#Why does the untrained and trained cards look so different

[petals-and-all]

[ Moodboard of An Shiraishi "Top-notch server!" trained card (Project SEKAI ) with themes of music and cafe ]

Here you go, my friend ! Thank you for your request and patience !

[the-one-that-weeps]

Okay I'm so incredibly sorry for this but....

Let me talk about the Rui empty eye trained card phenomenon and why i've been studying it for years

As in how it's the weirdest thing colorpalet has done, weither or not this has any story meaning ig we'll have to see :')

This phenomenon describes how Rui is the only OC that isn't related to 25ji (and even for 25ji only Mizuki and Mafuyu have had this) that has had empty eyes in a trained card in his own event (even worse it happened Twice.).

The first incident was in Curtain Call, now while in the non transparent version there is some lighting his eyes do not have any highlights of their own. This can be seen in the transparent version where Rui's eyes are empty (the issue of transparent versions of cards will become apparent soon and I will discuss it later).

The second incident happened in Cyberpunk Deadboy...this time there is no real question about it it's just straight up empty eyes.

There is also the transparent version of Rui's detective set card which has empty eyes but since the non transparent version has highlights I've decided to not count it.

Now the weirdness of this phenomenon is made clear when you compare it to Literally Every Single Card in the Game.

And since I'm a normal person with normal hobbies and normal amount of free time, I've searched for literally any card to follows this issue Rui has.

The results however are staggering.

There are only few cards that come close to Rui's treatment and even then most are from mixed or are basically reaching.

-Akito's untrained from LUTF is probably the closest to an exception we have however Akito's eyes are shaded in a way that still shows light in his eyes.

-Emu's halloween trained is a weird one ?? The eyes are extremely stylised to make her spooky so it doesn't rlly end up looking like empty eyes at all though there are no traditional highlights. You could argue it would be the same for Rui's trained cards then but it's clear the context is wildly different.

-Shiho's Halloween trained card, the transparent version does have empty eyes but the non transparent version has highlights which means it doesn't count.

-Touya's White day card, the non transparent version has no highlights but the transparent version has one, basically same as Shiho but reversed.

Anyways the fact I had to reach this far just to find a counterexemple to the weirdness of how colorpalet has basically given Rui empty eyes in Half Of His Focus Events is pretty telling.

Does this have any meaning towards the story at large ??? No ???? Yes ??????? I genuinely don't know at this point, all I know is that this has taken years off my life.

Hope you have a nice day and apologies for the monstrosity I have left on your doorstep

Demo I'm going to start compiling your analyses and putting them on paper because this is Harvard research level shit I swear. You're the one and true Ruitologist in this fandom /pos /baffled and amazed

That is very interesting indeed... I can fully understand curtain call but as always cpdb set is an anomaly anywhere you look. I don't even know

[heart-of-copper-dog-training]

Does size matter?

So we see a lot of breed bias in the dog training and guardian world. And that is definitely something for a different post. But today, I want to talk about dog size.

Often times, when I see a discussion about hypothetical dog scenarios, there is often two given examples of dogs: the well behaved dog and the unruly dog. This could be in reference to just discussing encounters out and about, at a dog training class, or (most commonly) a fake service dog call out post.

Quick interjection here: not all disabilities are visible and no, you cannot ask a person with a service dog to "prove it" with a "certification" there isn't such a thing and anyone who readily pulls out a "service dog id card" should be met with suspicion at the least, though I do know some programs gift these after their participants graduate.

On to my point, in these call outs, when it is not a breed bias (often painting one heavily stigmatized breed vs another less stigmatized breed, either in favor or against the breed in question), it is a size bias. I see far too many posts where these hypothetical situations paint all small dogs are nasty little "brats". And in comparison, some large or giant breed is almost always the one who can do no wrong or is the "real" service dog.

Now I work with a service dog program (shout out to TADSAW) and I have even seen this bias with our clients who think small dogs can either NEVER be service dogs or are just untrainable little monsters.

I also know small dogs who are amazing little dogs, whether they work as a service animal (and yes, they can, depending on the tasks required, their size is not an issue), a fun trick pup, a sports puppy, or just a well trained companion who is happy to loose leash walk, not pee in the house and stick around for the cuddles.

What I want to talk about is why this happens. Why do people assume little dogs are monsters? Or can't do work? Well, for the latter, it's usually because they don't understand all the tasks a service dog can do and assume the dog must be of a certain size without taking into account that medical alert dogs are a thing, and picking up dropped items is actually completely doable for a small dog.

For the former? As a current little dog owner, I can say it's because they aren't taken seriously. Because here's the thing: a large dog that jumps on you, bites, barks, pulls, lunges, etc is going to literally do more harm than a little dog, so more often than not, guardians of these dogs do more to ensure good manners are in place and take into account their size for exercise and enrichment requirements.

It's VERY easy to just scoop a small dog up and remove them from any situation where they are having undesirable behaviors. And it's very easy to dismiss the damage a small dog can cause to a child because "oh look how cute and small they are, they're harmless".

And it's VERY easy to assume that because the dog is small, they don't need much in the way of exercise, training, or enrichment. Look at their tiny feet, they clearly can't walk far, right?

So, dogs aren't sizes. Dogs are dogs. Breeds are breeds. And individuals are individuals. Where one small dog might be content to be a lap dog all day, another (looking at you, Donut) will happily walk two miles and still want to trick train for the next thirty minutes because he just LOVES doing it. Some large dogs are lazy couch potatoes (I know, I've owned a greyhound, he was great) and some are intense athletes. And all sizes can be anywhere and everywhere in between.

But it's the small dogs who get left out of the conversation. When people bring a small dog into their family, it is too often done because small dogs are "easy". They don't "need" exercise, or much more than a run around the house. They don't "need" training and enrichment, because they're small, they'll just cuddle all day. They can be carried around and brought many places a larger dog would be denied because they're "portable". Their discomfort and lack of consent is often dismissed as "aww look they think they're a big dog" when they show teeth. They are never taught what to do because it's so easy to just pick them up and remove them from a situation. And often they learn that they need to jump to biting FIRST, as every other signal they tried to give was ignored, because, again, "look how cute".

Even a guardian who is doing everything right, trying their best to give their small dog good manners and foundational skills, will be met with constant battles.

You're working on socializing so you bring your dog out just to "watch the world go by?" You're going to be stopped by people asking to hold them(even when they're fully grown and don't want to be held by strangers) because unfortunately, they're still small and often treated like puppies by these dog lovers.

You're working on reactivity (perhaps caused by strangers constantly grabbing at your poor dog)? People will STILL ask to pet/hold them. EVEN after you say "no, they're not friendly" "no, they're in training" "no, they don't like people/dogs". Because they're SMALL. So to others, the damage output is minimal. The same people that would back off if you said your dog is not friendly when it's a large dog will move in to pet a small dog because "oh dogs love me".

For the first year of Donut's life (when he was extra floofy and adorable), I had also had my Pyrenees mix Naga (she was 12 years old and passed shortly after his birthday). Naga was a shelter dog that came from a hard situation where her health had been compromised and she'd been undersocialized. She came to me with fears of men, stairs, people in hats, people in uniforms, honestly it was a large list and a long journey with her. But we worked together to help her build her confidence.

BUT that didn't mean that she was going to be confident in every situation. She was most confident with me and her other dog present (previously the aforementioned greyhound Thane, now Donut the Bichon). And I would always advocate for her if I saw she was uncomfortable, even if I knew the person meant no harm.

I never once had someone continue to approach me when I said "she's in training and a little cautious of strangers" and it was my 85 lb pyr with me. They always backed up and said "oh I'm sorry to hear that" or "oh I didn't realize".

But when Donut hit his first fear period, I learned why small dogs bite. Because the same words I've used for decades for my dogs "they're in training, they're working, they can't be pet right now" don't work for small dogs. So I was left with a few choices: pick him up every time someone approaches too quickly (taking away his agency and ability to learn to cope with a new environment), or stop taking him out completely until the fear period passed (even though we were only doing small stints to make sure he didn't get overwhelmed).

Or, secret option three: "bite" the people. When my nice words did not produce the results Donut needed (space, time to process), I would follow up with something harsher. I would body block him myself, give them the hard look and say "no, you need to back off. He is not a toy and I did not say you could pet him."

It was rude. It was not what I wanted to do as a guardian or a trainer. But it got results. Oh, yes, I got the stink eye on more than one occasion, and sometimes I got parents upset I didn't let their kid pet the dog (and often the children were MUCH more polite!). But, I also got Donut the space he needed to choose to engage or not.

Donut is now a happy go lucky little guy who has never met a stranger, but I still have to advocate for him to this day. Even though most days he won't try to put feet on someone, the day he does it and I give him a little "off" and treat, I get told "it's okay he's small". NO, it's not okay. It's bad manners and that's why I'm redirecting and you wouldn't be saying that if he was a big dog. He loves almost every person he meets, but sometimes an individual can come on a little strong for him (going right for the pick up and hug) and he will show discomfort and retreat to me, because he knows I'm going to prevent it. No, he's not a toy and you wouldn't be trying to pick him up if he was big.

Owning a small dog is HARD. I have owned street dogs, large dogs, reactive dogs, I have worked with giant breeds, aggressive dogs, major anxiety in dogs. I have nursed dogs and puppies back to health from the brink of death (with the guidance of my veterinarian of course).

And none of that was as hard as making sure my small dog was socialized properly and had his needs met. I think we make owning a small dog so hard for those who are trying. And even for those who aren't doing "the right thing", it is often out of ignorance. I cannot tell you how many clients have come to me with small dogs who are exhibiting major boredom undesirable behaviors and when I ask about their routine I'm met with a "well we don't really do much, they're small so they just stay in the house and go outside to potty". Well, there's the problem right there.

We need to educate more guardians on the fact that dogs are dogs, regardless of size. Their needs will vary based on breed, temperament and many other factors, but their size doesn't change the fact that they are dogs. They can do jobs, like service work. They can be amazing little companions. They can be complete clowns like Donut who want to do nothing more than learn ALL THE TRICKS because they love it. Donut has higher energy, drive, intelligence and exercise needs than my other dog, Pancake, who is 45 lbs. Which isn't a lot, but is sure is a lot bigger than his 11 lbs soaking wet self.

And when I tell people that, they look at me like I've grown two heads. Pancake definitely likes to run and has a higher speed and endurance than him, but one good long walk of sniffs and a five minute training session will knock her out the rest of the day. Meanwhile, Donut rarely runs out of second winds until the end of the night, and that's only because I've built in a very specific night time ritual to ensure he calms down for bed. He'll have a twenty minute nap and then ask for more training or play. He's such a fun dog to have around but he's also my biggest chore (don't tell him!).

Please stop demonizing small dogs. Some of those guardians don't know any better due to the false belief that small dogs are "easy" and need to be educated. Some of them are trying their best and fighting a world of people who will not give them the respect they would give a guardian of a large dog.

Dogs are dogs. And unless you NEED their size for a specific task, then I'm sorry but size doesn't matter.

As always, be kind to yourself, to your dogs, and to others around you. We don't know their battles, and it's free to be kind.

[rk-ocs]

Bits and bobs part 1

Cooking raccoon for Steve. Beacuse that man will eat anything, and raccons are a meanance. Bucky, I am going to teach you how to cook raccoon. Its super important, you get this correct. Then maybe we can go to Japan and cook them

---

He owns that style!

Overcome the steryotypes!

What else are rubber giant hammers for?

Imagine Tony stark learning to hunt with red, and the both Red useing traditional skining tecquniques and then makeing like stuff to give as passive agressive presents

Or haveing like a bizare room with weird taxidermied head for meeting people he doesn't like

"Sam, you look cold, you can use a blanket you know"

"What is this made of"

"This is deer fur, and the pillow is rabbit"

"..."

"I shot it myself"

"!!!?"

Rodney is too used to these shenanigans.

"You know I prefer the fox pillow!"

---

Red is trying to teach Desmond how to fight. It's like his body knows the moves, but he's rusty because he hasn't practiced since he was... Taller and other odd off moments. This is because, his training came from his ancestors genetic memories, and they had different movements and body shapes. Oh it works fine to the untrained eye, but to anyone who knows what they are doing, (and Red, trained to exploit weakness) it's off. Someone could take ruthless advantage of that

---

Eclipse, why can zombies hear?  I know all senses lead to the brain, but while it breaks some parts, others gain like some kind of ecolocation .smell Intersects with the parts of the brain responsible for memory and emotion, so I get why that isn't the sense to improve, but why specifically hearing? Both hearing and touch are a type of mechanosensation.  I get why their sense of touched decreased, as their dead status means the nerves arnt working anymore, but why would that increase the hearing? What changed them enough that the hearing is working at above average Frequencies? Why is audio the main system giving the brain data?

---

Will this madness never end

(nope)

Yah I like the worldbuilding that goes into fusions and alternate worlds, so I want to get it right. I want the characters to fit in the setting.

In the comics, Tony is the perfect person to use this, in part beacuse he is a super genius to quote the part that have me the idea to have Tony capable of AC calculations

"Tony's genius allows him to act as a futurist, a person capable of intuiting the future based on current trends, to the point of foreshadowing that a situation like the superhuman Civil War was going to happen years before it did. This ability also extends to a much smaller scale, with Tony being capable of predicting with accuracy the way an interaction with a given individual will go down even before talking with them, a faculty that makes it really hard for human interactions to surprise him, and causes him to sometimes finish other people's sentences."

Not That I plan to go that far, with it, it's going to have drawbacks.

Whenever Tony gets on calculating something, he needs foccus. He can do, and uses it most for small things (like cards) , but on bigger projects, he talks fast and does a lot of writting on paper, and Red takes notes and offers up possibilities as parameters. Staying too long, or searching too far out can increase the chances of insanity. Not useing in your life, can up the probablity of being hit by a big one unexpectedly, and it's better to plan and have limits of the future you are trying to view, like directions on an event of a probability, rather then flying blind. Its not going to be plot convieant visions.

---

[bisexualocs]

no cuz the 4star card of haruka from an angel spreads its wings gacha literally pisses me off so much. in terms of design it is absolutely the worst card in the game like what were they thinking 😭 i would take a good 3star card over this one any day.

like as just a piece of art it’s not bad. the render is good, it’s cute, pretty, whatever. but it’s not just an independent art piece, it is specifically a card in a video game. like you have to think about its function and that should affect the design. there are so many things wrong with this card. like

1. it’s non-specific. if you weren’t told which character this card belongs to there is literally no way to tell if this is a haruka, minori, airi, or shizuku card. every character is equidistant from each other with the exact same size in the exact same lighting and very similar poses. in fact, the only one who slightly stands out from the group is minori because she’s facing a different direction. even the stray feathers in the sky are making an arc towards minori (one literally looks like an arrow pointing at her), further emphasizing her in the piece. but this isn’t minori’s card, it’s haruka’s.

2. it’s dark as hell. don’t get me wrong, my favorite part of any good card is unique/strong lighting, but this isn’t that. this is haruka almost completely encased in shadow, making it super hard to even make out her features. it just looks like a silhouette, which is not what you want in a character card.

3. it’s blurry as hell. as a whole piece, the small size of the characters is fine, because the emphasis is on the environment. but you never see cards in project sekai as whole pieces except when specifically viewing them in the card’s profile. you only see zoomed in close-ups of the character whenever actually using the card/playing the game. because haruka is so small, her card appears extremely blurry when in use. it’s not QUITE as bad as the 4star cherry blossom miku card…but it’s bad. like, just look at her card next to other better-designed cards:

it seriously sticks out like a sore thumb in any team. this image is an example of the final issue:

4. it’s undetailed. haruka appears smaller than the others because it’s not quite as zoomed in, probably to minimize the already high level of blurriness. and because she was drawn so small on the canvas, her features, outfit, hair, etc have all been simplified. simplicity by itself is not a bad thing, but it does not at all fit with the detailed style of most other cards in the game. also, because her pose is plain and there is nothing but a blank sky behind her when zoomed in, that just adds to the effect of being way less detailed/complete than other cards. at least the offending miku one has some trees behind her. other cards with one-color backgrounds, like ichika’s paint-themed colorfes one, make up for it with interesting poses and more detail in the character themself.

this haruka card just takes all the bad elements of card design and throws them into one. the untrained art is bland (as most untrained art is, hence why training cards is supposed to make them look better) so that can’t even make up for the shitty trained art. if i were a big haruka fan i would be so pissed about this. i still am and she’s not even in my top 10 characters. proseka really forgot basic principles of design for this one huh 🤨

[rotzaprachim]

i realised i probably will never get here in in painter’s light so enjoy this my favorite fandom crossover/easter egg i’ve ever written:

(It’s from an au where declan stayed with his mother ergo canon + dialect differences)

6. Washington DC 

Age twenty, he gets a business call from a woman who has a statue to sell. Normally he doesn’t take these kinds of calls anymore, the ones that are meant to go straight to his mother’s number, but this woman sounds desperate in the way that has him thinking it’s better if he handles it than one of his mother’s hands in the city, so he buys two Amtrack tickets, and north he goes. Matthew gets sick after eating a microwaveable, foil-wrapped train burger from the snack car.  

