, though.”

“You said you could dowse? Like, for real?”

“Yes, for real. I can find things and people with the pendulum method. It's handy for tracking down bounties.”

“Why don't you dowse Moreno?”

“Why didn't I think of that?!” Titus said incredulously, smacking his forehead. “Because he's warded. He's not magic himself, but he's collected enough gear through his career that my normal methods don't work.”

Evan rubbed his chin. “What if we used an abnormal method?”

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

An hour later, they were in the RV. Titus was poring over the collection of Evan's notes and the strange papers he'd bought from Delmann's shop. Evan was very carefully slicing a strip of skin from his own ankle up all the way up his leg. The Guiding Light—the Finder's Follysat on the table between them, filled with fresh blood.

“Even if this works, he's going to know we're coming,” Titus muttered, engrossed in the pages. “Remember what I said?”

“That's why we're not going to look for him,” Evan said, adjusting his grip on the potato peeler. “I don't know how we'd even write his name. Can you read that, by the way?”

“Kind of. This is... most of this is written in, like, arcane pidgin. Who compiled these notes?”

“I did, I think.”

“You think?”

“Oh yeah, I forgot to clarify on that. Apparently a couple months ago, before the ritual, I drilled a hole in my own brain to erase some kind of very dangerous memory.”

“You what.”

“That's not a metaphor or anything. Really did it. I could show you the video.”

“I'll pass. So you don't remember where this came from?” Titus shook the Book of Fate at him.

“Nope.”

“Jesus shit, do you have any idea--”

“How reckless that was? Yeah, yeah, I'm still here and I'm the answer to your fuckin' prayers, aren't I?” Evan gave a whoop as the peeling skin reached his thigh. “Got it this time!” he said cheerfully, snipping the flesh-ribbon off with scissors.

“God, that's so fucking gross. Anyway, you haven't explained how we're going to use that thing to find Moreno.”

“We don't set it to look for him. We look for somewhere he's been. Maybe the last place he slept. Do you think you can describe him well enough in that language for it to work?”

Titus looked like he might actually be impressed, but he hid it well. “Yeah, probably.”

“Good. I've got a dictionary I've put together on that tablet next to you, but I'm not sure how accurate it is. Maybe it'll help?”

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

Two hours later, they had it.

Find where a man born between the 27th and 28th north parallels during a new moon under the sign of capricorn with black hair and green eyes who has killed at least 10 people slept in the past week.

They really had to squeeze the letters in, but when Evan put a flame to the wick, it sprung to life, wavered for a moment, and then pointed east. Both men cheered. Evan threw Titus the keys.

“Drive! Drive north until I tell you otherwise!”

While Titus started the engine, Evan spread a map of the United States on the table in front of the lamp, then produced a protractor and a notebook from a drawer. “Okay, you bastard... let's see where you've been hiding...”

It took three days—one spent driving north, one spent driving back to where they'd started, and one spent driving south. While Titus drove, Evan made meticulous notes of the flame's direction, marking angles on the map. Finally he threw the pencil down triumphantly.

“He's in Salt Lake City.”

“Well, that narrows it down a little, I guess. So what, do we just go there and hope this thing points us in the right direction?”

“Too slow,” Evan called, stepping back into what used to be his bedroom and sitting at his computer. “Now I work my magic.”

After parking, Titus walked back to look over Evan's shoulder. The half-dozen monitors on the wall were flickering between rapidly-changing pictures of faces and what appeared to be CCTV footage.

“What is this?”

“This,” Evan said with dramatic pride, “is Blaccat. Facial recognition algorithms that the CIA wishesit had. I actually started working on it years ago before I thought about the implications of it, but I shelved it. I figured since I may be needing to, uh...”

“Be Batman?”

“...yeah...that I should get back to work on it. Right now it's comparing faces to the description you gave me and cycling through every damn security camera in the city looking for it.”

“How illegal is this?”

“Soooooo illegal.”

“Oh, hey, can you get into police department records?”

“Does the Pope shit in the woods?”

“See if you can get into the Las Vegas mugshots from... February 2019. Run your face-recognition thingy there.”

“Alright.... and... is that our boy?”

A handsome Latino man in his early 30s with shoulder-length jet-black hair and piercing green eyes stared at them from over a booking clipboard.

“That's him,” Titus breathed.

“Perfect! Now I just have to feed that into... wow.” Evan made a gesture and a black and white video popped up on the biggest monitor. The man in the mugshot was walking along the street, flanked by a short stocky man in bandanna and a lanky man with the ugliest white-boy dreads Evan had ever seen.

“That's him! Where is that? When is that?”

Evan grinned up at Titus. “That's live. I can track him and put us at the nearest intersection.”

Titus smiled, eye overbright, and began breathing heavily through his nose. “We got him.”

Evan met his eye and nodded. “Let's get him.”

[chalkrevelations]

And finally, here we are, Episode 36 of Word of Honor, and I have some FEELINGS. Let me show you them.

There also will be Episode 37 here, btw, because I’m not gonna do a separate reaction for a three-minute episode, no matter how grateful I am that we got it.

(Spoilers, so if that’s not what you want right now, scroll on by and come back after you’ve watched it. Them.)

Let’s get to the meat of the episode right away: THE HAIRPIN. And Wen Kexing knowing Zhou Zishu would have it, because he’d definitely take it with him if he was going on a suicide mission! Y’all. I really have to yell about this for a minute: That’s how secure WKX has become in his knowledge of what he means to ZZS! After all that time angsting and hiding the truth of his identity and worrying that he’s not worthy of ZZS and that he’d be rejected if ZZS knew the truth about him! But now, WKX has finally reached a point where he understands and knows (zhiji, the one I know) he’s so important to ZZS that ZZS would never ever go off to die without taking his most precious possession, the hairpin that his husband gave him! I can’t. My heart. This is like a declaration, after all that time saying they were zhiji, that WKX finally is able to truly see ZZS as that, to know him in his bones, and all of this is also delivered in the middle of WKX in a strop, irritably chastising his husband as an evil brat for running away from home to get himself killed, with Gong Jun’s little  >:(  face in full effect, and I am so filled with love for this show and this couple at this point that I have to pause Youtube just so I can roll around on the sofa, clutching at my chest and scaring the cats with my inarticulate noises. This is so good, y’all. It’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Also, now you know how it feels, WKX, you asshole. Which I suppose is why you even confess that it will would be more painful for the one who survives when if the other dies. And you were prepared to do that to him a second time? I cannot believe you, you asshole. You get to sleep on the ice couch for a month.

And then there’s some Six Cultivation Power mind-melding and what looks to be an INCREDIBLY STUPID and HEARTBREAKING ending that would leave us Burying One of Our Gays, so it’s a good thing Episode 37 (all three minutes of it) exists. It would be nice, though, if the connective tissue from 36 to 37 made any sense. Or existed whatsoever. Just, like, throw me a bone, here, show. Some kind of explicit hand-waviness that actually gets mentioned for why Ye Baiyi apparently was not as smart as he thought he was and didn’t really know what he was talking about when he was doomsaying about how one of the pair will surely, oh surely perish. None of this “Sooooo, they managed to figure out the technique and master it?” from some random shidi who never actually gets an answer. I mean, the door was left open for fanwankery on this one, with what looks to be a very last-minute conceit of all this being a story told by grown-up Chengling to his disciples, which begs the question of how much of what he’s telling them is totally accurate, given any number of issues, including the spottiness of human recall, the possibility (based on the fact they’re still on the mountain in Ep 37) that Chengling never actually saw either of them again to get the full story, and the way Gao Xiaolian basically calls bs on the whole thing. But this is still a gossamer-thin thread on which to hang Ep 37. Ep 37 basically functions as reassurance because of the mere fact of its existence, because they’re clearly both alive, right there in front of your face, regardless of the other fact that it doesn’t actually make any sense, based on Ep 36. It ultimately doesn’t matter if there is no Step 2, because Step 3: Profit! is … right there. In evidence. Happening. On your screen. No matter how vaguely unsatisfying the lack of Step 2 may be.

I do feel like there’s an interesting meta thing going on here, in that the entire show has been about – let’s be honest, it was never really about the plot - queer-coding this couple in ways that supposedly fly just enough under the radar that people can handwave them as Just Good Friends and Brothers (I mean, I guess) with a Bury Your Gays tragic ending (ugh) for good measure. And Chengling is telling a story in-universe that seems to conform to some of this same formula. And yet, we all know well and good that these guys were husbands. (I mean, barring anything else, they’re a couple in the original source material, so checkmate, censorship.) So, are we supposed to carry the same assurance out of the show, on a meta level, that what appears to be happening at the end of Ep 36 - what we discover we’re learning through Chengling’s story-telling - isn’t really the truth? Just, look: While we’re getting the Good Friends and Brothers push, there’s stuff like obvious voice-over work that doesn’t match the much more queer version of what the actors actually said, which is apparently blazingly clear to any viewers who know Mandarin and can manage to lip-read. The show has literally put de-queered words into these characters’ mouths. You can’t trust what you hear. But apparently the show has also made this obvious enough that, if you’re a good enough speaker of the language the show is being told in, and you have a good enough eye, you can see what is actually going on. Are we being taught to trust our eyes more than our ears, are we being told that what we’re being told - by the end of Ep 36 on a meta level, by Ye Baiyi-through-Chengling’s-story on an in-universe level, and by what we learn about what happened from Chengling’s story, itself, also on an in-universe level - is inherently untrustworthy, but that if we “speak the language” of this show well enough, and have a good enough eye, we can decode it and see what “actually” happened and is later made explicit in Ep 37? Is Ep 37 canon? Does it matter, when “what is canon” is already so slippery on this show, where you can apparently lip-read something that’s different than what you’re hearing, and it functions as canon because of the mere fact of its existence, because it’s clearly … right there. In evidence. Happening. On your screen.