He installs Matthew in the Met while he meets his contact. An old school deli, one of the kind that’s apparently disappearing fast, an endangered species, and she’s probably a local so it’ll be annoying or pretentious anyway, but she refused any of his options for fancier, more expensive wine-and-dine locations anyway so deli it is. He gets a lox bagel and a coffee and two black-and-whites in a bag to split with Matthew later while he sizes her up. She keeps looking at her hands but she’s calm with the person she called in from Boudicca, has something steely about her, like she’s dealt with bigger fish before and isn’t scared. There’s something about her that’s like him, he knows, thought they don’t say the magic word at all. He thinks she’s maybe thirty. 

“In the interest of not beating around the bush further, as it’s clear that’s what neither of us is here to do, let’s move on to the real action item.” 

“I have a statue to sell.” 

She shows him photos. The camera resolution isn’t quite what he needs to appraise it seriously, but he can see how shockingly life-like it is already. 

“How much d’you want for it?” 

“Fifty thousand.” 

He almost coughs up his coffee. 

“You haven’t been playing this game for long.” 

She doesn't’ say anything. 

“Fifty thousand, take it or leave it.” 

“What’s the material?” 

“Marble.” 

He considers. If it’s good up close he could probably resell it for four or five times that to some collector interested in neo-hellenic stuff. Not many people making original marble statuary these days compared to the market of the super-rich looking for shit to decorate their back gardens. 

“Can you show me?” 

Declan calls Matthew to tell him to go back to the hotel and get takeaway without him and follows the woman uptown on the bus. They get off in Spanish Harlem, a world away from the shiny robot skyscrapers downtown. She lives on the fourth floor of her building, in a narrow apartment somewhat rank with the smell of body odour and spilled beer, although she throws the windows open and has loads of potted plants about, like she’s trying very hard to get rid of the smell. 

“There.” 

The sculpture is unmissable. Life size and astonishingly, terribly ugly. Truly incredible in it’s attention to awful detail. A middle aged, balding, short man with a fan of cards in one hand and a beer swinging from the other, positioned exactly as if he’s just got up from sitting. Mouth opened, soundlessly screaming his head off. Declan sees it and flinches without even meaning too. His mother’s not had many men, but she had a few, when she was younger. But it’s just a statue. Just a statue. 

Still one of the weirdest goddamn things he’s ever fucking seen, and that’s saying something. 

Authentic marble though. 

“Formal education? Apprenticed to someone?” 

“Take it or leave it. Fifty thousand.” 

No more information. He knows exactly why she called him. He’s the kind of man you call when you don’t have information about the life-sized sculpture of a man in your sitting room and no information to give about how you made it, in the same year you report your husband missing to the police. When to the untrained eye, the two look identical. He’s that kind of man. 

He gets her three million USD for it. 

It’s all through an official channel so it’s harder to launder, get it looking legal. A million upfront, the rest leaked in increments over the next ten years. All shiny, all legal, all IRS-signed off. He personally takes out fifty thousand and puts it in a manila  envelope for when he meets her a few blocks off central station, an hour before his train’s scheduled to leave. He gives her the envelope. She gives him a white paper bag containing only blue sweets. It looks like a proper pick-n-mix haul, something he didn’t even think the States had. Whoppers, sour strings, taffy, gum, gummy sharks. He eats a sweet and sour wind-up before being able to stop himself, the sweet-sour crystals on his fingers like being a kid again. 

“You’re so young,” she says finally, like this didn’t occur to her the entire time he was selling what was probably her husband’s dead body. 

He shrugs, but he’s smiling. “But I got your done.” She can’t be more than ten years older than him, anyway, and most of her jobs have been harder. You don’t tell art world undergrounders your personal life, anyway, but he noticed all of the accoutrements of a maybe secondary-school aged kid lurking around her flat, Lucky Charms, mud scuffs on the floor in strange places, football jerseys in the hamper. She’d tried to hide the obvious things, no photos on the fridge or skateboard leaning against the door frame, but he had an eye for those kinds of details like other people had a head for figures, and he recognised the detritus of a teenager well, because he’d been one recently and he had one. 

She appraises him for a second. Her eyes are large and very dark brown, and they don’t let anything go. “Zeus?” she finally says, like she’s been thinking it for a long time, testing the waters. “Hera?” 

“Like the Greek gods?” 

He went through his greek mythology phase, for sure. Half of decoding what posh people write seems to be about knowing the ins and outs of the soap operatic turns of events people told each other for fun two thousand years ago, which is then called Classics. 

She looks at him longer, considers him. 

“Lugh, then? Bridgid?” 

“I don’t know what you mean by that.” 

She nods. “Sorry if- nevermind. Thank you for selling my statue.” 

“I hope you do well with it. With your… artistic career. Now, and I don’t fucking care if you blow throught he money in a year, never call me again. Never call this number again. Never call any number related to it. If your money never comes through do fine with a million and don’t go looking. Never.” They shake hands and part ways, and he never sees her again, but he does think about her a lot afterwards anyway, parsing their conversation out. No gods and no God either, as far as he knows. Strange fucking thing to ask. 

He’s learned enough by how Matthew is on trains - and on ferries, it transpires, and in strange taxis, and he doesn’t want to fucking think about the transatlantic flight he’s planning at some point - not to let him eat much before the train back to DC, for which he feels bad. While they were in New York he let Matthew choose a show and dutifully got some last minute Dear Evan Hansen tickets off a third party seller, got the good seats and the playbill they got signed after by the cast, Declan knows who to talk to for these kinds of things.

[rippedjeansandfadeddreams]

Okay here we go!

@badthingshappenbingo​ 

Original content

Prompt: Prisoner Exchange

This story is on that I’ve been working on for a year. I’ve been using the bingo card to get inspiration for this story. Here is a chapter that I’ve written to fill this prompt on the bingo card. I’m probably not going to post the entire story on tumblr, just a few chapters.

A little bit about this world and story:

The world has magic. Everyone under the age of 16 has what is called Child’s magic. This magic is relatively harmless. Once a child turns 16, their magic either leaves or it stays. 2 out of 5 people will end up having their magic stay. If their magic stays, it turns into Adult magic. This magic is the real deal. Danger and all that. The people in power all over the world do not know what to do. After they run some tests on people with Adult magic and, with parental supervision and consent, Child’s magic, they have come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is to take those with Adult magic and keep them in what is called the Magic Market. The Market has trained people to keep those with magic under control. They are called Handlers. The Market also has collars that block magic from being used. When people are first taken to the Market, they are tattooed with a number, the date they were brought in, where they were brought in, and the city and state. This is their Mark.

Adam, the main character, is fighting against the Market. In this chapter he has been caught by the Market.

CW: Collars, manhandling, chains, non con touching and stripping (non sexual), prisoner exchange, modern human trafficking, non con drugging, examination, panic attack, blood mention, scars. Let me know if I missed anything! (Adam does question his age, he’s 19.)

I wake up to the purr of a van. I jerk up, choking. The Boss has a attached a chain to the collar. The chain is attached to the floor of the van. I look up to see a Handler grinning at me.

“Enjoying yourself?” I spit.

The Handler doesn’t respond. Of course. They never respond to me, or any worker.

I roll my eyes and try to get comfy on the floor. Luckily, I don’t have to stay on the floor for too long because the van stops after a few minutes.

The Handler stands up and unhooks the chain. He pulls me to my feet and shoves me out the doors as they open. I stumble out of the van and two other Handlers grab onto me. I struggle in their grip.

“Get off me,” I growl.

The Handlers just laugh as they drag me inside the building. It looks like a mini airport. I kick at them the entire way in.

“Adam, good to see you again,” The Boss says.

“The feeling isn’t mutual,” I say as the Handlers shove me forward.

The Boss just chuckles and waves me forward. “I see that fire of yours hasn’t died yet,” he says.

“Only in your dreams,” I say, sticking my hands in my pockets.

The Boss smiles and turns around. He waves me forward as he walks deeper into the building.

I eye the Handlers next to me. They’ve let go of me. I slowly walk forward, following the Boss. “Hey, uh, why haven’t you cuffed me?” I ask the Boss.

“Because, where you’re going, you aren’t supposed to be cuffed,” he answers.

“Where am I going?” I jog so I’m walking right next to him.

The Boss just looks at me.

“Where am I going?” I ask again.

“You’re being introduced into a new program we have. And the people who will be receiving you don’t like it when their shipments are in cuffs. It bruises the skin, you see,” he explains.

We’ve walked to the edge of the airport, where the boarding happens. There isn’t anybody else here. “These people don’t like bruises?”

“The workers we send them are normally the rowdy ones. The untrained ones. We send them to our partners where they train them. However, they don’t like it when our workers arrive battered and beaten. It dampens the effect of the training,” the Boss says.

I take a deep breath in. “How long does this normally take?” I ask. I wanted this to be over as soon as possible. If I could pretend to be trained, they might let me out.

“We’re sending you over for a year. If they need more time, we’ll extend your stay.”

“A year!” I back up, running into a Handler. He grabs my arms and holds me in place. “Aren’t you worried that I’ll escape?”

The Boss looks amused. “Not at all.”

“Why? I’ve done it in the past.”

“In the past, you’ve been in some place familiar. Here, you will be going overseas.”

My heart drops. “Overseas?” I whisper and drop to my knees.

The Boss nods and crouches down. “You’ve caused far too many problems for us and I want them to end. In order for them to end, I need to fix you. This will get you out of my hair long enough to fix the problems you’ve started. And when you get back, we can continue our tests. So, be a good worker, and you’ll only be there a year.” He stands up. “Get him on the plane.”

The Handler pulls me to my feet. I stumble across the room and out of the door. I kick at the Handler, hoping he’ll let me go. He just hauls me over his shoulder and carries me onto the plane. He tosses me into a seat and straps me in, locking the buckle so I can’t get out. I pull at the straps, feeling my heart pound in my chest. The Handler watches me and laughs, walking away, tucking the key in his pocket.

I growl as I try to get out of the seat. “Hey!” I shout. “Let me out of here!” Eventually, I give up struggling and stare out at the airport, watching as they load up baggage and other things I don’t recognize.

“Enjoying the view?” The Boss says, striding into the cab.

I glare at him. “Let me out of here,” I say.

“Now why would I do that? I just got you here.” He sits down opposite me and crosses his legs.

“C’mon, please,” I say. “Why don’t you just take me to a training center here? This place can’t be better than why we’ve got here, can it?”

The Boss just smiles and shakes his head. “They are much more efficient that us. And you are a special case. When you are working and obeying orders, you’re extremely useful, like when you first came to us. We need that same work ethic back.”

I lean back in my seat, not saying anything.

The Boss checks his watch. “We’ll be taking off soon. Enjoy your flight. I will see you when we land,” he says before leaving me alone.

The flight isn’t so bad, it’s almost pleasant. There are people bringing me food over the ten-hour flight. I doze a little and they let me out for frequent bathroom breaks. About three hours in, they unlocked the lock on the buckle and let me roam around the plane. Although a Handler follows me everywhere.

“Sit down,” a Handler growls at me.

“Why?” I ask. “I haven’t done anything.”

“We are nearing our destination. Sit. Down,” he says, pushing me into the seat.

I sit down and buckle my seatbelt. The Handler pulls out the lock. “You don’t have to lock me in,” I say. “I won’t run. I won’t fight.”

The Handler stares at me before finally putting away the lock. I let out a breath and stare out the window. The city is green, much greener than anything I’ve seen at home. I stare at it, forgetting for a moment that I’m here to be trained. For a moment, I just let myself be caught up in the beauty of the sight.

When we land, the Handler stands by the only exit. I watch out the window as people swarm the landing strip. My heart pounds. I raise a hand to the collar and my Mark. These people are here for me. I can’t escape them. There is nobody coming to save me. I’m here, alone, with people who want to hurt me, beat me, strip me of my identity. I push myself back in my seat as I feel them board the plane.

“Take it off,” I whisper to the Handler. “Please, take it off.” I claw at the collar. The Handler just watches me. “Take it off, please. Please, I won’t use my magic. I won’t fight back.” The collar feels too tight. I can feel my heartbeat against the metal. I can feel my throat closing off.

The door opens and people dressed in suits walk in. There are four of them. I sit up straight. “Evening, fellas,” I say, trying to hide the panic that rises into my throat.

They don’t say anything as they unbuckle the seat belt and pull me to my feet. They walk out, two of them have iron grips on both my arms. I stumble as we walk off the plane. We meet up with five more people in suits. They surround me and push me into a van. I sit awkwardly between two men. Before we leave the airport, I see The Boss talking with a few more people. They shove someone forward. It’s a girl in the dull brown clothes of the Market, and a thick collar around her neck. She looks at her feet, her head down. The Boss grabs her arm and leads her to the plane. I get a sick feeling in my stomach. That’s what they are going to do to me.

We pull away and start making our way through the city. The city is beautiful. I admire the architecture and the people that we pass. Nobody forces me back. Nobody forces me to stop looking. If it weren’t for the collar around my neck, I can almost imagine that I’m here to tour the city. I might come back here one day, when this is all over.

We near a large building. My heart pounds as we pull into a parking spot. They pull me out of the van and into the building. I dig in my heals, trying to pull out of their grips. My struggling doesn’t faze them. They just pick me up and carry me into the building. Fear grips me and I fight harder. They just shut and lock the doors, carrying me further into the building. When they finally put me down, I’m in a room full of people. Most are dressed nicely; the others are dressed like Handlers. I back up towards the door, but hands grab me before I can ger farther than a few steps.

“Get off me!” I shout. “Don’t touch me!”

They ignore my cries and rip off my shirt. They take off my shoes and socks as well. I kick at them but that doesn’t bother them. I scream and yell, hoping someone will hear me inside this nightmare.

They lock heavy metal cuffs onto my wrists, a different kind than I’m used to. These don’t attach to each other. They have rings on both sides so they can attach to other things. They attach a chain to either cuff and chain me to the walls, spreading my arms wide.

“What are you doing?” I ask one man as he comes up with a clipboard. Another comes up with medical equipment. I pull on the cuffs. They ignore me and continue with their examination.

“Make sure to note that he’s extremely stubborn. Harold told me to make note of this,” one of the men says.

The man with the clipboard nods and scribbles something down.

“Who’s Harold?” I ask.

Nobody answers me. I sigh and fall silent. They poke and prod at me, jerking my head back to get a good look at my face. Trailing their fingers across the scars on my back, feeling for any injuries I might have. I squirm under their touch. That doesn’t seem to bother them. Eventually, they stop and start to leave the room. I start to panic. “Hey! Come back!” I shout. “What’s going on?”

Nobody answers me. Nobody comes back.

I pull on the chains, hoping to get free. All I accomplish is cutting my wrists. I feel warm blood dribble down my arms. I feel a pit in my chest. These people don’t want bruising. What about cuts? How would they react? My breathing becomes faster. “Hey!” I shout. I start yelling as loud as I can. “What are you going to do to me?”

I fall silent as the door opens again. Two people walk in. One with a bucket of toiletries, the second empty handed.

“What are you going to do to me?” I ask quietly.

As per the usual, these people don’t answer. The man who walked in empty handed grabs a showerhead off the wall. He glances at my arms and then points the showerhead at me. He nods to his partner who sets down the bucket and walks towards me. He undoes my belt buckle and pulls off my pants, leaving me in my underwear. He then walks away. The first man turns on the water. The cold water hits me on full blast. I gasp, sputtering as the man sprays me down.

It’s a short process. The second man washes me, and the first man sprays me down. I’m shivering by the end of it, but the blood and sweat are gone. They pick up their things and leave me alone in the room once again.

I don’t shout while they’re gone. I just shake my wet hair out of my eyes and hope I warm up.

A new person comes in a while later. It’s a woman this time. She lowers the chains so that I’m kneeling and she starts on cutting my shoulder length hair. By the time she’s finished, my hair is short and tidy. I watch her sweep away the hair and then she leaves. I am not let off my knees.

It feels like hours before the door opens again. I look up to see a large group of people walk in.

“Hey guys, I though you forgot about me. Thanks for coming back,” I say with a smile.