Anyway, just some thoughts on all that, which I guess is my own fanwankery work to join up the end of Ep 36 with Ep 37, which was, of course, delightful. No matter how much I might bemoan the lack of Step 2, I had a stupid, dopey grin on my face all the way through Ep 37 and might have even teared up a tiny bit at the very end. You can’t prove anything. Lemme tell you, though, it’s a good idea to have 37 on hand when you run into the brick wall of the end of 36, because while WKX’s willingness to sacrifice himself for love is theoretically great, it is not something I actually want to see come to fruition, given the pall it would cast over the entire joyous experience that the ZZS/WKX relationship is throughout the rest of the show. Sure, there’s always fic, but there’s a heaviness that hangs over the Bury Your Gays trope, and it’s retroactively ruined shows for me before. So THANK YOU, to those of you who hooked me up so I could immediately move on to Ep 37.

What else? Other things:

OK, so, first, I have to get this out of the way: Did we actually already see all of those “flashbacks” we get in the first part of the ep, during the conversation between Zhou Zishu and Jing Beiyuan, when all the political stuff is supposed to be finally falling together to give us the big picture? I would have to go back and scrummage through those eps to be sure, and I’m not going to spend time doing that (yet) when I still need to do some keysmashing about Zhou Zishu and Wen Kexing OH MY GOD, but I do feel like some of this was new information, not just stuff that I’d glossed over because it didn’t seem important at the time? If so, not on, show. I will be keeping an eye out for that on re-watch. I am, however, perfectly willing to accept – if it turns out to be true – that you utterly distracted me with the failboats-in-love storyline, to the detriment of my focus on, you know, plot or whatever. It’s happened before. (It’s one of the reasons I need to go back and watch The Untamed again, at some point.)

OMG FAKE KEY! And as ZZS points out, this has been foreshadowed for us from early on, with WKX’s fake Glazed Armors plot. :bangs table with fist: YES. This show is going to reward re-watching SO MUCH.

Duan Pengju, oh my god, this asshole. The look on his face when the Armory didn’t open was so gratifying. Also, ha. I wondered when ZZS was finally going to be done with his shit. In fact, so much gratification in this whole scene. Xie Wang’s face when he realizes WKX double-crossed him – what, did you think you were the only tricksy one in that little alliance, Xie’er? And, holy shit – I cannot believe that Xie’er actually words this as WKX failing him, taking us back around to this theme one more time again. I would maybe feel a little worse for you if you hadn’t been a hairsbreadth away from killing him before ZZS stopped you in the last ep, Xie’er. Also if you hadn’t helped get A-Xiang killed. So I think the fail in this relationship is going both ways. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like you’re going to get the time WKX had to start untangling yourself from the ways your abuser has fucked you up and over.

It once again becomes blindingly clear why ZZS has been my ride-or-die during this whole thing: Under the grumpy, irritable, day-drinking yet somehow eminently practical exterior, he’s actually an idealistic do-gooder who just wants to make the world a better place for people and sacrifice himself for great justice. Never let it be said that I don’t have a type. Also, I mean. Zhang Zhehan’s FACE. Let’s don’t discount the power of that.

Final word: Don’t miss Ep 37. All three minutes of it. They are perhaps the most important three minutes of the entire show.

(I mean, not FINAL final word. I expect to be going back for a re-watch and posting more things, particularly on eps from before I started typing up 1000K-word reactions this first time around.)

[snelbz]

The Ranch {2}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Nesta x Cassian, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Collaboration: @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ x @tacmc​

Summary: Nesta had spent years in Paris, living her dream and drowning in riches as a gourmet chef, capturing the hearts of the city and its people. But, after her father passes away unexpectedly and leaves his cozy, countryside B&B to his oldest daughter, Nesta is moving back home to the tiny town of Velaris, where the ranch, her sisters, and her father’s unfulfilled dream, awaits.

Sidenote: Being posted between two blogs, it is too chaotic to keep up with a tags list, so all chapters will be tagged with “#TheRanchNessian” & “#SharaCollab”.

A/N: This story has been in the works for so long and we have poured hours and hours into it. There have been weekends where we did nothing but write (and drink wine) all day long, because this story just flowed out of us (and, of course, the wine flowed in). We say it all the time, but writing together is our favorite thing to do. This is our first full length fic together and I can’t believe we’re finally sharing it with y’all. As always, let us know what you think and a reminder that Tara and I will be going back and forth posting chapters, so look for chapter 3 on her blog soon!

The Ranch Masterlist

Cassian had been up for hours, but felt as if he’d blinked and it was nine in the morning. He’d woken up at four and while he was making coffee, he looked out the window and watched a young calf grazing in the field. He took a sip of his coffee, and headed towards the fridge to start cooking breakfast and-.

His coffee was forgotten on the counter and his boots and shirt were on in seconds.

If there were cattle up this far onto the property, it could only mean two things. The fence was down somewhere (or worse - cut again) and it had been all night.

He saddled Lyria and rode for what felt like miles before he found the section of fencing that had been, once again, cut clean through.

He cursed as he dismounted, carefully investigating the area. The box powering the fence had been shut down and all three of the conductive wires shredded through. Cassian sighed as he walked through the opening and looked down into the field where the cattle grazed.

There were six cows of varying sizes below.

“Damn it,” he breathed and headed back toward his cabin.

First things first, he had to fix the fence. It would do him no good to catch the missing herd, just for them to get loose again. Then he’d bring Beau down with him to herd them back into their pasture.

After repairing the fence and locating the herd, he found himself by the main house. And once again, that little red sports car was parked in front of her.

With a sigh, Cassian opened the back door and went inside. She was, once again, in the kitchen, but this time she was cleaning. The lemony scent of all-purpose cleaner hit Cassian as he shut the door behind him, more loudly than he should have. 

She peeked over her shoulder, observing him. “Nice to see you fully dressed yourself before gracing me today.”

Cassian chuckled. “Disappointed?”

She just shook her head, going back to cleaning the countertops. “Not at all.”

“Pity,” Cassian mumbled, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table and taking a seat, watching her every move. “Shirt can come off, again, just say the word.” 

“When you speak,” Nesta began, opening one of the top drawers and emptying its unnecessary contents into the garbage, “do you find yourself as annoying as I do?”

Cassian just grinned. “Look, I’ll leave you alone in a minute. Just thought you’d like to be updated on what’s been happening this morning. Also, do you drive from here to the house you’re staying in every time? Because...it’s really not that far. It’s perfectly walkable. Or, are you just afraid of getting your shoes dirty?”

Nesta stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, leaning back against the counter. “First of all, you’re an asshole, but I’m sure that’s not news to you. Secondly, did something happen this morning?”

Cassian watched her for a moment as he tied his hair back. “Some fencing had been cut along the far east pasture line.”

Nesta blinked. “Okay…”

“You don’t know what that means, do you?” he asked, humored. “You lived here for eighteen years before you left, did you not?”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “I assume you’re going to tell me, considering you like to hear yourself talk so much.”

“It means, sweetheart, that someone purposefully came onto our land and cut our electric fence, in hopes something would happen to those animals.”

Nesta asked, “You fixed it though?”

“Yes, but I-.”

“Great. Here’s the thing, Cassian,” she turned and continued cleaning. “As you’ve so kindly pointed out, I don’t know the first thing about ranch work. I also don’t care to. So as long as you keep the ranch running smoothly, I don’t need to know everything that goes on.”

Cassian was staring, but unlike yesterday, it wasn’t at the way her ass filled out the jean shorts she wore. It was in shock. “You don’t want to know what’s going on with the ranch?”

“Secondly,” she continued, not acknowledging he’d even spoken, “in regards to our land, I decided to take a look at the property boundaries. I’d like to add another building.”

“Another building? Nesta, there’s barely enough land for the cattle as it is.”

Ignoring him again, she pressed on. “While I was looking for them, the deeds for all three houses fell into my lap. You said you knew my father for a long time, right, Cassian? So surely you’d know how bad his procrastination was.”

His heart dropped into his stomach.

No, there was no way she was about to say what he thought she was.

“Why don’t you check that envelope on the table?”

Cassian reached for it with trembling fingers. When he opened it, he saw that it was the deed to his house, yes, but the bottom line, the line where the original owner’s name belonged…

It was blank.

“Looks like he never got around to going and getting it notarized,” Nesta said, pulling another drawer open. She found silverware inside, her mother’s priceless silver set from their wedding. It was tarnished and bent. She pulled it out and set it to the side, to clean it later on.

Cassian slowly folded up the letter and tossed it onto the table. “So, what? You’re going to kick me out of my house?”

“It’s my house,” Nesta clarified.

Cassian pushed back his chair with such force that Nesta almost flinched. “Let me see his will.”