Nobody responds. One man steps forward and starts walking around me. He tilts my head from side to side, then runs a hand through my hair. He continues walking around me. He fingers the scars on my back, sending shivers down my spine.

“Don’t touch me,” I growl.

I get no response, but the man doesn’t listen to me. He keeps fingering my scars. The man grabs my chin again and forces me to look at him. I glare at him. He looks at me like someone would look at an art piece, or something they want to study. Finally, he lets me go and walks away. He nods to a group of people and they walk towards me. They pull me to my feet and unchain me. I start to run, but they grab me, gripping my arms and wrapping their arms around my chest.

“Let me go!” I shout. “Let me out of here!”

They just force me into the rough clothes of the Market and chain my arms behind my back. They unhook the collar from around my neck and attach a bigger, thicker collar. I gag as they lock it on. Its weight makes me want to collapse and it’s tighter around my neck, making it hard to breath. I gasp, stilling as they continue to lock cuffs and chains onto me.

One man walks up with a syringe full of an odd colored liquid.

“What’s that?” I ask.

I get no answer. They only hold me against a wall, making sure I can’t move as the man comes closer. One man tilts my head to the side, pressing it up against the wall. I cry out as the needle pierces my skin. I feel the liquid work its way through me. It’s a drug, I think as I start to feel sluggish. My struggling becomes weak and I feel heavy.

They step back, letting me go. I lean up against the wall, trying to stay upright. The drug starts to kick in more and I feel ready to collapse. The men come towards me and I lash out, awkwardly lurching forward towards them. I almost collapse, but I somehow manage to stay on my feet. They step back, surprised.

“Give him another dose,” one of them says.

They hold me down again as they insert another needle into my neck. I slur a ‘no,’ but nobody listens to me. The second dose kicks in and I collapse, barely able to keep my eyes open. The men pick me up and carry me outside where I am chained to the wall by the collar and forced to kneel in line with the others they already have out. My head hangs and I focus on my breathing.

Voices swirl around me as I kneel in line with the other workers, the only thing keeping me upright is the chain that’s hooked to the wall and attached to the collar. I can’t see straight. I feel like I should be fighting but I can’t even move.  

“Look at this beauty,” someone says.

I feel hands on my face, lifting my chin. I let out a weak whimper. The voice laughs.

“He can’t even see straight. Doubt he even knows what’s happening to him,” a second voice says.

A hand runs through my recently cut hair, pulling my head back.

“This is one of the American’s we get through the Trade,” the first voice says.

“How long is he here for?” The second voice.

“A year. But it can be extended if he’s not cooperating.”

A year, please let it only be a year.

A hand on my chin forces my head to the side.

“He seems docile enough.”

“His dose was doubled so we could get him here,” the first voice says.

“How old is he?”

I should be nineteen, right?

There is a hand on my neck, touching my Mark. “Says here he should be nineteen.”

“I’ll take him,” the second voice says.

Leave me alone. Please. I think, silently begging. The rest of the conversation is lost as I am roughly unchained and hauled out of the building and into a separate room. I feel a prick in my neck and a moment later, darkness pulls me under.

[hellojeffreyjames]

Another mental health awareness month has come to an end. One challenge that a designated period presents, is that it can be hard to navigate for people who struggle to function in a neurotypical culture. It’s hard to parse all the virtue signaling or things folks say just to just participate in the theme of the month. To get ready for all the people to check in once in November, and then abandon them when that dynamic is so stressful they’d rather not have that person check in at all. It can be stressful to interact with people who are well intentioned, but lack an awareness of what being supportive means. It means they may dismiss the idea you have a neurological difference because they view a diagnosis as a defect instead of a part of neurodiversity.

This dullness may not happen, but if that’s the case, it doesn’t have to be forever. It can be a stepping stone towards building cognitive habits and disciplines you need to reduce your dosage. It can be the phase you needed to rewire your neurons. You may be able to build the structures you need to be medication free in a couple years instead of decades.

There are some neurological conditions that make it impossible to do certain things. One can learn the skills to work around that, and make the impossible, possible.  but for many people it’s like trying to learn calculus while bench pressing 200 pounds as someone keeps sticking a needles in your foot and telling you that you have no value and would be better off dead. For me that is not a question of whether or not I could learn calculus like that. It’s whether or it I should.

There are simple things I intend to do every single day and just cannot do them when I’m not on meds. I will beat myself up, tell myself I am a waste of a human life, and a burden to everyone, because I can’t do the even most basic things. I can’t do for those around me what I absolutely believe they deserve from me, and I don’t even have the language to explain why the most simple tasks are next to impossible. How it just looks like me being inconsiderate and selfish. How climbing Mount Everest would genuinely be easier than, say, mailing a letter. 

That’s not an exaggeration. I mean there are chemical differences that make a simple mundane task more difficult than something that includes tangible stress, urgency, extreme physical challenge, and in a distraction free environment. Obviously I’d fail at climbing Mount Everest as an untrained mountain climber, but I would engage with the activity. Taking three coffee cups off the nightstand and putting them in the dishwasher?  Without medication, that might happen if I think about it every day for the next... 2 years. Ok, that one is an exaggeration, but it would be quite a while.

I feel very proud as I watch my friends make life plans and conquer the world, as I formulate my own elaborate 36 step plan to ensure I brush my teeth today. 

If anyone identifies with any of that, to any degree, I just want you to know that you’re not alone. Yes, I also set myself 26 alarms and nine reminders and still did not make it to the post office yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before that. Yes, I also don’t know what to tell my family about why I don’t reciprocate birthday cards. Yes, I also feel like I am doing my best to hide and perform happiness and high function.

Have you gotten so good at it you’re afraid people think the performance is the really of how you are doing, and that mentioning your struggles would be seen as being attention seeking or melodramatic? Hey, me too, and I also feel this paradox:  Wishing somebody knew, yet embarrassed that if anyone really new, they wouldn’t know where to begin to support me and I wouldn’t know what to tell them. Yes, you and I both share that fear, that it will only end with a loss of dignity and to be treated like that unstable neurotic friend that folks keep at arms length and never expect much out of. That you’ll be stuck at the “kids table” of life and never be invited to anything that counts. And “me too” about... a lot of other and darker things we won’t get into right now.

We can spend a lot of energy juggling all of these difficult concepts and throwing the balls up so high in the air we don’t realize The massive amount of energy we are blowing through to just make it through each day. We can’t see them all at one time and realize, no one on the earth should have to do all of that alone. No one on the earth can do all of that alone. You are not a failure to seek help.

You are not a failure to seek help.

You are not a failure to seek help.

You are not a failure to seek help.

You are not a failure to seek help.

To stay afloat we keep juggling but if we stopped we would see it fall to the ground and say, “Holy shit I’ve been trying to manage hundreds of emotional, intellectual, psychological, spiritual, and physical burdens that the people I compare myself to ...simply don’t.”  The reason I feel feel like I am at the razor’s edge of losing everything, is because I am trying to do something nearly impossible, and perhaps absolutely impossible to do on my own.

You are not a failure to seek help. You are not dishonoring your body or your mind to take a medicine. You’re not a failure if you need to talk to a psychiatrist. You are not a failure if you believe you have neglected your whole life, for your entire life.  Because I know how hard it is to just make it through the day and still be alive. I know how hard it is to wake up every morning knowing you’re going to make it through this day, by the skin of your teeth, again.

That’s not your fault. The hundreds of things you have to conquer in your mind to make it through every single day - that’s not your fault and I need you to know that I am so. goddamn. proud of you. I’m proud of you because this fight is absurdly difficult. I hope you can trust me in that because at this point I’m an an expert in this fight.  I’m an expert at putting in every last drop of my effort and willpower, just to tie my shoes, get in the car, and drive to work. This fight is not a fair fight. You’ve been fighting an incredibly unfair fight, if not always by yourself, often by yourself ...and that is why I am so goddamn proud of you. 

I am more proud of you than I am of billionaires. I am more proud of you than those people who get to live laugh love their dream life and get paid to travel the world and sample ice cream for their ice cream travel blog. I’m proud of you because I know what you have to do to just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and you don’t get to sample the ice cream flavors of Bangladesh for doing so. 

So I want you to know, again: it’s okay to seek help. It can be a difficult road but I recommend professional help. Some wonderful spiritual books and friends can’t often fight that incredibly unfair fight.  You are a specific person and a mental health practitioner will be able to understand your specific needs and make adjustments as needed. 

I can’t promise you that I will give you exactly what you’re needing but I am here if you need to reach out and want to know more about getting help. I can promise, that if your friends fail to support you in the ways that you need, it’s not because they don’t love you, it’s because they are not professional supports. They haven’t trained for this. Seeking professional support is the way that we begin to believe we are not a burden to our friends and family. 

Even when you never were, it’s the same feeling of asking loved ones casually about some car issues for years, tinkering with your engine for years, then hiring a mechanic. There’s no one in your life who will shame you for seeking a mechanic and you might be amazed at how quickly your car begins to drive more smoothy. 

Anyone who talks negatively about medication, therapy, psychiatry, etc. do not have your well-being in mind.  they are sales people for their own ideologies. It’s not about you it’s about how you should take natural medicine or trust Jesus. There are people who would rather you buy some supplements and remain miserable than to see a professional and be shown that professional help does make a real difference.  it’s best to avoid those folks for a little while.

You are not a failure to seek help.

I am more proud of you billionaires and  professional ice cream tasting supermodels. 

You are fighting a battle you do not deserve to fight alone.

You are absolutely positively not alone.

You’re not a failure to seek help.

Things can get better.

Things will get better.

In the darkest places, reasons to try, to go on, to keep living, are often often nonexistent. I don’t want you to have any hope that things will change. I’m asking you to place a tiny sliver of trust in these things I’m saying. The best recent to do something different and to seek help is going to be, for no reason. The voices in your head will try to stop you and you must tell them, “there is no reason I’m doing this. But I am still going to do it.” Hope will betray you. Friends and family are not professional supports and will let you down because they don’t have any training.

I just want you to place that sliver trust in how I know road will get smoother. Things will get easier. Seeking help is not failure. I’m not asking you to hope I know this. I am asking you to trust that I notice. And I’m asking you to please keep on seeking help even though the help feel sometimes. The system may be broken but system can be a crucial part love you reconnecting with yourself and your inner resources so that you can create your own path of healing.

I’m so incredibly proud of you. thank you for reading all of this and if you choose to, thank you for placing that sliver of trust in these things I’m saying. And if you can’t do anything else, keep being around people you feel good around. The people that do you feel excepted and listen to with, and if you don’t have any of those let me know and I’ll make sure you do. 💛🤍🖤💛🤍🖤

[vesperlionheart]

STAG

For @sariasprincy because she wanted this waaaay back when and I finally got around to attempting my hand at Dark!Tobirama Sakura. :D

He watched her pull her hair up, catching it with her fingers when it started to slip free. She ran her free hand over her neck, starting at the base where the peaks of her bones stuck out, bent as she was over the river. He felt just as trapped as the fish in her net, watching her pale fingers follow the curve of her neck, suddenly too dry and hoarse for words.

With silent fingers made skilled from year of weaving, she tied up her hair to keep it out of her eyes, and then looped it again into a bun she fastened with a hair stick that could have been a twig for how crude it looked. A few stray curls framed her face, rebellious and free as she straightened and let the sun fall over her profile once more.

Nothing else adored her figure, no metal or stone or bead or weaving decorated her as she set about hauling up her catch from the nets. A moment later he realized why that was so odd. She wasn’t dressed as the other women in his village were ought to do. She didn’t even wear skirts, but instead waded into the water with clinging damp trousers that rolled up just above her knee.

Someone called to her and she caught the thick rope out of the air before twisting it around her fist and digging into the shifting river bed. She set her shoulders and turned the shape of her body away from the source, then he saw her move, pulling the weight up from under the water.  

“I told you, brother, the freshest fish in the land right here. Even at market they’re not still wriggling,” Hashirama laughed. “You fancy some for dinner?”

“That,” Tobirama began, still somehow unable to look away, “should be obvious considering this was the reason for your troublesome expedition.”

It took some effort, but he manage the swallow, blink, and force his face away in that order. He caught sight of a pair of scarred fishermen wading out of the water with cages under their arms and the sight was enough to ease him back into his casual displeasure. He did not want his brother to get any ideas about their expedition being somehow enjoyable. If Hashirama ever got that into his head there would be no end to the nagging.

“It does you more good than you’re willing to admit to get out of that tower of yours,” Hashirama huffed. “You stay cooped up in your stoney prison all day and all night for months and years on end of course your personality is going to grow stale. I’m afraid I can’t take you anywhere that might make you happy.”

“I’m perfectly happy at home with my books and my work,” Tobirama lied.

Hashirama reached for his brother and drew him into a side hug, smushing their shoulders together.  “You work far too hard for such an unfavored wizard.”

“We can’t all marry princesses with lands as vast as east is from the west and grow fat for our daughters. Some of us must contribute to this wretched earth.” 

 Tobirama felt his lip curl as he pushed out of his brother’s hold and then straightened the front of his frock. It was pale gray with the crest of a black stag across the heart. A single pendant on a gold chain, vibrating with stored magic, hung down from around his neck.

Unlike his brother Tobirama dressed in muted colors of black and gray and didn’t decorate himself with many metals or jewels unless it served a function he could justify. If need arose, he could use the Hag’s Eye to unleash a simple lightning strike. All Hashirama’s ring could do was glitter.

Most days he never needed much more than his cantrips. It had been many years since his initiation into the Philosopher’s Guild and his promotion to Providence Wizard. There weren’t many others who were of his caliber anymore, and even fewer who could make him believe they were even a challenge. It had been so long he forgot what his limits were, sometimes.

“You said you wanted something different for dinner, so lets get some fish before the best tails are taken!” The cheerful Lord exclaimed, pushing past his brother and hailing down a pretty help maid who was setting up baskets for sale.

“Who even says such ridiculous things?” Behind Hashirama’s back Tobirama mocked his older brother in a higher voice that wasn’t nearly as flattering as the original. “Before the tails are taken. Pssssh.”

He froze when he heard a petite snort just over his shoulder.

Spinning on his heel he couldn’t help but raise his guard. Someone was close enough without his notice and as powerful as he was, he wasn’t without his enemies. 

The long tails of his sleeves flapped out at his side as he raised his hands for fire magic, but it was only his face that heated.

The lovely vision of a woman he had been transfixed on earlier stood with a crate under her arm, resting on her hip.

“Mister,” she called with a smile so bright and white it should have been a warning. “Will you buy from me today?”

-

“Of course I know about you. Anyone in the seven hills who has ever had to pay with copper knows about you,” Sakura laughed in an exasperated way. She leaned back on the end of the bar’s edge with her elbows. She let the leg she had crossed over the other bounce teasingly. “Why, you thought you were being subtle?”

“We have not been formally introduced. I know not your family and you-”

Sakura held up a hand to stop him and like some sort of strange magic he did. She was bewitching and pretty, but after enough encounters he was almost positive there was something more than just her own womanly charms that bound him so.

“We don’t do that sort of thing around these parts. No one under this roof doesn’t have to slave for his bread and home, mister wizard.” There was a rough tilt in her words, something rural and easy that made her words fit the landscape better than his own polished ones. She spoke like a local and he was, as always, the odd sheep out. He didn’t…hate the sound of her voice, even if she said a few things wrong or addressed him incorrectly.

“High Wizard or Tower Wizard would be more appropriate,” he corrected. In spite of his self imposed confidence, he felt himself tug on the end of his tunic and fret with the hem of its fabric. Something possessed him to worry if it was properly pressed and not wrinkled in her presence.

“Makes no difference to me,” Sakura said. She reached for her ale and drank deep before replacing it on the bar by her side. “I’m not working in the rivers today, so why bother me here mister high tower wizard?”

He could tell the way she said it none of his names were title, only worthless words in her mouth….her pretty perfect mouth. She shook himself free of the thought and pressed on with his business.

“You’re untrained, but you are not without the gift.”

Sakura stilled but then eased back into the bounce of her leg. She glanced over her shoulder and pointed to her empty tankard before wiggling two fingers. When the bar keep turned away to fill her order Sakura turned around as well.

“That wouldn’t be quite true, sir. It’s not legal to train the magic folk unless they’re sworn to a crowned figure. No one here has any magic.”

“Nature conforms to no man.”

“Yet it grows for the wizards and their towers,” Sakura countered quickly.

“You’re not as untrained as you first appear, I believe,” Tobirama pressed. He dared a step closer.

“Depends on your definition of trained and untrained, sir. I’ve never practiced magic in no tower or school, but I work the rivers and the fields when its time and I sew with the women and wash with them too. I can fix most of the carts in town and deliver most of the livestock too if the need rises for it. I’m half decent as a midwife because of necessity and some say I’m not shit at cards neither. Maybe I’m not magic trained, but I get by.”

Two tankards were set down behind her arm and she reached to drink from the second one.

“Are you unwilling to learn and develop your gift?” he asked.

He almost cringed, watching her down the first drink in a single breath. He thought she might offer him the second drink, but then she reached for it too replacing her empty tankard with the third one.

“No such thing, told you, we know it’s illegal. Any gift in any babe is prayed out of them right away. No exception.”

“But you’re not from around here, are you?”

Sakura didn’t drink, but stilled with the tankard close to her chin. She seemed to be staring down into it, watching something in her amber colored reflection.

“Oh?”

“Your accent is unusual, and I might not have noticed it at first because all rural accents seem to sound the same, but there is a difference. Where were you born?”

Sakura laughed, reaching out with the toe of her bouncing leg to touch his knee before turning around in her seat to finish the last of her drink. With her back to him she left the money on the table and then slid off the stool. Once on her own two feet, her petite stature became all the more apparent. Tobirama towered over her.

“I’m sorry mister tower wizard, but that’s too fun a story to not save for later when you actually get to know me.” She sauntered to the door and then turned on a half spin before ducking out. “Next time offer to buy my drinks you dumbass.”  

-

She was magic, he was sure of it. She was as rough as anything unpolished is bound to be when found in the wilds of nature, be he would be the riverbed that shaped her into her greatest potential if only she would let him.

But she was as vexing as she was enchanting.

She didn’t talk to him when she was working, and if she was selling she wouldn’t say anything to his questions and queries unless he purchased something, and sometimes she made him purchase more than he was willing to use just to get her responses. What was he supposed to do with four dozen river crab? He didn’t even like crab. No amount of butter was going to change that.

When she was at the pub she liked to play cards and he could usually get her to talk to him if he played with her, and he wasn’t bad, but her luck and perception was blessed by some higher power, be it fay or the Unknown or some organized god.

She spoke best after winning when he bought her alcohol.

He had learned where she came from, or as much as she knew anyway. Left behind as a baby in Oberon’s Forest and raised by working men, she had been trained to close off the part of her that gravitated towards things unexplained for fear of causing her foster family grief. The things she couldn’t help, like the suggestion and calming of emotions was something she had never been able to stifle.

“It’s funny how that doesn’t work on you,” she said once.

“I’m far too stimulated around you to be calmed by something so passive as a cantrip.”

She asked him to explain his words but he bought her another drink instead and then asked for his wine to be paired with a nice cheese and bread. She laughed and almost fell out of her chair, but it wasn’t because the beer, because it never was. She could drink a horse’s weight in ale and still do cartwheels.

In the past three months he had left his tower for a small town in his providence more times than he had in the six years he had been stationed there. He wasn’t sure that was a good or bad thing yet, but he knew it wasn’t going to change until he got what he wanted.

“You’re always asking me questions, why don’t you ever answer mine?” Sakura complained.

“You never ask me anything,” he said. His heart felt a little heavy.

“You never let me get a question in. You just start talking about yourself all on your own. Here’s a secret for you, honey, I never listen when you do that.” Sakura pulled her chair closer to his and he didn’t flinch, but his breathing might have skipped.

“I think I am insulted.”

Sakura waved her hand between them. “Don’t be, it’s the same as with everyone who’s stuck up. I don’t listen to any of them none either.”

“You think I’m stuck up?”

Sakura reached out and traced the embroidery of a gray stag on his black tunic. “Yeah, a little. Not the way your brother is because that man’s a eyeful of concentrated sunlight in the middle of summer if you know what I mean, but you got it with your wine and your cheese and the subtle ways you correct how I speak.”

His tunic wasn’t thin, but he could feel her finger on his skin under where she traced her pattern and it made him painfully aware of the fact that he had never had a woman trace any patterns on his skin with the exception of maybe his mother, maybe?

Sakura splayed her hand over the stag design and then looked up. “Who is it?”

He managed to still form words. “Who are you referring to?”

“The stag. Who is it? He’s on almost all your clothes.”

“He’s the horned king of the woods, and the creature I conducted my graduate thesis on in the academy. He’s not as well known, but he’s believed to be the one who carries the magic filled from life into death in his great antlers.”

“Poetic.”

“I was told he was morbid.”

“I wouldn’t mind being carried off that way.”

“I doubt you have to worry about that anytime soon.” He reached out and touched her face, proud of himself for daring so. There was a faint scar that had only been bleeding and deep two days ago when one of the crab traps snapped and shattered. “You heal unnaturally fast.”

“I eat my vegetables.”

“You are still clumsy,” he sighed, finding another cut behind her ear that wasn’t as well healed.

He used a cantrip to knit the skin back together and reduce the scarring. She pulled back when he was done and ran her hand over the skin, marveling at the feel.

“You can just do that?”

“Among other things. If you were willing to learn you could manage as much I’m sure.”

Sakura grinned and then dropped her hand. “No thanks. I appreciate the offer, but it doesn’t matter as much if I just have you to heal things for me.”

He didn’t like the way he felt when she said it, even though he knew he would of course do what he could if she were in need. Maybe it was his pride she hurt. “Don’t count on me so much. I wouldn’t always be there if you needed it. I have other duties I must see to, duties that call me away to far lands.”

“You’re fast,” she said around a yawn.

He didn’t think that was a fair thing for her to say, because of course he was fast. He had mastered the Misty Step decades ago and could travel across the different realities and astral planes with just a bit of help. If she called he would be there, like it or not, but she didn’t need to know that and count on it. 

It wasn’t like he was exclusively beholden to her whims or anything like that.

Sakura put her money down on the table and Tobirama scrambled to find his own money pouch for the food and drink, but she was already walking away. He dropped the silver coins and then a single gold in tip, scooping up her coins and jogging after her to grab at her wrist. She struggled at first but he huffed, calling her annoying for fighting him before pushing the copper and silver pieces into her hand.

“You know these were all originally yours, right?”

“You worked for them.”

Sakura snorted. “Did you ever eat the crabs?”

He fought the sneer at the thought of having to consume the hideous, crawling creatures. “They’re perfectly comfortable in their habitat at the tower until I have need of their…buttered meat.”

Sakura laughed, accepting the money. “I think I take advantage of you.”

“No one takes advantage of me unless I let them. If I did not wish it, not even your pathetic dredges of magic could sway me to deposit a single copper in your palm, but be as it is, I may do as I please.”

She stopped in the doorway, looking up at him, and he though he saw her react to something relating to him; maybe his words or maybe his face. She was still like a doe caught in a wolf’s sights. A terrible thought pressed into his mind when he thought of her like that. How easy would it be to just spirit her away into his tower without doors?  His tower where only those he took could leave and enter, how would she fare?

“It’ll be cold soon, please keep yourself well,” he whispered, leaning in to brush the end of his thumb over the skin he had healed. When she blinked he was gone.

-

Night frost came much sooner than anyone expected, and the villagers rushed like mad to make themselves ready and save what they could of their late harvests. Snow was still weeks off, not until the next month if the pattern of years was to be believed, but the cold was ever present, crawling down the throats of youths and making stupid men sick.

Tobirama took to donning his wolf furs when he went out on more and more errands for the Lords and King who seemed just as eager to put his magic to use for them. With the cold seasons more monster came out from the woods and waters to try and grab what they could of man meat before long sleeps. There had been several smaller Basilisks and even a Chimera he had been tasked with. Most populations on the edges needed to deal with simple were beasts and he hated being called out to deal with something a trifle wizard could handle.

It was several weeks before he could find the time to slip away and find her again.

Men still fished, but he found Sakura outside a woman’s barn with her hands and wrists still dripping in blood. She stared off into the distance not really seeing anything.

He stopped at her side and waited for an explanation.

“Can you bring anyone back from the dead?” Her voice cracked like wrinkled paper in her throat and made him wince.

“No, that is the forbidden magics that I am sword to protect the world against. I can start a stopped heart and force air into empty lungs, and sometimes I can save people who have started to die, but I can not resurrect the dead, no one can.”

Sakura turned her hazy eyes in his direction, searching for his face. “Why?”

He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he felt like there was no answer he could give her that would put her spirit to rest so he reached out and magiced the filth and blood off her hands, then wiped her tears away with his own two thumbs, holding her face as she started to waver.

“You are weary. Rest.”

He tugged her into his arms and she let him. The wolf fur cushioned her head and she snuggled into it, helping him affirm his choice to don it in the first place. He brought her back to the place she lived, the place she sometimes called home, even thought he wanted nothing more than to spirit her away to his tower and claim ignorance when others came calling.

No one else was home so he set her in the bed and then went off to find out what had happened.

One of the women in the village had a sick birth and no one had been able to stop the bleeding. Sakura had been present along with the elder healer, but even Chiyo said there was nothing either of them could have done.

“She’ll blame herself, but she shouldn’t.” The wrinkle of a woman glared at Tobirama and shook her finger without fear. “See that she rests her heart and doesn’t take this into her spirit. She’s not meant for such levity. It’ll consume her.”

But when he went to visit the next day she was in the garden, salvaging what she could from the last frost and readying the earth for what would come next. Some of the teasing was gone from her voice when they conversed, but it was not as he feared.

“Were you close?”

She didn’t move for a while, still hands and knees in the dirt. “No, but…I never lost anyone like that before. It made me feel terrible.”

“You did all you could.”

“I don’t think so. If I knew magic…”

“There are limits.”

Sakura stared up from the dirt. “Do you have limits?”

“Of course,” he lied. It was what she needed to hear. “Aside from that, even if it was possible, there are things I am forbidden from doing in the King’s Country.”

Sakura snorted and went back to her weeds. “Ah yes, the King’s Country, because he owns all of this and all of us. How could I have forgotten about that?”

“You would hate it,” Tobirama admitted with almost a smile. “I don’t think anyone could tell you what to do.”

Sakura sat up and laughed, her teeth gleaming in the filtered light as her whole body shook in mirth. She grabbed her sides and forced herself to settle enough for words. “No, but I’d like to see them try.”

“Be my apprentice then. Come live with me in my tower.”

Sakura braced on the ground and stood, crossing the patches to get to where he stood. She reached up on her toes and traced her dirty thumb over the bridge of his nose, then she poked the tip of it. He didn’t flinch.

“Sorry mister wizard sir, but I don’t think I will.”

Tobirama reached up and brushed the dirt off his face then flicked at her own button shaped nose.  He almost smiled, finally feeling content with Sakura’s emotional state. “I’m probably better off. You’d drive me crazy.”

“I think I do that already wizard sir.”

He thought it might be a nice time to lean in and kiss her, but he wasn’t sure why or even where the idea came from. She looked especially beautiful with no good reason. She wasn’t dressed in anything elegant or especially fine. She was dirty and a little untamed like usual, but she was still too much for him. His heart hurt to lock her away and keep her to himself.

The ink on his wrist stung and he hissed, looking down at that tattoo he and his brother shared. Sakura noticed the distress on his face and reached fo this hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“My brother summons me. I must answer.” It would be a simple thing for him to travel through nature or air to get to his brother’s side, but he hesitated to touch her shoulder and look down into her eyes. “Please stay safe. It is becoming dangerous with the cold season upon us. I will return shortly.”

“Of course.” She managed a smile for him. “Be safe.”

After visiting his towner he took off looking for a tree he might fast travel through. The burn on his wrist throbbed hotter and he ignored it out of spite. He didn’t have any great reason for it, but he wasn’t very happy with his brother.

The summons that burned dulled to a warm throb as distances were traveled in a single step. He emerged from the tree and brushed the last dustings of dead leaves off his shoulders. The tree was fat and short making it perfect to walk through, if only he weren’t so tall.

It took almost an hour more, but he found his brother in the war room and frowned at the sight of so many other wizards around the far walls. Some stood up straighter when they saw him, others didn’t bother to hide their sneers. Tobirama didn’t spare them another glance as he cut through to his brother.

“What of it?” he asked, showing off his wrist where the mark dulled from throb to nothing. “You summoned me from on far with no warning.”

“As all others were summoned. I thought it best you be here to see for yourself.”

Tobirama edged closer and saw a map of all the providences under the crown. His tower was at the edge, close to the wilds. Oberon’s Forest was just past that.

“What do the colors indicate?” he asked, pointing to the fog of color that rested over parts of the map. A minor magic some simple mage made possible, no doubt.

“We’re not sure, but those areas are off limits. I called you out of there against the council of others. They thought it best to leave you there.”

Tobirama looked again and saw the fog hang over his tower as well as Sakura’s village.

“What is it?”

“Blight.” The answer came from Tsunade, a relative witch who was also known as their best medical expert. Her expression was hard as she faced him.

“Livestock or timber?”

Tsunade didn’t flinch as she admitted, “Livestock, and it’s spreading to the people. No one is allowed in or out. The Emerald Order is putting up their barrier as we speak. My antidote won’t be ready for another three days of curing.”

He felt something dark sprout in his heart. “How long have you known about this?”

Tsunade didn’t flinch when a lesser man or woman might have. Hashirama wrung his hands, looking nervous among the wizards.

“Brother, I-”

“How long!?” Tobirama’s eyes flashed with red magic.

“It’s been contained to Oberon’s Forest for years and hasn’t spread since it’s discovery four ago. I’ve only started working on the antidote when the forestlings brought it out with the recet attacks.”

Tobirama turned and Hashirama caught him by the elbow. “Where are you going?”

“To warn someone.”

“You can’t.”

Tobirama turned the full force of his glare onto Tsunade who stood like stone, but her eyes were on the map that glittered with green light.

“Don’t you dare stop me!” he warned.

She didn’t look to him as she spoke. “There is nothing to stop. The barrier is already up.”    

It’ was a month later when they let the barrier down. Even with her antidote, the blight adapted. And even if he had reached her the moment he found out about the blight, Sakura’s exposure to the woman’s death had been caused by the blight. It rooted itself in her and Chiyo before he even knew about it.

When he was let back, her body was already cold, but not yet buried. Over two hundred different lifeless forms stretched out in the open graves he was expected to help close up.  

Hashiram was no comfort. “I’m sorry, there was no way you could have known and there’s nothing to be done about it now. Be at peace, brother. ”

There was no peace to be found.

Tobirama took her body back and set it on the stone in the pit of his tower where the walls collected icicles. It would keep her from decomposing, but that was the limit of his magics. He hated himself for how little he could do as he turned stone into gold and glass, making a casket he could see her through.

‘There was nothing you could have done.’

Tobirama donned his darkest cloak with the wolf fur and took no fire with him into Oberon’s forest. He still produced a candle that, when waved over his head, summoned a will o wisp to it’s wick to light the way. The pull of the sprite guided him deep, deeper than any mortal man dared. The forest lost its sound as he trespassed among the ancient roots. Creatures moved, but they were as silent as the grave.

When his light went out Tobirama stilled and waited….and waited…..and waited.

The breath on his neck made him turn just as he thought he might wait the rest of his night among the dead branches. Behind him. A dark creature loomed among the trunks, barely fitting when it shouldn’t have fit at all. It was black, but blacker than the night sky with its sick moon hanging low and full. Where its body stood Tobirama saw only void.

The horned king of the wood bent his head towards Tobirama and his antlers glittered like dark onyx. Among the prongs dozens of ghosts were speared.

Tobirama knelt in the wet soil, burying his hands in the earth until it soaked under his fingernails. He breathed deep, grounding himself on something greater than his own power. “I’ve come for her.”

The stag lowered his head even further until Tobirama could see the ghosts it carried.

“What you ask may not be grated without a price. You know not the price for what you seek.”

“There is no price too high for this,” he swore. “I have come to claim my own.”

“Then you may walk, child, but take heed, you may yet pay for it in unexpected ways.”

The stag touched his massive face to the ground and Tobirama stood. He stepped onto its head and ran up the length of his face, running for whole minutes before he reached the first ghost. He felt his heart pinch with something sick and turned, finding her there, beautiful as ever, even in death.

He carried her spirit in a ring and then poured her back into her body before the dawn could break. He held her form in his arms among the shattered remains of her coffin, swearing up and down to every old god he knew the name of that if she didn’t return to him he would tear them from their thrones and turn the world over in black fire.

But Sakura breathed deep as the sun filtered through the windows and down the mirrored channels into her chamber. Tobirama felt shattered by the color of her eyes as she looked up at him and then smiled once more.

“Sorry I couldn’t keep my promise,” she croaked, barely managing a sound.

Tobirama didn’t care, he kissed her and folded her up into his arms.

-

And that’s how he wished his story would have ended, but nature would not be so undone without consequence.