Nesta turned to face him, meeting his eyes for the first time since he’d opened the envelope. “What?”

“I want to know exactly what he left to you. Shit, I’ll call his fucking lawyer. I’ve lived in that house for eight years, Nesta, taking care of this land like it's my land. You get rid of me, this whole operation goes to shit.” He was fuming, barely able to think clearly. His hands were shaking as he shoved them into his pockets. 

She, however, was the epitome of calm. “I didn’t say I was getting rid of you.”

Cassian’s jaw clenched. 

“I expect you, if you want, of course, to continue working here. Elain says you’re great at what you do and I trust her judgement. But, I do expect you to respect me as your boss, just like you did my father. You will do as I say, and no more meaningless flirtations.”

Cassian scoffed, loudly and humorlessly. “You think a little too highly of yourself, Sweetheart.”

“I will sign the log cabin to you and allow you to continue your and my father’s agreement if you agree to my terms,” she continued, as if manipulating him pleased her. “I want another building on the property, and I want you to build it.”

Cassian blinked, his anger turning back into shock. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

She fished around in a box before pulling out a small polishing rag. She went to work on the silverware. “You said you would do anything that needs to be done.”

“I’m a rancher, Nesta. And a handyman, at best,” he gestured around the kitchen. “I fixed your air conditioning, and I can do other things like that, but I can’t build an entire damn house.”

“Stable,” was all Nesta said.

“Excuse you?”

“A stable. I want a stable closer to the house.”

Cassian was stunned. “You...want a new stable?”

“Yes, the barn and stables down by the round pen are falling apart. I don’t think the horses are safe in there.”

“And you care because..?” He didn’t mean to sound like an ass, but everything he’d learn in the past eight years completely contradicted what she was telling him.

“Just because I didn’t care to learn how to ranch doesn’t mean I don’t love my horses.”

He blinked at her and he hesitated, but spoke. “I can...try. But like I said, I’ve never built anything like that before.”

She set the polishing cloth down and the one fork she’d been meticulously polishing during their entire conversation. “That’s fine. I’ve- I’ve never run a B&B before but here we are.”

“Have you been down to the old stables?” He asked, not accusingly, but curious. “Do you even know how many horses we have?”

“We had nine when I left,” she said, looking out the window. “And they were all fairly young. Theoretically, they could all still be alive. How many?”

“Eight. Sold one, lost one, and had one just appear out of nowhere.” He couldn’t read her tone. Couldn’t tell why she was asking.

“Who was sold?”

Cassian tread carefully, watching her. He stood and got a coffee mug from the cabinet, pouring a cup from the steaming pot on the counter. He took a drink and leaned back against the cabinet. “About three years ago, a girl and her parents stayed the night on the way to a rodeo in Cheyenne. She was a barrel racer and her horse was getting too old. She saw Hue out in the pasture and asked if she could ride her. They paid us cash before they left and Hue is a world champion barrel horse now.”

Nesta nodded, remembering exactly what she’d looked like, why Feyre had given her the name. Nesta had never been a fan of Paint horses, but it was no question that Feyre fell in love. “And the one who died?”

Cassian hesitated again and this time Nesta looked up. His hazel eyes were sad. “He was a great horse, Nes.”

Nesta looked away and tried to blink the tears away.

Phoenix.

“What happened?” she asked, nudging the fork with her finger.

“He just started to colic one day, we’re not exactly sure.” He crossed one booted foot in front of the other. “A day or two after the colic started, we had the doc come out and he said he was completely blocked. If we didn’t get him moving and get that block to pass, we were gonna lose him.” Cassian bumped his heel against the toe of his boot. His spurs jangled as he did. “He never got back to his feet. I’m sorry, Nesta.”

She sniffled and nodded, but refused to look up at him. “You should, uh, go do whatever it is you do now. I’ll talk to you in a bit. I’ll have lunch ready at 1:00, if you’re hungry.” She began to head towards the doorway leading to the living room.

He reached for her wrist. “Nesta, it’s-.”

“Leave,” she said, snatching her arm back. It was firm, but it wasn’t unkind, showing Cassian just how broken up over the news she was. Even more so when she added, “Please.”

She kept walking and was out of his sight as soon as she turned the corner into the living room.

He sighed, rubbing his hands down his face.

Today was nothing like he planned.

____________________________

Nesta spent her day working. After Cassian brought his unpleasant news, and she’d asked him to leave her alone, she didn’t see him. He made himself scarce for the remainder of the afternoon, and she no longer cared what he spent it doing, knowing full well he would make himself useful around the ranch.

Elain was right, he was a great rancher. 

It was why she was allowing him to keep his house on the land. He was right. If he were to leave, the entire ranch would go to complete shit. 

Phoenix lingered in the back of her mind all day, no matter how much she tried not to think about him. 

She finished polishing her mother’s fine silverware, pissed the entire time that her father had treated them like meaningless pieces of plastic. After that, she finished cleaning out the kitchen and was busy in the living room when Elain texted her.

Still on for tonight? We were thinking we could go to the old corner bar.

Nesta sighed. She wanted so desperately to say no, but Elain had missed her, and she had missed Elain. Besides, she’d given Nesta an entire house full of free furniture.

I’ll be there. What time?

8?

Ok. 

Nesta looked at the time. It was just after six. She could certainly use a shower. She hadn’t taken one since she’d arrived the morning before. Her water wasn’t turned on in her little house, but she was too stubborn to ask Cassian where the main was.

Especially after what had happened that morning.

She was tempted to text Elain and ask if she had invited him to dinner, but didn’t want it to seem like she cared.

Because she didn’t. 

Not one bit.

So instead, she bundled everything she would need to get ready into her suitcase and tossed it in her backseat, slamming the door a little harder than she probably needed to.

She mumbled something about ‘not wanting to get her shoes dirty’ as she climbed into the driver seat and started the car, heading up to the main house. She headed into the house and started up the stairs, heading for her old bathroom on the second floor. But she paused and smirked, turning and heading back down the hall, towards the master suite, which took up the bulk of the second floor.

As she walked through the house, she swore she heard the floor creaking upstairs, but knew how much noise this house made while she was growing up. She could only imagine how much it would creak in the middle of the night now.

As she took a quick shower, she pondered the idea of turning the B&B into a haunted mansion type of deal, because there was no way anyone was going to be able to sleep here if the house made as much noise at night as it did during the day. Ultimately, she knew she’d have to get someone out to check the foundation of the house and probably redo the floors at some point.

As she turned the water off and pondered all that she would have to do to fix this place up, she was thankful for her notoriety and success in the world of all things culinary. When she’d gotten the call about her father’s death, she’d been in Paris, talking to young culinary students how to properly chop for the different methods of cutting. His funeral had been planned so quickly that there was no time for her to even request to go. A few weeks later, when she’d received a call from his lawyer, telling her that he’d left her his dream, his baby, there was no question of what she needed to do.

Her three restaurants in Rome, New York, and Paris were all on the market in less than three days. Forty-five minutes later, she sold them to a single buyer for eighteen million dollars.

She’d sold her brand, her craft, everything.

She was thankful, because now she had the funds to do what she needed to save this place.

Stepping out of the shower, Nesta wrapped a towel around her wet body. She ran one through her dripping hair and combed through it. She yawned and checked her phone, finding it wasn’t even seven yet. If Nesta had any hope of staying awake after her long day of cleaning, she’d need to start drinking copious amounts of caffeine now.

She decided coffee didn’t sound half bad and decided to make a pot while she got ready.

Passing by the front door, she locked it, just in case somebody decided he wanted to visit again. She continued into the kitchen and put a pot on to brew.

There was something peaceful about a pot of coffee brewing. Nesta loved the little noises the machine made as it made her a pot of delicious energy filled goodness. 

As it did its job, Nesta turned to head back down the hall and up the stairs to the master bathroom. She was excited to meet Elain’s man. She had heard a lot about Azriel throughout the last few years, and Nesta wanted to meet this guy for herself.

The man that stole her sister's sweet, beautiful heart.

She wondered if Elain had asked Feyre and if so, if Feyre would show up.

Nesta wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t.

Nesta didn’t care if she didn’t.

Either way, Nesta had to admit that a night out would do her good. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had gone out or done anything for herself, other than work.

As the air conditioner kicked on, she was hit with a sudden chill and regretted only wearing a towel. She’d brought her outfit for the evening and didn’t want to put it on until she was ready to leave, but the clothes she’d worn earlier today were sweaty and gross.

She’d found her mother’s old clothes in one of the closets upstairs earlier and wondered if the floral robe she used to wear was there as well. Tightening her towel, she headed upstairs and was passing by the bathroom when the door opened up.

Nesta screamed and jumped backwards, Cassian stepping back similarly. He almost slipped on the damp tile but kept his footing.

As her breathing returned to normal, Nesta asked, “What in the hell are you doing here? You said you lived in the log cabin!”

“I do, but I got bucked off one of the mares and was covered in mud and shit.” He crossed his arms over his tattooed chest. “Why aren’t you down in your fancy, new house?”

She put her hands on her hips, standing her ground. “My water is off and someone hasn’t told me where the main shutoff is so I can turn it back on.”

Cassian lifted a brow. “Someone hasn’t asked.”

Nesta shook her head. “Get out. I have to get ready.”