Sakura was well known as a dead woman, so in his fear he kept her in his tower and dedicated all his days’ hours to her entertainment. He taught her how to disguise herself and even though her magic couldn’t hold up for more than ten minutes, he risked it some nights when the moon peaked out.

“You need to exhaust yourself on cantrips every day,” he grumbled to her. “If you don’t your limits will never change. Push against them.”

“I’m trying,” Sakura sighed. She rubbed her eyes and sank into a nearby chair and then proceeded the slump even further.

Tobirama’s heart pinched and he ran for her before she could fall off her seat. She giggled when he caught her.

“Don’t be so neglectful,” he chastised even as his face heated.

She managed to roll her eyes, but then closed them when her head fell onto his shoulder. “Weren’t you the one telling me to push myself just now?”

“I was mistaken?”

Sakura chuckled. “You’re never mistake.”

“Of course I am. You’re obviously exhausted and your master is a brute pushing you beyond your limits. How dare he breath.”

“Maybe he should answer some of that mail that’s been piling up. Someone else seems to need your help,” she said around a yawn.

“Worthless plebs crying for attention. No, I’m much better off terrorizing you.”

She weakly reached up to poke the tip of his nose. “Silly.”

Tobirama didn’t mind how his face warmed or his is belly seemed to fill with the buds of something just as warm. He pulled her closer and carried her up to her room.

Halfway up the stairs he stopped dead in his tracks. Sakura was asleep in his arms but her pale pink hair spilled over his elbow and not even shadows could hide who she was.

“It is true.”

Tobirama hunched over her form protectively. “Don’t speak to me.”

Hashirama’s face crumpled in hurt. “Brother, how could you! You were sworn to uphold the order of the world, not defy it so shamelessly! They spoke of necromancy but I-I defended you. I-I said you would never.”

Tobirama took another four steps, stopping just one shy of his brother. The stairwell was narrow, curving up and around itself up to the higher levels. It would be impossible to pass if Hashirama didn’t step aside, but it seemed as if the elder brother had no intention of doing so.

Tobirama didn’t care if his eyes flashed with red magic at his last surviving brother. “Move, you are in my way.”

Hashirama took a single step back, giving himself more hight over Tobirama while holding up his hands. “Brother, don’t do this. You know you need to put her back. The others need not know, but the balance must me found again. She had her time.”

The image of her under glass on a stone table made his heart stab with cruel viscousness. The very idea made him tremble. “You would have me render her lifeless once more…”

His voice was a deadly calm.

Hashirama took another step back onto the landing.

“The others don’t know, I won’t tell them. I can’t bring myself to see you like this, you’re not yourself anymore, my dear brother.” Hashirama’s face was wrinkled with stress as tears pooled in the corners of his eyes. “You are my only and best brother. You’re the greatest wizard in the land and you’ve stumbled but that’s fine. Please…just…”

Hashirama fell boneless on the floor, his eyes fogged with what all the corpses had after days of being dead. His skin was taunt across his tanned face as Tobirama stepped over the body of his last and only brother.

 Stray bolts of ruby colored magic crackled across the stone. Tobirama didn’t look back as his cloak trailed over Hashirama’s lifeless body on his way to the bedrooms.

Sakura slept peacefully on in his arms, not even flinching when he kissed her eyelids in reverence. She was perfect in his arms as he followed her into bed.

“I will never let you be parted from me again,” he whispered. “Never.”

[unofferable-fic]

UNOFFERABLE: 15 - SENTIMENT

Summary: The unexpected arrival of an injured Midgardian child clinging to life causes a ruckus on Asgard. The princes, Thor and Loki, are somewhat intrigued by this unusual guest, unsure as to how and why she ended up in such a state. What they did not expect, however, was the turn of events her appearance would inevitably cause.

Originally posted by coffeekeyboardsss

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Set Pre-Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Inspired by this imagine

Warnings: Jealous Loki, drinking, fluff.

Word Count: 3,671

Previous Chapter     Next Chapter

Playlist: “Muddy Waters” — LP, “Arms of Mine” — Le Cassette, “Falling Slowly” — Glen Hansard & Markéta Irglová, (You’re the) Devil in Disguise — Elvis Presley

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A/N: Also available on AO3  and FanFiction.net. Oh lord, we have reached that point in the story. Things are happening! Or...are they? Possibly maybe! Feel free to let me know what y’all think!

After Astrid’s murder, the palace became a hive of activity. It was constantly swarmed with alert Einherjar for a few weeks, unsure as to whether another attack was imminent. Eventually the patrols calmed when nothing else came about, but now each handmaiden to the Allmother had been assigned their own personal guard to accompany them between their duties. The handmaidens themselves didn’t argue with it, they were understandably distraught by the death of the comrade and friend, and who could argue with some temporary protection? Ellie had been temporarily allotted a guard by the name of Kirkjabyr. He was an older burly fellow, his face marred with old scars underneath his thick brown beard. Loki had known of him already from his years of service to his family. Though he looked like he would have no problem ripping your head off, he was a surprisingly docile man when the time called for it. He was on Ellie’s good side rather quickly, and she seemed to enjoy his company throughout the day. He had several daughters of his own, so he seemed more than happy to hold conversation with her about anything and everything.

The only issue with having someone in her company meant that Loki’s secret seiðr lessons with her would no longer be a secret. When she asked him what lies she could feed Kirkjabyr, he decided that they could probably get away with it if she said he was giving her extra tutoring in politics. This would have all been well and good, but Kirkjabyr would probably also inform the Allmother and Allfather that their son was spending time with a handmaiden late at night in the library… That would hardly improve Ellie’s image, and the last thing she needed was another rumour to tarnish her reputation. The combat training in the yard would be easier to justify — I need at least some trainin’ in self-defence. What if there’s another attack and I’m cornered alone? — given recent events, so Loki was not worried about her explaining this to Kirkjabyr. Instead, their seiðr lessons would have to remain a secret. He would have no issue casting an illusion spell to make himself invisible; the extra guards on patrol would have no idea when he left his room to go to the library. This would also give her the chance to practice her own illusion casting.

“What if I can’t do it?” she asked him one day as she delivered some books to his chambers, as per his specific request. “What if I mess it up and the Einherjar find me tryin’ to sneak out of my room?”

“You have to practice illusions and seiðr in a real situation eventually,” he replied. “How else do you expect to master it? You will never reach the same level as I, but that does not mean you cannot master magic to the best of your abilities.”

Upon their next weekly seiðr lesson, Loki left his rooms a little later than usual, fully aware that Ellie may need a little bit more time to gather herself and sneak past the guards. While she had been learning magic for only five or six short years, he pushed her hard and focused mostly on illusions and seiðr, so he believed that she could manage the test of making herself disappear to untrained eyes. Upon arriving at his destination, he wasn’t expecting to find her already there, sitting happily beside the record player and listening to some music. As he shut the door behind him, she whipped her head around and sent him a delighted smile.

“I did it!” she whisper yelled, throwing two arms up in the air. “I snuck by the guards and they had no idea!”

“As I said you would,” he said dryly and approached with a rye smile.

“It took a lot outta me though,” she explained. “Is it okay if I take a moment to get my energy back?”

“Of course.” He set himself down in his usual chair and let his chin rest in the palm of his hand. “It is expected that it would take a lot of energy for you to cast an illusion over yourself. It is the same with the more difficult runes and seiðr spells. When my mother first taught me, I too struggled with illusions that now require little effort to cast. Even still, I will require rest if I cast a particularly taxing one. You will slowly learn to adjust, but right now, I wish to focus our efforts on more practical seiðr and illusions.”

“And why would that be?”

“When Thor and I decided it would be best to train you in some self-defence, it was for your protection. When my mother first introduced me to magic, it was playful and fun, but she soon knew that I would be a far better magic-wielder than I would a warrior. I do not fight in the same way my brother does — as you know well — but there was no reason why I could not use magic to assist me in combat. With recent events in this palace, I think it is time I do the same for you. Enough seiðr rituals for the moment, it is time we moved on to what I was taught to keep myself alive.”

Ellie pondered his words carefully, probably realising that this was a dire situation to be in. She understood that in this realm, she needed to find ways of keeping herself alive without relying on the assistance of someone else. If she was caught in the same position as Astrid, she refused to go out without a fight. “That is a fair point. Look, you’re my teacher, so I trust whatever you think is best for me.”

“Good. Then once you regain some energy, we will delve into magical energy, more stealth illusions, strength runes, and weapon conjuring. These abilities will not make you invincible, but they will sure as Hel give you a better chance if the time comes.”

She sat forward in her seat as he listed off each area of expertise. “If they are more practical then I’m excited to get into it. What should we start with?”

With the flick of his wrist, a long dagger appeared in Loki’s grasp. “I think it is practical to make sure you are always armed, little one.”

Ellie eyed the shimmering metal in his hand for a moment. Clearly the severity of the situation had finally hit her full force. Again, he knew she would not be anywhere near a master of the arts, but he truly believed she would try her best, and if that meant her safety was improved, then he would do his best to help her get there.

She met his gaze and matched his smirk with her own. “Then let’s get to it.”

* * *

Much like the first hurdle with making the plant grow some years ago, the first time Ellie would ever summon a dagger would take a lot of time and effort. Obviously, illusions were easier to cast than conjuring something solid that had a purpose. Sessions left her exhausted, and she was usually hidden behind an illusion cast by Loki in order to get back to her rooms. This was understandable and expected, given her mortality and age, but there were moments when he wondered whether she would ever master it. If she did, it would probably cost most of her energy to do it. Alas, they pressed onwards, more determined than ever to succeed. Although they were taking baby steps, progress was progress.

Their trips to Midgard were put on a halt, what with their attention being focused on training and seiðr. Since the incident, they hadn’t even mentioned going again, but now with Ellie’s nineteenth nameday approaching, they agreed to go just once more for the foreseeable future. At her request, they returned to London, England, which was, all things considered, a city with a very different atmosphere at night. She expressed a desire to explore what the nightlife had to offer and, though the sight of some of these Midgardian ‘clubs’ made him frequently grimace in displeasure, he was more comfortable with going into somewhere a little more respectable. With the help of some dressy clothes and conjured identification cards, they found themselves in somewhere called the Roof Gardens, a vibrant club with food and music on offer. Obviously it did not hold up to some of the parties Loki attended on Asgard, but it would certainly do for an evening. After her last drink-related experience, Ellie was eager to try these fancy-looking colourful things called cocktails.

“You remain here,” Loki ordered, eying the nearby bar. “And I will get some for us.”

“Hold on there,” Ellie said, grabbing his arm and getting to her feet. “If it’s alright with you, I want’a go up and buy them.”

“But it is your nameday,” he replied, clearly hesitant. “It is customary to purchase drinks for the one who is getting older.”

Sending him a less than impressed look, she shook her head. “Ah yeah, the god who is over a thousand years old is saying I’m old. Sit down, I’d like to go up and get them.”

“So you are doing something for me for once?” He sent her a playful grin as he sat back down. “I suppose I should let you go up then. These occurrences are few and far between.”

She let out a laugh and said. “You have some neck, Loki.” She shook her head as she left him to his own devices.

He remained seated at their small table, watching her every move from his seat. He knew that he didn’t necessarily need to guard her so intensely on Midgard, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away. She stood at the edge of the bar, fishing through her purse for money while waiting to be served. He eyed her form, noting how exceptionally well fitted the dress he conjured for her was. He stared unabashedly given that she had her back to him. He probably shouldn’t have done so, considering how long he had known her and how young she was in comparison to him, but it wasn’t like anyone here would judge him for it. They didn’t know that he was royalty, so he didn’t give a single solitary fuck what anyone thought.

She was somewhat timid as a barmaid approached her. He watched as she pointed to a cocktail menu, probably asking what each drink contained. The barmaid seemed happy enough to help and Loki observed as she pointed to two drinks and Ellie nodded happily at the choice. The woman now stood visibly more relaxed as the barmaid got to making the cocktails, moving about to grab ingredients with expert knowledge. It was at this moment when he noticed another figure appear to his companion’s left. The sight of a young man dressed to the nines in a dapper suit made Loki clench his fist on the table top, but he remained seated, unwilling to get up and cause a scene. Perhaps Ellie would dismiss his advances — it was clear by the way his eyes never left her that he was ‘interested’. Over the blaring 80s music, Loki wasn’t sure what the man said as he gained her attention. Her expression was confused at first, and she hesitantly shook his hand when it was offered, but the more the man spoke, the more she relaxed. Loki was, of course, reacting in the opposite way. When the man roused a small chuckle from her, the Trickster was seeing red. As the barmaid placed the cocktails down on the counter and asked to be paid, the man had the audacity to take out his wallet, but Loki watched in amusement as he was profusely turned down and Ellie handed the server the money.

Loki had crossed the room in a matter of seconds. “Allow me to help.”

Ellie, somewhat surprised by his arrival, stuttered before saying. “Oh! Eh, t-thanks, Loki.”

“You know this guy?” the admirer asked, clearly a local given the accent, and gesturing to the prince.

“She came here to this establishment with me,” Loki replied before she could get a word in edgeways. “And you are…?”

Now closer to him, he made an apt assessment of his features; sharp nose, defined jawline, piercing grey eyes, dark hair with light matching stubble. He supposed he was somewhat conventionally handsome, if Midgardians were into that type of specimen. “Richard. And I believe she said your name was… Loki?”

The God of Mischief had no issue with staring this ‘Richard’ down. “Indeed, she did.”

Ellie looked between them, baffled by the behaviour. She handed Loki his glass and took up her own. “Okay, well—”

“Yes, we should go back to our table before someone else commandeers it. As you were, Robert.”

“Uh, it’s Richard.”

But Loki was already pulling Ellie towards their table, in no way eager to correct himself. Ever so polite, she called back that it was nice meeting him before following Loki again.

“What was that all about?” she demanded irritably.

“What?” He looked innocent. “I merely assisted you in bringing the drinks to the table.”

“Ah now. You might as well have threatened Richard with the way you were glarin’ at him.”

“I was concerned for your safety; his intensions were ill.” He took a sip of his drink. “That is not bad. Have you tried yours?”

“Don’t change the subject—”

“It is very fruity.”

“Loki—”

“But it is! Try it.”

She sighed heavily. “I wasn’t gonna run off with him or anythin’, even if I probably could.”

He set his drink down and clasped his hands together. “Look, when we are on Midgard, you are my responsibility, even if you are an ‘adult’ here. I am cautious because neither of us knew that man. Not only that, but my mother would have my head if I lost her mortal handmaiden on this planet.”

She studied him for a moment before a small smile slowly grew on her made-up lips. “Aaaahhh, okay. You’re just doin’ that to appease Queen Frigga. Sure thing.”

“I would hardly wish to upset my mother…”

“Would it kill you to say you wouldn’t want anythin’ to happen to me?”

“Possibly,” he muttered and took another gulp of his cocktail. “What is this beverage called?”

“The server said it was called a Sex on the Beach, or somethin’.” Finally she took her first taste and her eyes went wide. “Oh my God, that’s delicious! You weren’t messin’ when you said it was fruity.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki began and held up a hand. “Are you going to ignore the ridiculous name you just called it?”

“I’m more concerned with how it tastes, if I’m honest.”

“How impractical,” he said, contemplating the activity in his head with a scowl. “It would be so sandy and uncomfortable.”

“Oh, so I can’t discuss galavanting off with Richard, but you can talk about havin’ sandy sex? Double standards, Your Highness.”

“That mortal is a fool considering he thought he had a chance to court you in the first place. And I think it is fairly clear that fucking in a place with copious amounts of sand would be—”

“I’m not gettin’ into this with you,” she insisted. “The next round is on you for puttin’ such horrid images in my innocent head.”

Ever since that night, Loki found himself watching Ellie as she worked more that usual. The way he studied her form on Midgard left him constantly eying her as she went about her day. Be it during lessons, serving their food, or cleaning the halls after festivities. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. If he was honest, at least within his internal monologue, he would say that she was…attractive? Could he say that? Was that something controversial considering she was but a young mortal? There was no question that she had become a woman in recent years and had certainly…grown into herself.

Okay so, yes, Loki would admit that he did find her physically attractive, but he wasn’t immune to attractive individuals, that was certain. He usually found it quite easy to make his way through numerous partners before he lost interest and moved on. But that was where his problem lay — using Ellie for his physical needs before throwing her out of his chambers seemed strangely harsh and unfair.

Sitting under their tree a few days after they returned from their trip, Loki and Ellie idly flicked through separate books while enjoying each other’s silent company. On that quiet day, they chose to spend their time in the gardens. Every now and then, he heard a small giggle from her direction. At first, he ignored it, focusing his attention on the writing before him. He wet his finger and turned the page as another giggle was stifled. His eyes levelled on her only to be met with her biting her lip, trying to hold in the laughter as she read her — apparently hilarious — book. She never noticed him looking, and her gentle chuckling continued while he found himself grinning at the sight. Every now and then, his attention would return to his own book, only to be dragged back to her every time she let out a happy snigger. Every time she came into view, Loki couldn’t help but admire her smile. He allowed himself to stare, noting how every time a particular line would tickle her, she would place the tips of her fingers on her lips. It was such a gentle gesture, one that he had come to love seeing. There was no way he could stop the smile that came to him. The sight of her so carefree and happy relaxed him. Dare he say seeing her happy made him happy. For once, he didn’t feel ridiculous admiring her features and thinking of how far she had come. If he could, he would never look away.

And so they sat together in silence, flicking through their books under the leaves of the cork tree until the sun drifted from behind the clouds and came out of hiding. Under the leaves of this tree, Loki realised that his feelings had grown slowly over time. So slowly, in fact, that only now did he realise he cared for this woman in a way that he didn’t think possible. For now, he could not let his worries consume him, not when she was there before him looking so effortlessly beautiful and content. The tension within him gradually faded and drifted away with the evening’s breeze as his eyes never strayed from that which made him feel an unfamiliar warmth and calmness. He hoped the sentiment would never leave.

* * *

When Loki was alone with his thoughts, or just without Ellie in his company, he found himself thinking a little clearer than when she was nearby. He knew that he was better off staying away from her and just ignoring these new problematic ‘feelings’, but there was still a part of him that shamelessly drew pleasure from her presence. After a busy day attending assemblies with his father and brother, he resigned to his chambers and drank himself to sleep, only to be rudely awoken by Dagny knocking on his door. With a groan he pushed himself to a sitting position and called for her to enter.

When she let herself in, he received a formal nod. “Good morning, Your Highness.”

“Good morning, Dagny,” he replied somewhat gruffly, remaining sat in his place.

“Do you require anything else other than standard services today?”

He shook his head, lost in his resurfacing thoughts. “No.”

Saying nothing else, Dagny got to work and didn’t acknowledge him unless spoken to first. To be fair, he appreciated her withdrawn nature for once, as it let him think he was the only one in the room. Loki was aware that Odin would probably disown him if he knew any of this. He already hated that he and Thor both saw Ellie in whatever free time they had. As if the fact he had befriended a Midgardian was bad enough, he also had to find her attractive. As if he wasn’t already a disappointment.

How swell.

While he relished Ellie’s presence, he wondered if there was a way to get what he wanted without further distancing himself from his father. Being on a friendly basis with her was already bad enough, but he was never one for strict rules that were detrimental to his own desires anyway. There was probably a way around it, similar to how he began to teach her self-defence. Another way in which they were required to spend time together, one that they could manage without having to constantly cloak themselves.

Now that would be ideal.

The rustling of Dagny laying out his clothes on his bed drew him out of his head. Obviously she had no clue about his internal feud, and why would she? It’s not like they ever spoke about anything other than if he needed her to draw a bath. She was rather boring, if he was blunt, which he always was. But he was stuck with her until she retired, just like Radburn before her, and he was genuinely not looking forward to the probable century for which she would be around…

As they usually did, the clogs in Loki’s head began to turn with new ideas beginning to take shape. Slowly, he settled his gaze on Dagny and found himself sneering at her back. She went about her work as always, completely unaware of what he was now planning. If there was ever a way for him to obtain his own selfish needs, however foolish they may be, he always found it. The Trickster sometimes thought that his best schemes came about quite suddenly. Now he was almost sure of it.

[hollowaymason1995]

Cat Peeing Pooping Everywhere Stunning Cool Ideas

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Cat Spraying With New Baby

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I Cant Stop My Cat Spraying

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[sesamestreep]

and never ever watch the ten o’clock news

(Read on AO3)

Summary: Bodhi never expected to be sitting in an interrogation room with his best friend while she lied to the police about being a psychic. In retrospect, he probably should have. [AKA the Psych AU Literally No One Asked For]

I wrote this Psych AU for my dearest @taxicabsandcupcakes as an EXTREMELY belated birthday/decently belated Winter Solstice/slightly belated New Year’s/aggressively early Friend-iversary present, which means I’ve had this idea since your birthday but didn’t actually find the inspiration to write it until Psych the Movie happened and then had to invent an occasion for giving it to you. This is my way of saying thanks for your sage writing advice, endless encouragement, and for yelling about Jane Austen on twitter with me. Hope you like it!

There’s additional notes on the fic itself if you follow the AO3 link above, which I recommend reading if you’re the type who enjoys that sort of thing.

“I need you to drive me to the police station.”

Bodhi, to his eternal embarrassment, actually pulls the phone away from his face and stares at it in disbelief, despite the fact that he’s alone in his office and no one is around to appreciate what he assumes is some excellent physical comedy.

“Pardon?” he asks, after a moment.

Jyn sighs on the other end of the phone. “I need you to drive me to the police station. Please,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Doesn’t that honor belong to the cop who’s arresting you?”

“Very funny,” Jyn says flatly. “My bike won’t start, will you please drive me?”

“You’re still not telling me the most important part,” Bodhi says, already starting to feel his exasperation growing. “Why do you need to go to the police station? Did something happen?”

“Something is always happening, Bodhi. Something is happening right now. And right now. And also now--”

“Jyn, come on...”

“Okay, fine. You remember that thing we talked about? The one you said I shouldn’t do anymore?”

“I told you to stop wearing white after Labor Day, advice which you have consistently ignored…”

“I keep telling you, Labor Day is a holiday invented by greeting card corporations to sell product!”

“All those Labor Day cards that everyone buys and sends out to their loved ones,” Bodhi says, playing along with Jyn’s nonsense.

“Exactly!” Jyn practically shouts. “Also, if you think about it, it’s always after Labor Day. You know what I mean?”

“I don’t. Did you get fined for committing a crime of fashion? Is that why you have to go the police station?”

“No, it has to do with the other thing you told me to stop doing.”

“Do I really have to guess? I tell you to stop doing a lot of things,” Bodhi says. His initial worry has already subsided and he’s tired of this conversation. He needs Jyn to tell him what’s going on so he can get back to work.

“Bodhi, don’t be the dollar sign in Ke$ha’s name!” she says, clearly frustrated with him as well.

“She got rid of that, you know. It’s just an ‘s’ now.”

“Precisely.”

“Jyn, honestly…”

“I called in another tip to the police,” Jyn says, suddenly giving up the game. “And before you get upset, that one tip helped them solve, like, ten open armed robbery cases.  So now the chief of police wants me to come down and they’re gonna give me a check, or an award, or something. I can't remember what it was, I wasn't listening. What’s a purple heart for?”

“Injured in battle.”

“Okay, so maybe not that. Whatever. It’s a big deal. The queen will probably be there.”

“Jyn, we live in America. There is no queen here,” Bodhi says, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Agree to disagree. What do you say? Will you take me?”

“I…” Bodhi begins to say before something occurs to him. “Wait a minute. You told me you were calling in those tips anonymously.”

“I was.”

“So how could they give you a reward, if they don’t even know who you are?” He asks.

“Okay, so,” Jyn begins to say in her best bullshitting voice. It's one that Bodhi is very familiar with. “I might have made a very tiny, laughably insignificant mistake when I called in this particular tip.”

“You told them your name,” Bodhi supplies.

“In my defense, I was a little drunk and I really wanted to impress this girl I was on a date with.”

“Neither of those are good excuses!”

“If it makes you feel better, my date wasn’t pleased either,” Jyn admits. “She was actually kind of insulted that I was paying so much attention to the news when we were making out.”

“As she should be.”

“You know I can’t help it! It’s just the way my brain works!”

“You’re telling me you actually picked up your clue just from the news?” Bodhi asks. “That’s honestly kind of impressive.”

“Tell that to her! She stormed off before I could tell her my whole ‘eidetic memory, trained in observation by my tough cop mother’ tragic backstory,” Jyn says.

“Great. What restaurant are we not going to be able to get a table at from now on?”

“She’s the hostess at Cilantro, that tiny place on Elm.”

“They have the best brunch in the city, Jyn!”

“Yeah. It’s a real loss,” Jyn agrees. “So, you’ll come get me on your lunch?”

***

The first time Bodhi spoke to Jyn was in fourth grade and he and his family had just moved to the country for his dad’s job.  He was a scrawny, brown kid with a funny accent and, to make it worse, he transferred right in the middle of the year. All the kids in his class had already made their friends and they thought he was weird. Everyone except Jyn.

She’d dropped her lunch tray on the table across from him on his first day and said, without preamble, “I like your voice, it sounds like mine. Also, your watch is cool. Have you seen the movie Flubber? It’s my favorite.”

And just like that they were friends. Looking back on it, Bodhi’s not sure he ever really had a choice. Jyn had decided she liked him, and once she liked someone, that was it. They belonged to her.  She was always between him and the meanest kids in school, distracting them, talking in circles until they gave up and left her best friend alone.  You couldn’t mess with Jyn; she had something clever or weird to say to any of your threats or insults and she never cared what other people thought of her.  That, and the fact that her mom was a cop and everyone knew it, meant that people generally left her--and, by extension, Bodhi--alone.

After high school, they went their separate ways: Bodhi went to college to try to make something of himself and Jyn left Santa Barbara on her motorcycle to get away from her mother and see the world.  She sent postcards from every new city she landed in, and the two of them kept in touch even as Bodhi started working as a pharmaceuticals sales rep and Jyn continued to work whatever odd jobs she could find in whatever part of the country she was living in at that moment. In complete defiance of logic and the predictions of their families, the two of them stayed close despite the distance and their wildly different lifestyles. Still, no one was more surprised than Bodhi when Jyn reappeared in Santa Barbara.

He has tried in ways both subtle and obvious to get Jyn to tell him what made her come home, but with no success.  Bodhi assumes it had something to do with her mother retiring and moving to Miami, but he doesn’t think that’s the whole reason.  He’d worry about her, but Jyn seems the same as ever.  She’s got the same mercurial temper--upbeat and joking one minute, put out and snarky the next--and she still flirts with every waitress, bartender, and barista they come across.  Which, of course, means there are several fine establishments in Santa Barbara that Bodhi can no longer visit without someone asking about when his cute friend is going to call them back, or just telling him off in Jyn’s place.

The only thing different about Jyn is her newfound obsession with calling in anonymous tips to the police.  She’s always been highly observant, but Bodhi has never seen her so preoccupied with using her skills to help people.  He told her to be careful about it and he actually thought she would listen, given her distaste for the police, but, instead, he finds himself walking up the steps of the Santa Barbara Police Station with Jyn during his lunch hour to collect her reward.

Once they’re inside, Jyn goes to the desk to let the officer there know that she’s arrived and Bodhi takes a seat on one of the benches in the lobby.  Within seconds, another officer drops off an enormous man in handcuffs, depositing him on the bench next to Bodhi with a muttered, “Wait here!” and then departing.  Now, Bodhi’s come a long way from his terrified, scrawny, fourth grade self, but he is also, in no way, shape, or form, an intimidating person, so he does his best not to make eye contact.

After a few minutes, Jyn joins Bodhi and, as is her custom, puts herself directly between him and danger, this time in the form of their large, handcuffed companion. “What are you in for?” Jyn asks pleasantly. Bodhi elbows her in the ribs.

“They say I jacked my ex-wife’s car, but I’m innocent!” the man shouts.

“Ugh, cops, am I right?” Jyn says, in a tone that sounds more like they’re at happy hour than a police precinct. The man grunts in agreement and the conversation seems to be over, until Jyn adds, more quietly, “Hey, I don’t want to sound like I don’t believe you--because I totally do--but, if I were you, I’d brush that broken glass off your sleeve. To the untrained eye, it looks like maybe you broke a window or something.”

The man glances at Jyn and then at his sleeve, before sweeping his hand over the latter. The same officer from before returns to collect him as soon as he’s finished.

“Thanks,” the man says gruffly as he stands up and then winks at her over his shoulder as he’s lead away.

“No problem,” Jyn says and turns to Bodhi, at whom she rolls her eyes. “Idiot,” she adds, under her breath. “He just knocked all the glass into his boot.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Bodhi says, keeping his voice low.

“I know. What’s the point of helping criminals if they’re too incompetent to help themselves?”

“That’s obviously not what I meant,” Bodhi huffs. “Did they tell you how long this was going to take?”

“They said someone would be with me shortly. Please, try to relax.”

“They can’t just give you a check? It has to be a whole production?”

“Bodhi, don’t be the Brave Little Toaster’s less brave little cousin!”

“I just have a bad feeling about this,” Bodhi says, ignoring her.

“Noted. Now, be quiet and I might let you be in the picture with me, the mayor, and what I hope is one of those giant novelty checks,” Jyn says.

“I do love giant novelty checks,” Bodhi admits.

“You know that’s right,” Jyn says, and offers her fist for him to bump.

At that moment, another cop appears in front of them. “Jyn Erso?” he asks, sounding uninterested in a response.

Jyn stands up to greet him. “That’s me. And this is my associate, DJ Deathstar,” she says, motioning at Bodhi, who just rolls his eyes at her. Jyn’s been making up fake names for him since they were kids and it’s probably better the police don’t know his actual name anyway.

The officer looks perplexed but all he does is nod and say, “If both of you would follow me,” before leading them out of the lobby and through the bullpen.

They go through a door at the far side of the room, which leads them to a long cinderblock hallway with several doors on either side.  The officer opens the last one on the right, and motions for them to go in ahead of him.  Once Bodhi and Jyn have both crossed the threshold, he closes the door behind them suddenly and they both turn in surprise.

All at once, Bodhi realizes where they are.

“Shit,” he says, taking in the bleak room with the large table in the middle and the mirror on the wall. “Why are we in an interrogation room?” he asks Jyn.

Jyn, for her part, is glaring at the other figures in the room.  Seated at the table are two more cops, but they’re in plain clothes, which must mean they’re detectives. They stand as soon as Bodhi speaks.

“Why don’t you both take a seat?” the shorter of the two of them says.  He’s soft spoken with a slight accent and he looks absolutely exhausted.

Bodhi nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels Jyn’s hand on his elbow.  When he looks over, she gives him a reassuring smile. If he didn't know her as well as he does, he could totally miss the anger behind that smile, but they've been friends for twenty years and he’s perfected the art of reading Jyn’s moods. These detectives have no idea what they've gotten themselves into. She cocks her head towards the chairs in invitation and he gets the message loud and clear without her saying anything. Do what they tell you and let me do the talking.

“They didn’t mention anything on the phone about a vetting process before they gave me the key to the city,” Jyn says, nice and light, once she and Bodhi have sat down on the other side of the table.

“You are not getting a key to the city, Miss Erso,” the other cop says, his tone clipped.  He has an expressionless face and is frankly too tall to be an actual human being, as far as Bodhi is concerned.

“No…?” Jyn asks innocently.

“No,” he says, sounding even less amused than before.

“Listen, Mr. ...?”

“Detective,” he corrects. “Head Detective Kay Tuesso.”

“Your mother must be very proud,” Jyn says, and Bodhi has to hold back a snort. “And who’s this?” she asks, her eyes training on the other detective.

“My partner, Detective Andor,” Detective Tuesso says, obviously growing impatient with Jyn’s antics.

“Charmed,” Jyn says and actually extends her hand for Detective Andor to shake. He gives her a puzzled look in return.

Nonplussed by any of the annoyance she seems to be causing, Jyn pulls her hand back and leans forward conspiratorially on the table.  “Now that we’re all on such friendly terms, why don’t you tell me what exactly is going on?” she asks.

“I’m sorry, Miss Erso,” Detective Andor says, “but we’re not all acquainted. Who is this?” he asks, gesturing at Bodhi.

Jyn turns and gives Bodhi a searching look.  For his part, Bodhi would rather not tell the police his name, given he has no idea what sort of trouble Jyn has unintentionally mixed herself up in, but he’s pretty sure they can figure it out who he is whether she tells them or not. He knows better than to actually shrug at her, when everything about her demeanor is screaming be careful at him, so he just looks back at her as calmly as he can. They’ve been in enough crazy situations together over the years that he trusts her to get them out of this one.  He sees her small smile of comprehension before she turns back to the detectives.

“This is Bodhi,” she says evenly. “He drove me here.”

“What, like a Lyft driver?” Detective Andor asks.

“Yes!” Jyn replies, snapping her fingers like they're all just brainstorming together and she loves what the detectives are bringing to the table. Which, knowing Jyn, might be what she actually thinks.