Cassian made a show of his eyes grazing over her body, covered in only a towel. She had to force herself to not do the same to him. She was perfectly aware of the small, blue cotton towel that covered only a small portion of his massive frame. She was perfectly aware of how low that towel hung on his hips.

“Can I get dressed first?” He asked, voice quiet as his eyes met hers, once more.

The minute they did, she couldn’t look away. “If you must.”

He looked like he wanted to say something else, especially when his tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip. But instead, he silently closed the door between them, and Nesta released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

She continued down to the study in the hall and to the closet where she’d found her mother’s clothes. It only took her a few seconds of searching before she found the thin, soft, blue and white fabric.

It felt just like she’d remembered.

Nesta dropped her towel and, after shaking it out, put the robe on, thankful that her father had been such an emotional sap and couldn’t get rid of anything of her mother’s.

Nesta’s mother was a beautiful woman, but Elain was shaped most like her. Her chest and hips were not nearly as full as Nesta’s, which made the short, modest robe her mother had worn around the house nearly obscene on Nesta. Nevertheless, she wore it, loving the feel of it on her skin.

She walked back down the stairs with her towel draped over her arm, finding the bathroom door open and the room empty, steam still fogging the mirror, and turned toward the kitchen to get her coffee. She found him already in there and she hesitated, but continued in.

“Nice robe,” he said, peering over his mug.

“Gotta date?” She shot back, eyeing his clean jeans and button down shirt. His feet were bare.

Cassian chuckled. “Not quite. Your sister asked me to dinner with her and Az.”

Nesta froze, just as she was about to start pouring her coffee.

“Judging from your reaction, I assume you’ll be there, too.”

Nesta sighed, continuing to pour her coffee before taking a sip. “You’d assume correctly.”

Cassian smiled - true and genuine. “Let me drive you. Save gas.”

Nesta didn’t reply. “Tell me about Azriel.”

Cassian's brows shot up. “What?”

“Tell me about him. Elain is sure he’s the one, so I want to know everything.”

Cassian slowly sat his mug down and ran a hand through his damp hair. “He’s a great guy. Caring. Loves Elain more than I ever thought he’d love anyone. We’ve known each other since we were kids. I’m surprised you don’t remember him from high school.”

Nesta’s gaze shot to his. “What?”

Cassian's brows rose. “He went to high school with us.”

With us. Nesta hesitated, and Cassian definitely noticed.

“Ah, I knew you didn’t remember. Doesn’t surprise me. Your nose was always stuck in a book. Everyone thought you were a complete bitch, by the way.”

Nesta sat down her mug with far too much force on the countertop. “You don’t know what the hell you're talking about.”

“Am I wrong?” Cassian asked, chuckling.

Nesta practically growled, “About which part?”

“Any of it.” He took a drink of his coffee.

Nesta was quiet for a few seconds, knowing she couldn’t contradict any of what he’d said.

No, she didn’t remember him.

Yes, her nose was always in a book.

Yes, she was a complete bitch.

Dropping the subject for another time, she instead asked, “What does he do?”

Cassian rolled his eyes. “Why can’t you ask Elain or Az these things at dinner?”

“Because I want prior knowledge going in. She mentioned something about a dealership last night? But also tractors?”

“New tractor dealership opened in town. He’s a mechanic there. He used to work for a local business, but they had to shut it down last year. You’ll come to find that most local businesses around here aren’t making it anymore,” he said.

Nesta looked around. She knew the B&B had been struggling for years, but her father had never given up on it.

“Well, I guess I’ll get ready, if you’ll excuse me,” Nesta said, taking her mug and walking toward the hallway.

“No more questions?” Cassian asked, and when Nesta looked over her shoulder she found him watching her walk away.

“Is he good to my sister?” Nesta asked.

She was surprised to see his eyes soften when he said, “Very.”

Nesta turned without another word and headed back to the master bedroom to finish getting ready.

A half hour later, her hair and makeup were done and she was shimmying herself into a tight pair of jeans, a black tank top, and a pair of tennis shoes. Cassian was still sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone.

“I can drive myself, you know,” she muttered, putting her empty mug in the sink.

When she turned back around, his phone was ignored, all his attention was on her. A moment passed and he cleared his throat. “I realize that, but it’s never a bad idea to have a designated driver when you’re going to a bar.”

Nesta raised a brow. “You don’t drink?”

Cassian's grin widened. “I can just hold my alcohol.”

“And I can’t?” Nesta scoffed.

Cassian shrugged. “I don’t know, can you?”

Nesta took a minute to think about it. “Fine. There’s no point in both of us driving. Since I mean, we live together. Not together! But- Shit.” She sighed. “But we’re taking my car.”

He chuckled, but she could see the grin he was hiding, and got to his feet. “Like hell we are.”

They bickered the whole way to the door, which took longer than one would have expected. Nesta telling him she wasn’t riding in a dirty, beat up, old pickup and Cassian telling her to get the stick out of her ass and not worry about a little dirt.

As they stepped out onto the front porch, Nesta locking the door and hiding the key, she said, “These shoes were two hundred dollars, I’m not putting them anywhere near cow shit.”

Cassian just stared at her. “You own a cattle ranch.” Nesta hated it when he used logic and was going to tell him as much when he continued on and headed down the porch stairs. “And they’re just as likely to get dirty at the bar as they are out here. Now come on, this isn’t up for discussion. I can’t even fit in your tiny car.” He opened the passenger door and waited for him.

But Nesta was staring. Mouth open, not blinking, full on staring. “What is that?”

Cassian sighed. “It’s my truck, now get in, let’s go. It’s been a long ass day and I want a beer.”

This was not the truck Nesta was expecting to find out front. This definitely wasn’t the truck she’d seen him driving around the property. No, that truck had been on this property for as long as she could remember.

Nesta, stunned into silence, did as she was told. He had to help her up into the cab, and the second his hands were on her, she felt like the air had been pulled from her lungs.

“You okay?” Cassian asked, waiting as she turned her legs out of the way of the door.

Nesta nodded and he closed the door, heading to the driver’s side. She shook her head a couple times, trying to clear the fog in her head that always seemed to cloud her thoughts to when she was around him.

He started the truck, which was much quieter than Nesta was expecting and they were on their way.

It was quiet the first few minutes, only quiet music playing through the radio. Cassian kept time with the songs in multiple ways. Sometimes, he would brush his fingers along his jeans, almost like he was playing guitar. Sometimes, he’d tap the beat out with his non-driving foot. But mostly, he drummed on the steering wheel, often with his thumbs but occasionally, his whole hands.

Nesta just stared out the window. Finally, she turned to him and asked, “I’m sorry, if this comes off as rude, but how exactly were you able to buy this truck?” Cassian opened his mouth to reply but Nesta charged on. “Cause this is a very, very nice, very, very new truck.”

Cassian looked offended. “Definitely came off as rude.” Nesta rolled her eyes. “I-”

“I’m just kidding, relax,” Cassian said, laughing. “We just met, you can’t know all my secrets.” 

“Oh my god,” Nesta began, staring at him from the passenger seat. “It’s illegal, isn’t it? You’re a hit man, aren’t you? Or a thief, oh my-”

“I can promise you I don’t break the law,” Cassian promised, then winked. “Often.” 

Nesta shook her head. “You’re an interesting man.”

Cassian laughed. “Yeah, so are you. But, you know, a woman. By the way, we need to get you a pair of boots.”

Nesta looked down at her sneakers. “What’s wrong with these?”

“First of all, who the hell spends two hundred dollars on a pair of tennis shoes?” Cassian asked, then went on without giving her a chance to answer. “Secondly, must I continuously remind you that you now own a ranch?”

“I can be a ranch owner in my nice shoes.”

Cassian smiled as he turned into the parking lot of the bar. “But why the hell would you want to?”

She looked across the truck to his giant feet. He still wore his dusty boots. “Maybe you’re the one that needs new shoes. How long have you had those? They’re practically falling apart.” 

“We’re not talking about me here, okay? We’re talking about you.” He hopped out of the truck before Nesta could respond and as quick as a flash, he was opening her door for her and helping her down from the cab. “And I’m pretty sure as soon as we go inside, you’ll see that I’m not exactly in the minority here, sweetheart.”

When he put her feet down on the ground, he kept his arms around her for a second and Nesta groaned in disgust and pushed back against his chest.

His rock hard, muscled chest.

He stepped back and as Nesta looked up into his hazel eyes, she tried not to think about the two times she’s seen him without his shirt, and the one with almost nothing. She cleared her throat and looked away. She started heading for the door and said, “So, heads up this could be...rough.”

Cassian caught up, sliding his hands in his pockets, after locking the truck behind them. “Okay?”

“I’m sure Elain invited Feyre, though I don’t know if she’ll come.” Nesta paused, realizing just how much anxiety she was feeling on walking through those peeling double doors. “She hates confrontation just as much as I do.”

Cassian was confused. “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t she come?”

Nesta sighed, stopping before they got too close to the doors. “Feyre and I aren’t exactly on speaking terms, okay? She’s never forgiven me for leaving when mom died and I’ve never exactly given her a reason to, but… Gods, I just couldn’t stay here anymore.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Cassian said, leaning against the brick wall. “Rhys will be here, and I’m sure he can calm her down.”

“Who’s Rhys?” Nesta asked, glancing over at him.

His eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. “Her fiancé…”

“Her fiancé?” Nesta rubbed her temples. “I need a drink.”

She felt calloused hands wrap around her wrists and they were pulled from her head. Cass dropped her hands at her sides and said “It’s a good thing we’re at a bar then because I think I can help with that.” Despite herself, Nesta laughed. “Come on, boss. Let’s go.”

Her nose wrinkled as they started walking into the bar together. “Oh, don’t call me that. I don’t like it.”

Cassian snorted. “You sure? I would’ve thought the subservient inferior thing would do it for you.”

Nesta threw her head back and laughed, the sound so rich and beautiful, it stunned Cassian into silence for a moment.

“Cassian!”

His head whipped to the side, toward the bartender who’d called his name. “What’s up, Luce?”

He pointed toward the far corner of the bar. “In the back, corner booth. You want the usual?”

Cassian glanced down at Nesta. She asked, “What’s the usual?”

He smirked. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

She didn’t miss a beat before she tilted her head and said, “Make mine a double.”

Cassian’s eyebrows raised again and he said, “Okay. I’ll see you at the table.”

“Okay.” Nesta walked towards the back corner that the bartender, Lucien, she recalled his name being, letting her hips sway a little more than she typically would. But this banter, this back and forth with Cassian... It made her feel...different.

It had been far too long since she’d been with a man. Far too long since she’d found release in anything but her hand or some form of plastic. And even though he annoyed her to no end, even though he pushed her buttons and made her insane, Nesta found herself wondering just how far she could push him.

She was thinking about how good he’d looked wearing nothing but jeans and those dirty boots when someone stepped in her path. “Excuse me, if I could just-.” Nesta paused, realizing that she was looking into her own eyes. “Feyre?

A decade had done her baby sister well. She had grown up, that was for sure, a woman now, not the awkward teenager Nesta had left behind.

Feyre didn’t say anything, didn’t smile or even react to her eldest sister saying her name. Instead, she pulled back her hand.

Next thing Nesta knew, her face was screaming in sharp, searing pain. Strong arms wrapped around her and turned her away from her sister’s rage but her voice seemed to be farther away, too. Granted, the entire bar went silent at the sound of skin on skin, and when Nesta looked up, tears welling in her left eye, she found Cassian looking down at her. “You okay?”

She nodded, pressing her hand to her already swelling cheek. She could hear another hushed male voice calming Feyre down but couldn’t find the courage to look away from Cassian’s hazel eyes.

Cassian let her go and turned his back to her. His voice was light as he said, “A simple hello would have been good, Feyre.”

Nesta watched over his shoulder.

Feyre was storming away, and all that stood in her place was a man who Nesta assumed was Rhys. 

He looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his neck. “She, uh, needs a minute.”

Meanwhile, at the table in the corner, Elain looked horrified. She was sitting, hands over her mouth, as a man wearing a black hoodie and a baggy beanie whispered into her ear. 

Nesta was mortified.

Even as the people around her moved on, resuming their conversations and whatever else, Nesta knew her face had turned a deep shade of red - and not just where Feyre had slapped her. 

“This was a mistake,” she whispered, backing away. “Take me back to the ranch.”

Cassian turned to meet her gaze and Rhys followed Feyre into the hallway where the restrooms were, both of them disappearing. 

“Stay a while,” Cassian said, voice low. 

“After that?” Nesta laughed, palm still pressed against her cheek. “Fuck, no. Take me back.”

“Not before you have a drink.”

Nesta’s embarrassment was quickly turning into anger. “Take. Me. Back.”

Cassian paid her no mind. Instead, he went around her and spoke in hushed tones to Lucien. The bartender nodded, poured two shots and placed them beside what Cassian had previously ordered - the usual. 

Before Cassian could even say a word, Nesta had two shots down and was sipping on a tall glass of whiskey. 

Cassian watched with what looked like amazement. “Slow d-”

“Tell me to slow down and you’re the next person in this bar getting slapped,” Nesta snapped, sitting on a barstool. 

Cassian took a seat next to her. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I can’t believe she fucking slapped me,” Nesta said, quietly, head already beginning to feel light. She didn’t drink much, just a glass of wine from time to time. She spent too much time working to drink. “I knew she wouldn’t be exactly pleased to see me, but…”

“When she comes back, I’m sure she’ll apologize,” Cassian promised, putting his own glass to his lips. 

“I don’t want an apology,” Nesta said.

Cassian shook his head. “I know we’ve just met, but you are one stubborn woman.”

Nesta was so focused on her drink that she didn’t notice Elain coming toward her. It wasn’t until her arms were thrown around Nesta’s neck that she put her glass down on the bar.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said, obviously trying to pretend like their family drama hadn’t just been the bar’s entertainment. “This is Azriel.”

Nesta smiled, taking in his dark apparel. “You don’t look like someone that would work on tractors.” A laugh sputtered from her lips.

Cassian looked from her, to her glass, then to Elain. “She wasn’t kidding. She really can’t hold her liquor.” 

Azriel just smiled, gently. “Not the first time I’ve heard. Elain’s told me a lot about you.”

Nesta leaned closer to him when she whispered, “And Cassian has told me a lot about you.”

“Oh no,” Azriel chuckled, looking to Cassian. “All good things I hope?”

Cassian shrugged. “Keep hoping.”

About that time, a door slammed on the other half of the bar. The four of them turned to see Feyre storm from the bathroom, grab her purse from the booth and walk out the front door. She didn’t so much as spare a glance at their direction.

“Oof,” Azriel breathed, watching the door slowly close behind Feyre’s retreating figure. He then glanced over to see Rhysand leaving the bathroom, rubbing his hands over his face in exasperation. “Bigger oof.”

Rhy looked at the table and found it empty, but glanced over and found their group looking towards him. He made his way through the crowd until he joined them.

As he approached, a shot glass appeared next to Azriel’s arm and he handed it to Rhys after throwing a grateful look to Lucien. Rhys tossed it back and let out a sharp breath. He pointed at Cass, Az and Elain with each word he said. “Not one of you assholes could at least warn me that she was coming?”

Nesta understood his frustrations, but the alcohol in her had her too far gone to care. “What? How am I the bad guy here?”

Elain looked sympathetically at Nesta as she said, “If we did, Feyre wouldn’t have come and you know it.”

“Wow,” Nesta said, cutting off whatever Rhysand was about to say in response. “You sure know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

“Well, Feyre’s pissed now, so...” Rhysand sighed, then truly looked at Nesta. 

Nesta couldn’t tell what he was thinking and, thanks to the alcohol, she really didn’t care. “Look, you hurry after her and tell her that I love her. Okay? Then...you can come back and get me another drink. Bartender!”

“Okay,” Cassian said, looking over his shoulder to shake his head at Lucien. “I think you-.” When Cassian looked back to Nesta, she had finished off his drink. “Seriously?”

“Also, who the fuck does Feyre think she is? I mean...she isn’t perfect, either. She hates me, so what? She’s not the only one that ha-ha-hates me. I hate me. I had to get out. I had to leave, okay? I had to go. It’s-it’s-it’s not my fault she doesn’t understand that.” Nesta was pointing to where Feyre had disappeared through the double doors, into the night. “I had to leave. I had to.”

Elain looked up to Azriel with sorrow-filled brown eyes. 

Nesta snorted. “Cassian.” She grabbed him by the collar and pulled him close to her. “Get the red-haired man to give me another glass of the usual.” 

All of Rhysand’s frustration seemed to have faded as he watched Nesta allow the alcohol to consume her. “Look, I’ll talk to Feyre, okay? Maybe we can get together...soon…”

Nesta shrugged. “She won’t listen. She’s almost as stubborn as me. You know, people have always said we both take after our mo-.” Nesta froze, unable to get the word out. She cleared her throat, picking up the glass behind her that had just been refilled. “Our mom.”

With that, she downed its contents. 

Cassian handed her a glass of water and stepped in front of her and she sipped it. He leaned down so he was eye level with her. “You okay?” She nodded. “You gonna get sick?” She shook her head no. “Good.”

He took the now half empty glass of water and set it back on the bar, before unceremoniously tossing Nesta over his shoulder. He grabbed her clutch where it was sitting on the bar and waved it at his family. “Glad we could do this, can’t wait to get everyone back together again.”

“Put. Me. Down!” Each word Nesta hollered was punctuated by a swift hit to his lower back. Or was it his ass? She couldn’t tell, nor did she care.

“Lucien, I’ll get you next time, okay?”

Cassian didn’t even need to look back over his shoulder to see his friend close out his tab at a zero balance and wrote his name on the long IOU list.

He pushed through the open doors and Nesta was still fighting him as he carried her towards the truck. “Put me down, you brute!”

“Nope, I’m doing you like you asked first. Taking you back to the ranch.” He readjusted his grip on her and his left hand planted firmly on her ass.

She gasped. “You did that on purpose.”

Cassian chuckled. “Made you stop fighting me.”

He unlocked the passenger door and dropped her on the truck bench. He tossed her clutch inside before shutting the door and walking to the driver’s side. As he was getting inside, Nesta locked eyes with Feyre, who was sitting on the bed of a black truck, parked a few spaces away. 

Waiting for Rhysand, no doubt.

But Rhysand was not the reason that Feyre’s cheeks were red and blotchy, her eyes swollen. 

Nesta quickly looked away as Cassian backed out of their parking spot and found the main road. 

“That was fun,” Cassian observed. 

Nesta looked over at him, watched as he kept one hand on the wheel and rested the other on the gear shift. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing tattoos along his forearms. 

“Do they have meaning?” Nesta asked, surprised at how quiet her voice had become.

Cassian glanced at her, brow raised, before realizing she was looking at his tattoos. “Some of them, yeah.”

“Let me guess, you’re not going to tell me because I can’t know all your secrets?” She asked, repeating the excuse he had told her so many times throughout the last forty-eight hours.

Cassian huffed a laugh, biting on his bottom lip. “Look at you, already knowing what I’m going to say.”

Nesta laughed, under her breath, as she looked at the road in front of them. There had been a time when Nesta had loved Velaris, had loved all it had to offer. She rested her head against the window and admired the starlight. 

“What about you?” Nesta asked, refusing to look his way. “Do you think I’m a bitch?”

“I think you’re….” He weighed a few words in his head, deciding which one fit best. “Difficult.”

“Difficult?” Nesta laughed. “You make me sound like a misbehaving child!”

“Well…” Cassian said, taking a sharp breath between his teeth.

“Shut up!” Nesta cried, laughing again, covering her face with her hands.

The truck stopped and settled as Cassian put it into park. A calloused finger gently pried one of her hands from her face. “Are you okay?”

Nesta knew he wasn’t asking her about her alcohol tolerance level this time. She pulled her hand away, which had still been resting on her throbbing cheek, and pressed her fingers into the tender skin. She nodded.

“I’m sorry that happened. I really am.”

She looked over at him, his voice much closer than she expected. She didn’t recognize the surroundings around her. “Where are we?”

“Outside my place. I knew the freezer was out at the main house and didn’t know what you had in yours. I know I’ve got a bag of peas inside I was gonna grab and-.”

Nesta was unbuckling her seatbelt and sliding out of the cab.

“I was just gonna grab them and take you back up to the main house,” Cassian said, killing the engine and hopping out behind her.

“I want to see it,” Nesta said, walking toward the porch. “I’ve always thought it was cute.” She stepped in something slimy and looked down. “Are you kidding me?!”

Cassian walked over to where she was standing and laughed. He laughed harder than he had in months and said, “Now do you believe we should get you some boots?” Nesta didn’t say a word, she just scraped what she could off into the grass around her. Cassian made his way up the steps of the cabin and said, “Besides, that wasn’t from a horse. That was from Beau.”

Nesta asked, “Who’s Beau?” right as Cassian opened the door.

A Blue Heeler pup, no older than six months came tearing out the door.

Nesta instantly forgot about her shoes as the pup jumped up on her legs. 

Cassian whistled. “Down, Beau.”

“It’s okay,” Nesta laughed, scratching behind his ears. “He’s sweet.”

Beau wagged his tail, knowing full well he was showing off and his cuteness was being accepted. The pup trotted around Nesta as she crossed the threshold into the small cabin.

Cassian tossed his keys on a side table, next to a recliner in the main room. “I’m training him to help me around the ranch.” 

Nesta raised a brow as Beau hurried out the front door. “Yeah? How’s that going?”

Cassian closed the screen door as he watched Beau chasing his tail at the bottom of the steps. “Not great so far.” 

Nesta laughed, stepping up beside him. “Thanks for driving me tonight. Even if you hauling me out of the bar was completely unnecessary….I would have done something I’d regret if I stayed.”

Cassian glanced sideways at her before turning to face her, head on. “Starting to sober up, are you?”

Nesta snorted. “I’m fine. My head is just a little...light.”

“Ah,” Cassian grinned. “The light phase.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, realizing how close they were standing to one another before taking a step back.

“So,” Cassian said, running his fingers through his hair. “You’re inside. What do you think?”

It was simple. Clean.

There was a woven blanket tossed over the recliner in the living room, but that, a soft leather couch, the side table, and the television sitting on top of a little table, were all that were in there. There was no table in the kitchen, but a refrigerator, a microwave, and an oven. 

“It’s nice,” she said, quietly.

Cassian laughed. “I’m not sure I believe you. Take a seat.”

He nodded toward the recliner and Nesta obeyed as Cassian went into the kitchen and opened the freezer, pulling out a sealed bag of frozen peas.

Nesta had made herself comfortable by the time he reached her and placed the bag gently over her cheek. “I know it was shitty what she did, but Feyre has one hell of a slap.” 

Nesta nudged him in the shin with her foot.

He chuckled and made his way back towards the kitchen. Nesta took a minute to lean back and close her eyes. She heard the opening and closing of a few cupboards and some ice cubes tinkling in glasses. She heard tiny hard pieces of food getting poured into a bowl. She heard his boots, heavy on the wood floor, as he made his way to the door and whistled once. The dog was inside in a matter of seconds and chowing down on his dinner. And then she heard a thud near her head.

Her eyes flew open as she looked over where the noise came from.

“I don’t think I can handle another usual,” she admitted, sheepishly.

He chuckled, leaning against the counter top bar. “I can promise you’ll like that better than the one at the bar. Try it.”

Nesta hesitantly picked it up and sniffed. It smelled sweet. “What is it?”

“Try it, sweetheart, and then I’ll tell you.” He took a large drink from his own glass, which seemed to be the same thing she was drinking. She watched him for a minute, eyes narrowed. “What?” He laughed, chewing on an ice cube.

She looked from him to the drink and back. “Waiting to make sure you aren’t about drop dead from whatever poison you were trying to sneak to me.”

Cassian began to laugh. No, not only laugh. He began to howl. He was laughing so hard, Beau began to howl along with him. Nesta’s eyes were huge by the time he calmed down and could speak to her.

“Just try it, damn it,” he said, before helping himself to more of his own. 

Nesta took a small, hesitant sip. The cool liquid was definitely sweeter than the usual at the bar.

“Maple bourbon,” Cassian muttered, finishing his glass and setting it on the table before sitting on the floor across from the recliner. 

Nesta took another sip. “It’s good.”

“I know,” Cassian said, smiling up at her.

They watched each other for a moment, and Nesta soon became uncomfortable at his gaze. Not because she feared him, but because she didn’t fear him at all. 

“I’m sorry about this morning. I was unfair to you.”

Cassian’s brows rose. “You’re just saying that because you’re drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Neither am I,” he said, but his voice had grown significantly softer. 

Their eyes still remained connected to one another’s. 

Nesta swore she could hear his deep, unsteady breaths, as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. “I should probably go.”

She looked over and couldn’t read the expression on his face. She set the bag down, giving him her attention. “Or...you could stay and have another drink with me.” Nesta opened her mouth to explain why that was a bad idea but he held up a finger and began again. “Not because I’m trying to get in your pants, but because I think it’ll be easier for us to open up this way. No holds barred, yeah? No secrets, for the most part, just two coworkers getting to know each other.”

Nesta watched him, waited, and asked, “For the most part?”

Cassian smiled, a wicked grin, and said, “See, that’s where the drinking comes in. You don’t have to answer, but then you have to drink.”

She blinked at him. “So we’re playing ‘Twenty Questions’?”

Cassian stood, taking her glass with a huff, and saying, “Well, now it doesn’t sound as cool, does it?”

Nesta giggled, actually giggled, as he filled their glasses back to the top and gave Nesta a straw. He reached out to hand it back to her, but took it back at the last minute. She flinched and looked up at him. “No half ass girly sips,” he said, hazel eyes sparkling. “It better count.”

She snatched the glass from him and he laughed, sitting back down against the wall. He whistled once and instantly Beau was there against his side.

Nesta’s eyebrows were raised. “I’m impressed,” she said, not hiding her amusement.

He rubbed the pup’s side lovingly. “He’s a good one, that’s for sure.” He pulled his boots off one at a time and tossed them by the door, each with a loud thud. Once he’d finally settled in, he waved to her. “Ladies first.”

Nesta took a minute to think about it. “How old are you?”

Cassian blinked. “That’s the worst question, ever.”

Nesta threw her hands in the air. “Well, I thought I’d start with something simple.”

Cassian laughed, leaning his head back. “Alright. Twenty-seven.”

“Me too,” Nesta said.

“I know. We were in the same graduating class.”

Nesta cursed. She kept forgetting they went to the same high school. 

“Your turn,” she urged.

“Hmmmm,” he said, pretending to think a lot harder than he actually was. “Are you happy to be back on the ranch?”

For a split second, Nesta thought about taking a drink, but she came to the conclusion that the question really wasn’t all that bad. “Kinda.”

“That’s it?” he laughed. “Kinda?”

“You didn’t say I had to give extensive answers,” she laughed.

Cassian shook his head. “Well, now I am. New rule.”

“You can’t just add rules.”

“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” he said, leaning back on his hands as Beau nestled himself in Cassian’s lap.

Nesta pursed her lips, rethinking that drink, but decided to attempt to explain herself. “The only reason I haven’t wanted to be here is because of the memories. And I’m really hoping that I can…make new memories to replace the bad ones.”

In the end, she did take a drink, but out of fortification, not punishment. Cassian saw that and accepted her answer, not wanting to push her. She blew a quick breath out before asking, “You said you’d been working for my dad for eight years, yeah?” Cassian nodded, even though that clearly couldn’t have just been the question. “What did you do the year between graduation and starting here?”