“And you brought him in with you because…?”

“I'm just quirky, I guess,” Jyn says with an easy shrug and barrels on before the detectives can question her any further on Bodhi’s presence. “Now that we’re finally all acquainted, can you get to the point? The meter’s running.”

Neither of the detectives look particularly convinced by any of this, but Detective Andor continues anyway. “You recently called in a tip about several armed robberies that occurred in the last few weeks. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Well, thanks to that information you gave us, we’ve apprehended a suspect.”

“Good for you,” Jyn says, with forced cheer. Bodhi can practically see her patience wearing thin before his eyes.

“I'm glad you feel that way,” Detective Andor replies, tightly, and Bodhi thinks that Jyn probably isn't the only one who's running out of patience. “But, you see, we have a problem.  Our suspect claims he had a partner, somebody who masterminded the whole thing, and he’ll only tell us their name if we give him immunity.”

“Huh. That’s a real pickle,” Jyn says, flatly, as if the subject doesn't interest her at all.

“As you can imagine, we don't want to give in to our suspect’s demands, not when we can just arrest both of the people responsible,” Detective Andor continues, adopting a tone one would normally use when explaining a difficult subject to a child. “So, we’re trying to figure out who this accomplice is on our own. And that's why we’ve brought you here today.”

There's a full minute where Jyn just blinks at the detectives in confusion and Bodhi starts to worry that she's actually stopped functioning. He's about to grab her by the shoulder and shake her out of it when she blurts out, “I'm sorry, just so we’re clear, you want me to figure out the guy’s accomplice too?”  When they say nothing in response, Jyn continues, disbelieving, “I'm just curious, when do you two start chipping in?”

The detectives exchange a look at that, and Bodhi suddenly understands what is going on.

“Jyn,” he says as a warning.

“What?” Jyn snaps, turning on him.

Bodhi heaves a deep sigh before speaking. “They think you did it,” he says.

“I--” Jyn begins to say before turning to look at the detectives.  She must see the same thing in their faces that Bodhi did, because she suddenly freezes. “You think I'm the accomplice?” she asks, incredulity and anger making her voice go quiet.

The scariest thing about Jyn, in Bodhi’s opinion, is how calm she gets when she's really and truly angry.  The detectives in front of them might be well trained in reading people and analyzing evidence, but he's pretty sure they are in no way prepared for Jyn when she's actually furious.

“The evidence you gave to our tip line could only have come from someone with inside knowledge of the crimes,” Detective Tuesso says.

“That is not true.”

“What other explanation is there?” Detective Andor asks, sounding at least open to the possibility.

“Maybe I'm just a better detective than you are,” Jyn says, leaning back and crossing her arms over her chest, her tone casual but filled with malice. Bodhi does his best not to wince.

“Or, perhaps,” Detective Tuesso begins, “you realized your good luck was running out, that you and your partner would not be able to evade the police forever, and you decided it was time to cut your losses and turn him in.”

“And gave my name to an anonymous tip line while I was at it, just in the interest of fairness,” Jyn says, mockingly.  “Oh, and I also trusted that my partner--who I had just betrayed--wouldn't rat me out to the police!  You're right, I'm a criminal mastermind!”

“Jyn,” Bodhi says again, hoping she’ll actually heed the warning in his voice this time.

“You aren't offering us any other plausible explanations for your having such detailed information, Miss Erso,” Detective Andor says. “And if you can't do that, we’ll have to arrest you.”

It might just be that the precarious nature of their situation puts Bodhi in a dramatic mood, but he swears, in that moment in the interrogation room, that time actually stops, allowing him to see the exact second that Jyn comes up with a plan. There’s no mistaking the expression that comes over her face for anything other than pure, mischievous inspiration.

“Alright, alright, you got me!” Jyn says, and Bodhi thinks he might actually be having a heart attack. “I haven't been honest with you. But it's only because I--” Jyn breaks off and looks downward, the picture of innocence. “I didn't think you'd believe the truth.”

“And what exactly would that be?” Detective Tuesso asks, not looking convinced in the slightest.

“I'm psychic,” Jyn says and, yep, Bodhi is definitely having a heart attack. “I have the Gift. The Sight, if you will. That’s how I knew about those robberies. I saw them, with my third eye.”

The entire room seems to be holding its breath after Jyn’s “confession”.  No one seems to know what to do with themselves and Bodhi doesn't dare to even look at Jyn. He’s pretty sure if he so much as exhales, all hell will actually break loose.

The two detectives, recovering from their shock, both move at the exact same time.  Detective Tuesso stands abruptly and says, “If you're done wasting our time--”, while Detective Andor reaches across the table for the case file and says, “You mean to tell us--” before they're both interrupted.

Jyn, in a split second, leans forward and captures Detective Andor’s wrist in her hand.  She closes her eyes, as if trying to remember some long lost memory, and takes a deep breath. When she's finished, she looks Detective Andor directly in the eye and says, “You have to stop blaming yourself.  It wasn't your fault.”

“Excuse me?” He says, utterly bewildered.

“I hear screaming. Sirens,” Jyn says, waving her hands around her head in a way that Bodhi imagines is supposed to convey spirituality. “I smell...gunpowder? There was a shooting. You did...everything you could. Everything by the book.” Jyn pauses, then adds, “As always.”

Detective Andor looks petrified by this outburst. “How did you--” he begins to ask, his voice even quieter than usual.

“As I've told you, I have...abilities. Of the supernatural variety,” Jyn says. She seems to realize she's still holding his wrist and looks at it intently. “This is your first case back on active duty, am I correct?”

“Don't answer that,” Detective Tuesso cuts in.

Detective Andor looks at his partner like he had completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room, then looks back at Jyn.  He pulls his arm away from her like he's been scalded.  Jyn, for her part, looks back at him serenely.

“This is highly entertaining, Miss Erso,” Detective Tuesso begins to say, “but this proves absolutely nothing.  And moreover--”

“Ah, fuck!” Jyn yells, squeezing her eyes shut and rubbing her temples, as though she's got the world’s worst brain freeze. “That feels like…glass.  Broken glass. I can see it shattering. And there's a tall man there. He's very angry, and heartbroken. A lover’s spat, perhaps?”

“What are you--”

“Yes, definitely, an argument between lovers.  I see...a heart…and an arrow...and the letter S.  Does this mean anything to you?”

When the detectives say nothing in response, Jyn winces again. “Yes, of course. I see it clearly now. You have a man in custody here, about this tall,” Jyn says, gesturing well above both her and Bodhi’s heads. “The answers you seek are in his left boot.”

Both of the detectives are staring at her, completely mystified, and Detective Tuesso looks like he's about to make another attempt at bringing Jyn to order when there's three taps in quick succession on the one-way mirror.

“Excuse us a moment,” Detective Tuesso says, looking none too pleased with the interruption. “Come on,” he  says to his partner, who seems to be having more trouble tearing himself away.

They both depart, leaving Jyn and Bodhi alone in the interrogation room.  This would be a wonderful moment to confront Jyn about what the hell she thinks she's doing but unfortunately, they're not actually alone.

“I can hear you thinking from here,” Jyn says quietly.

“We’re not talking about this now. We can't,” Bodhi whispers urgently.

“I need you to relax,” Jyn responds. “Everything is fine, as far as you and I are concerned. Just, trust me. When have I ever lead you wrong?”

“Would you like that list in chronological order?”

Jyn makes a tsk sound in the back of her throat. “You can suck it,” she says petulantly.

“You suck it,” Bodhi fires back.

“No, you.”

“You.”

He and Jyn actually look at each other after that. “Suck it,” they both sing-song in harmony, like they're still teenagers and not the full-grown adults they're supposed to be acting like. Maybe there are worse people to be stuck in an interrogation room with, Bodhi thinks, at the exact moment Detectives Tuesso and Andor return.

“You're free to go,” Detective Tuesso says, looking pained.

Jyn rises immediately, grabbing Bodhi’s elbow to drag him up with her as she goes and giving him a kick in the ankle to get him moving towards the door.

“Not you,” Detective Tuesso says, pointing at Jyn.

“What?” Jyn cries. “But you just said--”

“We’re not arresting you,” Detective Andor says. “But Interim Chief Mothma would like to speak with you.  Alone,” he adds, when he sees Jyn and Bodhi exchange a look.

Bodhi is about to object when he feels Jyn give his elbow a reassuring squeeze. He turns to look at her and she's smiling like she always does when faced with a challenge. Go ahead, that smile is meant to say, I've got this.

“I think they're finally going to give me my giant novelty check,” she says before she breezes past him out the door.

***

Twenty minutes later, Jyn finds Bodhi pacing on the steps outside the precinct.  The look on his face must be more anguished than he realized because when he turns and sees her, she immediately throws both of her hands up in a don’t shoot gesture.

“Alright, before you yell at me—”

“What in the absolute fuck did you just do?!” he shouts.

“I said before you yell at me, dude! Come on!” Jyn practically whines.  “And what I just did was save our asses, so you’re welcome.”

“You wouldn’t have had to save my ass in the first place if you had just driven yourself to the precinct and left me out of it.”

Jyn opens her mouth to argue with him, but Bodhi continues before she can get a word in.  “And, furthermore, you just lied. To the police. About being a psychic. I mean, have you lost your damn mind?!”

“Hey, say it a little louder, why don’t you?” Jyn shouts back, and Bodhi sobers. “Feel better now?” She asks, when she’s given him a moment to collect himself. When he nods, she says, “I can’t believe you just furthermore’d me, man. You’re starting to sound like your mother.”

“Shut up,” Bodhi says, without heat. Jyn cracks a smile, which he finds himself returning tentatively. “What did the chief want to talk to you about?”

“Interim chief,” Jyn corrects, and Bodhi rolls his eyes at her. “She’s pregnant.”

“She wanted to tell you she’s pregnant?”

“No. I’m just telling you.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s badass,” Jyn says, gesticulating wildly. “A pregnant cop? How cool is that?”

“Jyn…”

“Sorry for trying to paint you a picture with my words, Bodhi! I thought maybe you felt left out!”

“I was deeply hurt,” Bodhi says, gravely. “Now, will you please tell me why you got called into a meeting with the chief of police?!”

“Interim chief! And she wants my help with a case,” Jyn says casually. She even has the audacity to shrug.

Bodhi’s pretty sure he’s actually gaping at her now. Like, his jaw is actually hanging open in shock. He’d be embarrassed, but he just doesn’t have the capacity for any other emotions at the moment.

“Why?” He finally manages to ask, after an embarrassingly long pause.

“Haven’t you heard?” Jyn says with a mischievous smile. “I’m Santa Barbara’s most preeminent psychic detective!”

Bodhi groans and puts his head on Jyn’s shoulder. She pats at him in a halfhearted consoling gesture.

“Can you be the ‘most preeminent’ something? Does that work grammatically?” She asks, nonchalantly.

“Don’t you dare try to distract me with grammar, Jyn,” Bodhi warns. “This is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I know for a fact you listened to all of R. Kelly’s ‘Trapped in a Closet’, so there’s no way that’s true.”

“It was before he got weird!”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“I don’t even know how you did that back there,” Bodhi cries, getting them back to the subject at hand.

“What?”

“All that stuff you said in the interrogation room! How did you do it?”

“You know about my observation thing,” Jyn says, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Yeah, but that stuff with the detective. How did you know all that?”

Jyn sighs, as if explaining her skills is a huge burden. “I saw in the paper a few weeks ago that there’d been a shooting and the police had been involved.”

“They wouldn’t have published the officer’s name,” Bodhi interjects.

“No,” Jyn concedes. “But the officer at the front desk was asking about how the new guy was doing, being back from administrative leave. The cop he was talking to was the one who brought us into the interrogation room, so clearly he had been working with our detectives on the robbery case.  And most of the cops in the SBPD are still left over from my mom’s time there—at least the ones that are old enough to make detective—and I didn’t recognize Detective Andor, so I figured it could have been him. Standard administrative leave is two weeks, the shooting happened roughly that long ago, and I noticed the bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t been sleeping well. So, I took a stab in the dark. So to speak.”

“Jyn, all of that is totally circumstantial. What if you’d been wrong?” Bodhi says, even though he’s a little in awe of what he’s just heard.

“Luckily, I wasn’t,” Jyn says simply.

“What about all that stuff with the heart and the shapes and the letter?” Bodhi asks.

“Oh,” Jyn says, as if she’s already forgotten. “Our carjacker from the lobby had a tattoo on his ankle. One of those hearts that’s been shot through with an arrow. And it had the name ‘Susan’ wrapped around it, on a banner. Figured if Susan was his wife, she probably filed the charges against him and the letter would jog their memory if nothing else did.”

“This is unbelievable,” Bodhi says, shaking his head. “And what does the Chief want from you?”

“Interim chief. And she wants me to help them with a kidnapping case.”

“I’m a little nervous about the strength of our police force if they have to hire you to solve a kidnapping.”

“I know, right?” Jyn says. “Apparently, it’s the heir to some hoity-toity family’s fortune that’s gone missing. The family is close with the governor and Interim Chief Mothma is under a lot of pressure to solve this thing quickly.”

“They think this guy is still alive?”

“I guess so.”

“Huh,” Bodhi says. “Are they paying you?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“So, that’s a no.”

“It’s more that they’re paying me by not arresting me,” Jyn says. “And only if I deliver.”

“And what happens if you don’t?” Bodhi asks, not totally convinced he wants to know the answer.

“They’ll arrest me for obstruction of justice,” Jyn says simply.

“Damn it, Jyn.”

“I don’t know why you’re so worried. This is like my two greatest strengths: observation and bullshitting. My whole life has been preparation for this!”

“Only you would see having to prove to the police that you’re psychic by solving a high profile missing persons case as a fun challenge.  Do I need to remind you you’re not actually psychic, or are you at least still mildly self-aware?” Bodhi asks.

“Bodhi, don’t be an under-whipped meringue! I know what I’m doing!” Jyn says, and he has to admit, he can’t remember the last time she was this excited about anything. “Now, do you want to go interrogate some fancy white people with me, or not? I bet they own some Baroque art or whatever that you can nerd out about while I investigate.”

“Jyn, I can’t,” Bodhi says, and he thinks he sees Jyn’s face fall, just for a second, before she quickly hides her reaction. “I have to get back to office, I have a million calls to return. I can’t get involved with one of your crazy schemes today, I’ve lost enough time already.”

As soon as it’s out of his mouth, he knows it was the wrong thing to say. He and Jyn don’t fight, not really, and any spats they do have are over as quickly as they begin, usually because they start punching each other and get it out of their systems. What does happen occasionally, though, is that Jyn will shut him out—when she feels rejected in any way, or when she’s going through her own stuff that she doesn’t want to talk about. Bodhi sees the neutral mask that immediately goes over her features and he knows she’s upset by what he’s just said.

“Jyn—” he starts to say, reaching for her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jyn interrupts, already looking around for her exit, instead of looking at him. “I’m gonna get a cab. I’ll talk to you later.”

As she passes by, she claps Bodhi on the shoulder and then she’s gone.

***

Just like they don’t fight, he and Jyn also don’t apologize. It took some getting used to in the beginning for Bodhi, a naturally nervous person for whom apologizing—even when nothing is his fault—is just a reflex.  Jyn, on the other hand, never apologizes for anything. If the phrase “I’m sorry” comes out of her mouth, it’s always a transitional phrase at best, and sarcastic at worst. Over the years, Bodhi has warmed to Jyn’s way of dealing with things. On the rare occasions they do actually fight, Jyn will disappear for a few days and then resume contact as if nothing ever happened. She just needs time and space to get over herself sometimes.  And once she has, she doesn’t hold a grudge, at least not when it comes to him. Old issues don’t come back up in arguments years later with her, the way they do in Bodhi’s other relationships. It’s a fault he’ll readily admit he has as well, never letting old grievances go, so it’s probably just as well Jyn isn’t like that with him. Maybe, every once in a while, they actually do bring out the best in each other.

All of this is to say, when Bodhi doesn’t hear from Jyn for three days after their conversation outside of the police station, he’s not actually worried. It’s pretty standard behavior from her, and, even without their weird conflict, they don’t always talk everyday anyway. There’s the niggling concern in the back of his mind that she’s working on a case, and she could actually be in danger and that’s why he hasn’t heard from her, but it’s not enough to really drive him to distraction.

Still, his relief when he gets a call from her on that third day is immediate and a little overwhelming. It’s short-lived, however, when he hears how tired she sounds on the phone and when she asks, tentatively, if he’ll come pick her up because her bike broke down on some isolated back road. His keys are in his hand before he even hangs up and the next thing he knows he’s calling over his shoulder to the woman at the front desk that he’ll be out all afternoon with a family emergency.