“Tried my hand at the professional rodeo circuit.” Cassian didn’t miss a beat.

It took Nesta back. “Really? What’d you do? Bull riding?”

“Hell no,” Cassian laughed. “I wasn’t that stupid. Well, no, I was that stupid. I was just too big. You gotta be little to ride bulls. No, I was a team roper.”

“Wow.” Nesta was watching Cassian with her head tilted, almost looking at him in a new light. “Header or heeler?”

“Header,” he replied, pretending to throw the rope at the horns. “Rhys was my heeler. We were good. Won every PRCA Jr. rodeo event in our areas. So we figured it’d be nothing to make that jump up with the big dogs.” He chuckled. “We were so wrong.” He took a quick sip before saying, “The day we got back into town I ran into your dad down at Tractor Supply. Told me he needed a ranch hand to help out since Elain had college every day and Feyre was still in high school.” Cassian chuckled. “He actually hired both of us on at first, me and Rhys. He only lasted about three months though.” He began to laugh again.

“What? Why?” Nesta couldn’t imagine her father firing anyone, much less someone she had gone to school with.

“That was when he caught him sneaking out of Feyre’s window at two in the morning.”

Nesta’s eyes grew wide before she began to howl. “Oh my god. Elain forgot to mention that in our texts throughout the years.”

Cassian laughed, gripping his glass tighter. “It was hilarious. I let your dad know I was on his side, and I proved that by picking on Rhysand every chance I got.”

“Wow,” Nesta breathed, laughter fading. “And you’ve been here ever since?”

“That’s an extra question,” he said. “Unfair.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Fine. Go.”

Cassian’s eyes softened as he met her gaze. “Elain said you were a chef. Did you like it? Was it hard to leave?”

Nesta tilted her head. “That’s two questions.”

“Pretend it’s one,” Cassian said.

Nesta looked at him for a minute before taking a long, slow drink. What could she have said? Yes, I loved it. It was my dream. I was young, incredibly successful, and rich as hell. I left because I felt guilty for the death of my parents.

Cassian nodded, watching her. “Fair enough.”

Nesta cleared her throat before abruptly asking, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Cassian’s amused smile returned.

Nesta shrugged. “I’ve seen you near-nude twice now, it’s a question, as your boss, I thought I should ask.”

Cassian’s smile grew as he shook his head. “No, I don’t. Not a lot of time for one. Haven’t really been looking. What about you? Someone overseas you were seeing?”

Nesta looked down at Beau, who was snoring quietly. “Is that your next question?”

Cassian sighed. “I suppose so.”

Nesta shook her head. “No. I worked too much. I haven’t been on a date in...shit. A few years?”

“Years?” Cassian said, eyes wide. “Hell, woman. You couldn’t take one night off from your busy schedule in years?”

She simply shrugged. “No.”

Cassian took a drink, watching her. “When’s the last time someone took care of you, sweetheart?”

As the words left his lips, Nesta was feeling hot and cold all over, all at the same time. And she didn’t think it was just from her drink. “It’s not your turn,” she breathed.

He swallowed hard and nodded, chuckling. “Go on, then.”

She took another drink of her own, before she asked, “How did you afford that truck out there.”

Cassian didn’t even try to look like he contemplated answering as he put the glass to his lips and drank deeply. “But I promise it’s not illegal,” he added with a chuckle. Nesta could hear the slight slur to his words, making the bit of drawl heavier than normal. “Do you really not remember me from high school?”

Nesta felt her shoulders sag. “No, I- I don’t. I’m sorry. But don’t feel bad,” she quickly added. “I sort of blocked everyone out and don’t remember anyone. So at least I don’t remember you, instead of remembering you for a bad reason.”

Cassian nodded, amused. “Well, I remember you.”

Her cheeks burned. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

“I can’t talk in between questions?” He laughed.

Nesta shook her head. “Nope, that’s my rule.”

Cassian took a sip from his glass. “Rules were made to be broken, you know.”

Nesta couldn’t stop her smile. “What do your tattoos mean?”

Cassian rolled up his sleeves even further and examined the ink. “A lot of things.”

“Bad answer,” Nesta said, slipping off her shoes and bringing her feet up beneath her in the chair.

Cassian nodded. “Then I guess I’ll drink.” He raised his glass before bringing it to his mouth. 

“And here I thought we were playing this game to get to know each other,” Nesta laughed.

“Can’t give you-“

“All your secrets,” Nesta finished. “Yeah, yeah.”

“Do you have any tattoos?” He asked.

“What?” She laughed. “So you can know mine but I can’t know yours?”

His eyes lit up. They were glazed, but so excited. “So you do. What are they?”

Nesta took a sip, but because she was copping out, but because as the night went on, as the ice melted into the sweet bourbon, she loved the taste of it. “It’s just one,” she said, standing. She began to unbutton her pants and she heard Cassian swallow harshly. She looked up at him. “Down boy,” she chuckled. “It’s on my hip. I can’t exactly show with my pants all the way on.”

He cleared his throat and stood, refilling his glass. When he came back to the threadbare living room, Nesta had the left side of her jeans pulled down, exposing her hip bone. As he looked at it, Nesta explained, “It’s a dandelion. To remind myself that everyone, even I deserve a second chance, even though you might have to endure some harsh winds.”

When she looked away from her tattoo, she caught sight of the way his jeans seemed to be a bit more tight than they were before. Letting her eyes travel up his body, she saw the  way his body was rigid, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. His eyes, that woody hazel that she kept losing herself in, it was almost completely gone, his pupils blown out. “Your turn,” he breathed, and as his breath fanned across her face, she realized how closely they stood together.

Nesta’s breathing hitched as her entire body felt weightless.

His words from before replayed in her mind. When’s the last time someone took care of you, sweetheart?

“If given the chance,” she began, voice hushed, “would you fuck me?”

The question, asked in no more than a whisper, lingered in the quiet cabin.

Cassian said nothing as those deep, hazel eyes bore into her own. And then, he took a long, slow drink, before setting down his glass on the table beside her chair.

Breaking his gaze from hers, he went down the short hallway and disappeared into the back bedroom.

Nesta stared after him. She probably should have been embarrassed, but the alcohol coursing through her system told her not to be.

Instead, jeans still unbuttoned, she took an unbalanced step toward the front door, then another.

It wasn’t until she heard quick, heavy footsteps coming back her way that she turned around and was met with Cassian’s lips crashing into her own.

[msfcatlover]

TMA Superhero AU idea:

One of those worlds where superheroes are public figures.

Jon is one of the heroes, though his public image is… hazy at best. He prefers covert ops, and given the opportunity to be the “eye in the sky” (person overseeing a team operation, putting together information from multiple sources and keeping everyone in the loop,) he will take it over working with other people… partially because he knows many people find his powers unsettling. Even when he manages to keep from breaking out in eyes, there’s just something in his aura that sends chills down your spine if you happen to bear witness. (He may or may not have gotten his powers as a victim of a dark ritual gone wrong; his hero name is something simple and obvious like “Oracle,” but there is another name whispered in the darker sides of the super-community that he desperately wants to escape.)

So the agency in charge of Jon keep getting on his case about PR, about bouncing between hero teams, about not being seen by the public. And just as they’re pushing him really out of his comfort zone, Jon gets assigned a new handler (person on the other end of the coms unit, technically the head of each hero’s management, if only the heroes had actual management teams and handlers didn’t have their own higher ups to answer to.) Which is the story of how Martin Blackwood meets a hero he’s admired from afar for years (no, genuinely; it’s rare to catch Oracle on camera, but Martin respects the hell out of the work he does,) right when Jon is at his most high-strung and ready to lash out at the next person to try to tell him what to do.

Martin has his own powers, though he views them as unimpressive and never bothered to register or even really train; his invisibility is tied to his emotional state, and far easier to just hold off than it is to call up on purpose. He does know he should theoretically be able make other things invisible, since his clothes also disappear (meaning the effect extends beyond his own body,) but he’s never been successful at doing more than making like, a large eraser shimmer a bit. There absolutely comes a time when for ~reasons~ they both end up running from the enemy, Jon has been seriously injured, and the alarms are sounding; Martin pulls Jon into his arms, and for the first time manages to make both of them disappear. This is also probably the first time he uses his powers in front of Jon.

Tim’s part of Jon’s newest team, and while his loud, energetic nature gets on Jon’s nerves at first, it quickly becomes clear Tim plays it up for the crowd and to draw attention away from the camera-shy members of the team. Power-wise, Tim tells everyone he has touch-based pyrokinesis; in actuality, Tim can control the temperature of anything he touches, melting or freezing things as easily as he ignites them, sometimes using the expanding air for explosions. It’s good to hold some information back as a trump card, in case of emergency. (His hero name is something like “Sunburst,” probably.) Tim does have something of a playboy reputation, but anyone within the agency can tell you he only has eyes for his handler, one Sasha James. (Both Tim and Sasha are of two minds about Tim’s reputation; depending on the day, you might get an over-dramatic joke on the topic or you might get a rant about biphobic stereotypes and assumptions in public media. The worse Tim’s mood, the less tolerance he has, and the more he gravitates towards the latter.)

Danny was a poster-boy for one of the big-shot hero agencies, but was injured and had to retire tragically young. He encourages Tim to finally get off his practical ass and chase the dream they both had as kids but only Danny actually went after; Tim’s out here being a hero for both of them.

Georgie still runs a podcast, Melanie uses her telekenisis primarily for flying but is not above throwing everything that’s not nailed down at you to stop you escaping, villains are still villains, but there are some underground supers and unregistered heroes who help out on occasion. Oliver and Jon bond over how much having scrying powers actually sucks when they meet up; Oliver’s death prophecies are a little more immediate and can also include severe injury, but his ability to warn people is still limited by human thought and reaction time.

Oh, and Jonah? He’s basically hacked the power system with a mystical ritual that takes the power poured into it, amplifying it, and infusing the increased power into a living being (like drinking a potion to improve your enchantment skills in a video game, then enchanting your armor to improve your potions, then making a potion to improve your enchantments…) The only issue is that once that power’s in something, it can only be removed if the creature voluntarily chooses to give it up and feed it back into the ritual. Of course, there are ways around that too, though they are… draining. He can technically only take a new body once every five years, but he gets the most out of each host and likes to wear them for 10-20.

Jonah has always kept to the shadows and tries to keep his hosts’ identities secret, but the whispers are there if you know how to listen. His influence hasn’t been felt nearly so much in recent years though… 

Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not relevant.

[hellsbellschime]

I was wondering if you could do an analysis on Sansas and Daenerys interactions in 8x02?

Totes, because I think it’s an extremely interesting character interplay that needed more development and that was either actually rife with subtext and just written really poorly or it was just dumb. But while I wish there had been more development for literally everything in season 8, I think that the dynamic between Dany and Sansa needed far more room to breathe and grow given that their incredibly brief relationship is one of the main catalysts for the climax of the story. 

Jaime’s whole “trial” scene is one that I really wish we had been able to see the lead up to, because while the drama of starting off the episode with it is certainly compelling, I’d honestly really like to know how everyone even got to that point in the first place. Like, Dany is furious that Cersei has betrayed her and lied to her about her intentions... except how exactly does that square up to someone who came to a truce with their enemy and then immediately arrests them and puts them on trial when they actually follow through on their end of the bargain?

However, looking beyond that there is not just Dany vs. Sansa, it’s kind of Dany vs. Team Stark. Dany lays out all of the reasons why Jaime deserves to be punished and Sansa actually completely agrees with her and says she completely understands how she feels, but then Brienne speaks in Jaime’s defense and Sansa immediately agrees that Jaime should stay. Now as viewers we understand what Sansa is doing here, but I think that Dany does not. I think that this may be a sort of crucial moment for what happens later, because someone who is unfamiliar with Sansa but sees that she is popular among the Northerners might come to the easiest conclusion, which is that Sansa is easily manipulated, weak willed, or likes to agree with people and thus everyone kind of likes her even though she’s the type of person who shouldn’t really be seen as important or authoritative. 

But when Dany kind of ropes Jon into it I think it’s even more interesting, and once again could be an implication that she doesn’t understand people who put the interests of others before themselves. Because way back when Melisandre told Dany to invite Jon to Dragonstone, Tyrion tries to sell her on it by explaining that the Lannisters have treated the Starks even worse than they theoretically treated her, so they have even more reason to want to see their downfall. So I think she inquires about Jon’s thoughts expecting her to agree with him, because quite frankly it’s just not in her wheel house to put the needs of others before her own. But he winds up agreeing to let him stay, and she feels peer pressured into acquiescing when she really doesn’t want to. That really puts her on the back foot and makes her extremely uncomfortable because it’s something she never does, and it’s basically taking her whole fantasy of conquering Westeros and destroying her enemies and basically forces her to give it up for the sake of maintaining her own mystique. 

So she’s super pissed and Jorah talks her down, and while once again the show cuts away from shit that we actually need to see, it’s fair to assume that he said something along the lines of Sansa is Regina George and you’re currently Janis Ian, so you need to go talk to her and charm her into liking you and the rest of the Northerners will fall in line. So, Dany follows his advice and tries to actually talk to Sansa and to get her to see her as the Enlightened Despot she imagines herself to be. 

Frankly, the conversation between Sansa and Dany is extremely weird and vapid on the surface, but I think it makes sense within a certain context. Namely, that Sansa and Dany both have very clear preconceived notions about each other, however Sansa’s assumptions are generally correct while Dany’s assumptions are completely incorrect. 

Obviously at this point, Sansa isn’t being fooled by charm, and Dany unfortunately reveals herself to Sansa in completely unintentional ways that she doesn’t realize are actually really hurting Sansa’s perception of her. Dany is here to conquer Westeros and force the North into submission, and maybe I’m overestimating Sansa’s political genius here, but what I find extremely interesting is that Dany asks Sansa why they’re at odds with each other but she doesn’t answer. She waits for Dany to answer, and Dany’s answer frankly gives Sansa an enormous political and manipulative advantage by letting her know that she assumes Sansa would not like an invader with dragons and an army the size of a city because she’s jealous that Dany has her brother’s attention. 

And yes, of course, Sansa loves Jon and is likely extremely concerned, but I just cannot believe that Sansa is being genuine in this conversation. This is the woman who had to convince Jon to accept the inevitability of their baby brother dying because focusing on saving him was an existential threat to their family and the North. I cannot believe that she would have more issues with the potential safety and manipulation of her brother who was a king, Lord Commander, and survived with wildlings beyond the wall than she would over Rickon. Not to mention, the notion that at this very moment when the North is on the brink of destruction and everyone is facing down the apocalypse, but somehow Sansa is concerned about the person that Jon may or may not be smashing, is an incredibly condescending and childish assumption to make about her. 

However, Dany does seem to make that assumption. Dany’s whole impression of Sansa seems to initially be that she’s just a catty and frivolous girl, and she seems to think that assuring Sansa that her super cute new crush is the one who really has her wrapped around his finger is enough to reassure her that everything’s fine and that that’s enough for Sansa to accept Dany as queen. 

But then Sansa quickly flips the script and asks about Northern independence, which I honestly think was a mistake on her part. Dany initially saw Sansa just like Cersei and Joffrey and Tyrion and the Tyrells and every other person saw her, as just a superficial idiot who can be easily managed and bent to someone else’s will. I understand why Sansa would never want to play that game again, but it also left her in an enormously advantageous position, and letting Dany know that she was actually very politically minded was not the right move at that moment. But of course, because this is the season of constantly interrupted interesting conversations, as soon as the discussion turns political it’s interrupted. 

Now, what I think is very interesting about Dany is her desire to essentially acquire special people. She wants Tyrion, the “most brilliant man in the kingdoms”, to be her hand. She knows he’s exceptional, and she wants to basically own him. And she goes through the same thing with Jon. She perceives her feelings towards him as love, but I think she really knows nothing about him and just thinks that he’s extraordinary enough to be worthy of her and therefore they must be in love with each other. Dany sees herself as a person unlike any other, with no equal in existence or history, so when people fawn all over her or give her unquestioned loyalty it’s nothing more than what she expects, but when literally anyone seems to care about or respect someone more than they do her, she doesn’t understand it and often sees it as some kind of a betrayal. 

So when Theon shows up to fight for the Starks, she doesn’t necessarily seem mad, but she is clearly baffled, especially because she has already categorized Sansa as someone not special. If she thought Sansa were special or important enough to warrant her attention, Jorah wouldn’t have had to tell her to go try to be friends. But when Theon arrives and asks Sansa to fight for her, she doesn’t get it because in her mind Sansa is not worthy of that kind of devotion because she’s too ordinary, and the fact that someone is prioritizing Sansa over her right in front of her face really puts her off. And what seemingly makes this interchange dangerous is that Dany’s reaction to seeing this doesn’t seem to be a desire to actually understand where it stems from, but seems to result in the immediate conclusion that Sansa herself must be stopped (which is an idea that Dany toyed with in the season premiere as well, but I think it only solidified that idea for her further).

But I think that Sansa and Theon’s interaction here is obviously fascinating as well, both in relation to Dany and in general. Honestly, that kind of raw emotion and vulnerability is something that people in GoT rarely display around one another, and I can’t even think of another instance of Dany actually witnessing two people who genuinely love each other emotionally connect in that way. That’s not generally a way that she feels about a lot of people, and in her world, she is always the center of attention. So even if there are people in her orbit who love each other, she never really sees that. I actually think Emilia’s expression captures that perfectly as well, she both seems put off but unsure of how to react and borderline unsure of WTF it is that she’s actually seeing, because again, it’s pretty abnormal to see people be that emotionally open in public anyway and because it’s something that Dany is completely unaccustomed to seeing when it’s not directed towards her. 

And of course, for Sansa and Theon as a pair, it’s extremely heartwarming and emotional to see how deeply they care for one another, and it’s even more touching to realize how powerfully they have had to repress their own emotions for so long and that they have now gotten to the point where they’re so completely unashamed and completely lacking in self consciousness that they’re willing to be that raw no matter who’s looking. 

Overall, despite the massive flaws of season 8, I do have to say that the scenes between Dany and Sansa are some of my favorite and I wish we had gotten so much more out of them. I actually think the performance chemistry between Emilia and Sophie is better than nearly every other character that Dany was introduced to late in the game, and I think it was a huge mistake to not explore that more and to not fully clarify that these two literal queens are not bickering over a boy’s attention.