It’s nearly forty minutes later that Bodhi actually finds her, because, while Jyn did her best to explain where she was, she is stranded on a truly deserted back road and there’s no landmarks nearby for reference. When he arrives, Jyn is still trying to get her bike to start, with no success. Her jeans are covered in mud, her hands are coated with black grease from working on the motorcycle, and Bodhi is pretty sure she hasn’t brushed her hair since he saw her last. She looks a complete mess, and worry bubbles up in Bodhi’s throat just seeing her.

He pulls over, throws the car in park, and gets out in something of a daze, but he can’t actually bring himself to say a word. Anything he says will betray his concern, and there’s nothing that raises Jyn’s hackles more than being fretted over. When she makes eye contact with him, he says, “You look great,” because he can’t come up with anything else and Jyn’s face breaks into a relieved smile.

“Yeah, well, you know what they say,” she responds, gesturing at herself with one hand. “Dress for the job you want.”

“You want to be Farmer Hoggett?”

“Danny Zuko, actually,” Jyn says, waving her motor oil-stained hands at him. She follows up the gesture with a heavy sigh, and all the energy seems to drain out of her at once.

“You’ve only been a fake psychic detective for three days, Jyn,” Bodhi jokes. “You can’t be tired of it already.”

“Watch me,” she says through a yawn. “And I may be a fake psychic, but I’m a real detective, thank you very much.”

“You have the bags under your eyes to prove it,” Bodhi says, the only way he can think of to bring up her disheveled state.

“Thanks, they’re vintage.”

“I thought so,” Bodhi replies, and then he decides they’ve goofed around enough, given the situation. “Seriously, Jyn, what happened? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she says, reflexively. “I hurt my knee when the bike crapped out, but that’s that worst of it. I just need a ride home, so I can change my clothes and keep working on the case.”

Bodhi wants to ask more questions, but he knows Jyn is probably frustrated enough as it is and she’ll probably be more inclined to talk once they’re on their way.

“Okay,” he says, inclining his head towards his car. When Jyn starts to move towards him, he asks, “What are you going to do about your bike?”

“I got a guy coming to pick it up. He’ll bring it home for me,” Jyn says, as Bodhi holds open the passenger side door for her.

“You should bring it to a mechanic.”

“You should suck it,” Jyn counters. “I can fix my own bike.”

“Clearly,” Bodhi says, gesturing at the dejected looking motorcycle behind them. Jyn scowls at him from her seat as he closes the car door.

Once he’s back in the driver’s seat and they’re on their way back to Santa Barbara, Bodhi looks over at Jyn. Up close, she looks even more exhausted than he initially thought.

“When was the last time you slept?” He wonders aloud.

Jyn gives the appearance of thinking it over before saying, “When did we last see each other?”

“Three days ago.”

“Sometime before that, then.”

“Good grief,” Bodhi mutters. “How are you even alive right now?”

“I’m not. I’m a ghost. I’ve been a ghost this whole time,” Jyn says, drily.

“How dare I care about your well being,” he says, shaking his head bitterly.

For once, the guilt trip actually seems to have an effect on Jyn, because she sobers a little and says, “You’d be amazed what a great motivator the threat of jail time can be.”

“I honestly forgot all about that,” Bodhi says, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Really? You?”

“I guess I just had no doubt you’d solve the damn thing,” he replies, with a shrug. “You’re Jyn. You’ve never met a crazy situation you couldn’t get yourself out of.”

When he chances another look in her direction, she’s looking back at him with a serious expression. “Your faith in me is undeserved,” she says. “But appreciated.”

“Anything for you,” Bodhi says, and he means it. They’re always going to be there for each other; it’s what best friends are for.

They drive in companionable silence for a few minutes, and Bodhi wonders how he’s going to get her to tell him about the case. He doesn’t have long to worry about it, though, because the next thing he knows, he sees flashing lights in his rear view mirror and hears a siren blaring.

“Jyn,” Bodhi says warningly as he pulls over. “What did you do?”

When he looks over at her, however, she looks just as confused as Bodhi feels. This must be a surprise to her as well.

Still, Bodhi can’t help but add, “You better tell me now, so we can get our stories straight.”

“I have no idea what’s going on,” Jyn says, shrugging. She reaches over and gives his arm a squeeze, then adds, “But I’m glad to have you on my side.”

The cop who’s just pulled them over taps on the window, and Bodhi does his best not to jump. He rolls down the window.

“Good afternoon, officer. What can I do for you?” Bodhi asks, trying to sound casual and definitely failing.

“License and registration,” the cop says, and Bodhi hurries to oblige. He hands over the items, but the cop is looking at Jyn very intently.

“You look familiar,” he says to her.

“I was the model for the Morton’s Salt Girl,” Jyn says immediately, and Bodhi has to suppress the urge to smack her.

The officer looks up from Bodhi’s license when she speaks. “Hey, that’s it. You’re Lyra’s kid, aren’t you?” He asks, finally cracking a smile.

“Guilty as charged,” Jyn says with a rueful smile, and Bodhi has to resist the urge to smack her again. He settles for glaring at her instead.

“I worked with your mom for a long time, right up until she retired,” the officer says, his whole demeanor changed to one of friendliness. “How’s she doing?”

“Oh, you know. She’s in Miami. Livin la vida loca, and all that,” Jyn says, casually, as if she’s spoken to her mother mother recently, which Bodhi knows for a fact she hasn’t.

The officer, for his part, looks confused. “Is that so?” He asks. “Because I saw her at the Safeway just last month.”

“She was just visiting,” Jyn lies, automatically.

“She told me she was moving back to the old house,” the cop says.

“Well, you’re just remarkably well informed, aren’t you?” Jyn says, feigning sweetness.

“Uh, is there a problem here, officer?” Bodhi asks, trying to distract the cop from asking Jyn any more questions.

“One of your tail lights is out,” the officer says, turning his attention back to Bodhi reluctantly. “You need to get that fixed,” he adds, handing Bodhi back his license and registration.

“Absolutely, sir. I will. Right away,” Bodhi says eagerly.

The officer nods. “Alright, then. You two have a good rest of your day, now. And tell your mom Officer Macklin says hello,” he adds to Jyn.

“You got it,” Jyn says, already turning away from him.

The cop heads back to his own car and Bodhi pulls away carefully. It isn’t until the cop car is a tiny, retreating speck in the rear view mirror that Bodhi chances speaking to Jyn.

“Your mom is back in Santa Barbara?” He asks carefully.

“Apparently,” Jyn says with an unconvincing shrug. She’s looking down at her phone instead of meeting his eye.

“You want me to bring you to her house instead?” Bodhi asks, looking back and forth between her and the road.

“No need. Liverpool has a match today,” Jyn says, looking up from her phone. “And there’s only one bar in town that will put football on the TV. Take your next right.”

***

If anyone were to ask him, Bodhi would say he loves Jyn’s parents like they’re his own, but he’s also pretty glad that they’re not. Growing up, he spent a lot of time at Jyn’s house and he got to know Galen and Lyra Erso fairly well. He’d always been closer to Jyn’s dad, who was always interested in Bodhi’s school projects and honors classes. They had a lot of similar interests, which couldn’t be said of Bodhi and his father. Bodhi loves his dad, and he knows his dad loves him, but they don’t always have a lot to talk about. So it was nice to talk to Galen, every now and then, and imagine what it would be like.

Jyn, for her part, was always closer with her dad too, but, because his job had him traveling a lot, she spent a lot more time with her mother, whose odd hours as a cop meant she could be around for her kid more often than her husband could. Lyra is hard to describe; she’s not a particularly warm person, but she is undeniably generous and invested in others. That’s always been Bodhi’s experience, at least. For the longest time, he assumed Jyn’s mother hated him, as she never seemed happy to see him. It took time for him to realize that she showed affection more practically than that. She has never forgotten a single thing Bodhi has ever told her, he’s pretty sure, which is how she remembers things like his mom’s birthday and her favorite kind of flowers to send every year, and how, all through his high school years, she knew his top choice colleges—in order—by heart after he mentioned them to her once.  Much like he came around to Jyn’s unique personality, Bodhi eventually realized that Lyra’s intense questions and no-nonsense attitude were the product of her caring very deeply, rather than not caring at all. It was easier for him, though. She wasn’t his actual mother and if she ever got to be too much for him, he could just go home. Jyn didn’t have that option.

For as long as he can remember, Jyn and her mother have been like oil and water; they just do not mix. It would be easy to blame the animosity on Jyn’s parents’ divorce when she and Bodhi were in high school, but the conflicts between Jyn and Lyra were going on long before that. Jyn has always resented her mother for raising her basically from birth to become a cop, without taking her daughter’s personality or interests into account. When her parents separated, things only got worse, especially when her parents agreed, without consulting her, that she would live full time with her mother. From there, Jyn’s rebellious streak only got worse and as soon as she turned eighteen, she was out of her mother’s house.

About a year ago, Lyra retired early from the police force and moved all the way to Miami. Bodhi

never expected Jyn to come back to Santa Barbara permanently, but if there was one thing that didn’t surprise him about her return, it was that she waited until her mother was gone to do so.  

But Lyra was back now too. The proof was right in front of them as they entered the pub. Jyn’s mother was sitting alone at a table near the bar with a full beer in front of her, her eyes on the television that was set to the football match.

Jyn makes an annoyed noise in the back of her throat, which brings Bodhi’s attention back to her. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

“Nothing, it’s just—” Jyn pauses to roll her eyes. “She’s such a cop, that’s all. I mean, she can see every possible exit from her seat. Does she ever take a day off?”

“She’s retired,” Bodhi points out.

“You can’t retire from being a pain in the ass.”

“That’s lovely, Jyn,” Bodhi says. “You ought to cross-stitch that on a pillow.”

“And you ought to suck it,” Jyn shoots back, pleasantly.

“No, I insist. You suck it,” he replies, and throws his arm out in an after you gesture.

Jyn shakes her head at him. “Here we go,” she says, like she’s approaching an executioner, and not her mother.

As they cross from the door to where Jyn’s mother is sitting, something occurs to Bodhi. “Wait, what do I call her?” He asks suddenly.

“What are you talking about?” Jyn asks under her breath.

“I normally call her Mrs. Erso, but your parents are divorced now, yeah?”

“Funny story,” Jyn says, though the grim look on her face says otherwise. “They’re actually not.”

“Wait, what? It’s been, like, 10 years!”

“Believe me, I know.”

“So, what are they, if not divorced?”

“Hella estranged,” Jyn says with a shrug.

“Is that the legal term?” Bodhi asks, unamused.

“Yes.”

“Seriously, what do I call her, Jyn?”

“I don’t know, dude. Call her Deputy Dog, for all I care,” Jyn whisper-shouts at him. By then, they’ve reached her mother’s table, and Jyn says, “Hey, Mom!” as if she’s surprised to see her there. In her mother’s favorite pub. Where they specifically came looking for her.

“Jyn,” her mom says with a nod. Bodhi’s fairly certain she saw them come in. Hell, she might have spotted them before they got to the door. She’s that good. “Hello, Bodhi. How are you?” she says, turning her attention to him and offering her hand to shake.

“Hello, Mrs. Erso,” he responds. She has the strongest handshake of anyone he knows. It’s like she took a seminar or something. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Are you still working in pharmaceuticals?” she asks, taking a sip of her beer.

“Yes.”

“Good for you. It’s nice to see some young people are able to hold down a job for more than six months.”

Jyn rolls her eyes at the obvious dig in her direction. Bodhi coughs to mask his discomfort and mumbles a response.

“Bodhi would ask about how Miami is treating you, but, unfortunately, you’re not in Miami. You’re here,” Jyn says, her voice pitchy with annoyance.

“I didn’t care for Miami,” Lyra says simply. “Too humid. Too many nightclubs. I got bored.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me you were coming back because…?”

“You would have to call me on occasion to know anything about my life, dear,” Lyra says. “Or return my calls. But you don’t. Besides, if I had told you, I’m sure you would have scurried off to some new town to get away from me as soon as you found out.” When Jyn doesn’t say anything in response, Lyra asks, “Am I wrong?”

Jyn only shrugs in return. “I guess we’ll never know, will we?” She says, after a long pause.

“Indeed,” Lyra says, giving her daughter’s appearance an unimpressed glance. “What happened to you?” She asks.

Jyn looks down at her clothes, which are still covered in mud from earlier. “Oh, this? This is the fashion, Mom. All the kids are doing it.” When Lyra continues to look at her expectantly, Jyn relents and says, “My bike broke down on this muddy back road. I was trying to fix it, but Bodhi had to come get me.”

“I hate that stupid bike,” Lyra says. “You should get a reliable car. Like Bodhi has.”

“Bodhi has a company car, Mom,” Jyn says, exasperated. “And it looks like a blueberry.”

“Hey,” Bodhi interjects. “My car is nice.”

Jyn waves him off as her mother asks, “And you have nothing better to do on a weekday than drive around on your motorcycle? Do you even have a job?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jyn says, as she pulls out the seat across from her mother and drops into it, “I happen to be working for the SBPD. On a case. And an important one at that!”

Bodhi doesn’t point out that the police aren’t paying her and that she’ll go to jail if she fails, mostly because he knows that Jyn just said it to get a reaction out of her mother. And she certainly gets it. Lyra’s face drops and she asks, astonished, “You? Working for the police?”

“Just like you always wanted,” Jyn says, leaning back in her seat triumphantly.

“I wanted you to become a cop. A real police officer,” Lyra says sharply. “Am I right in assuming that’s not what happened?”

“I’m consulting,” Jyn says, which is being awfully generous, Bodhi thinks to himself.

“And why would they want you to consult on a case?”

“Because,” Jyn begins, and Bodhi can see her trying to figure out what to tell her mother that will be easier than the truth. She sighs, closing her eyes, bracing herself. “Because I told them I was psychic.”

Lyra blinks a few times, very quickly, but otherwise shows no signs of shock. “You did what now?” She finally asks.

“I’ve been calling in tips to the police, stuff I’ve noticed from the news or the paper, using the skills you taught me,” Jyn explains. “But the last time, I gave them my name, by accident. And they kind of thought I was responsible for the crime. I told them I was psychic so they wouldn’t arrest me.”

“And then they just hired you to work on a case?” Lyra asks, disbelieving. “No questions asked?”

“Basically,” Jyn says with a shrug. Once again, she conveniently leaves out the part where she’ll be arrested if she doesn’t solve the case, but Bodhi still thinks it’s better not to mention it.

Lyra, for her part, seems to know Jyn isn’t telling her the whole story and she’s clearly weighing whether it’s worth interrogating her daughter further. “That department has really gone downhill since I left,” she says instead.

“Thanks, Mom.”

“So why are you here?”

“What do you mean?” Jyn asks. “I heard from Officer Macklemore—”

“Macklin,” Bodhi corrects.

“I’ve heard it both ways,” Jyn says to him, before looking back at her mother. “Anyway, I heard from Officer Macbook that you were back in town, and I came to confront you about it.”

“How is Macklin, anyway? Last time I saw him, his arthritis was acting up and giving him a lot of trouble,” Lyra says.

“How would I know anything about his arthritis?” Jyn asks impatiently. “All he said was to tell you hi from him.”

“Well, that’s very nice of him,” Lyra says pleasantly.

“Mom!”

“What, Jyn?” Lyra suddenly snaps. “You expect me to believe that you actually came here because you were so upset that I hadn’t told you I was back in town. Do you think I’m stupid? I know you don’t care! So, you can either tell me what you really want from me, or we can keep talking about my old coworker’s joint problems. Either way suits me fine.”

The silence that follows Lyra’s outburst is excruciatingly awkward. Jyn has a look on her face that Bodhi has never seen before, and he’s pretty sure it’s because she’s about to burst into tears. In their time as friends, Bodhi has seen Jyn go through some shit, including some truly awful arguments with her mother, but he’s never once seen her cry. He has no idea what to do in this situation—will reaching out for her make it worse? Should they just leave? Before he can do anything, though, Jyn drops her head into her hands and sighs.

“I can’t figure it out,” she says, shakily. “I cannot figure this damn case out. I mean, I found the bodies and everything, but it still doesn’t make sense. The cops think it’s a murder-suicide, open and shut. But it doesn’t feel right and I can’t prove otherwise.”

Lyra is looking at Jyn intently, waiting for her to say more, but she doesn’t. She just sits there, head in hands, looking small and exhausted. After what feels like an eternity, Lyra speaks. “How many hats?” She asks quietly.

Jyn takes her hands away from her face to glare at her mother. “What?”

“How many hats are there in the room?” Lyra asks again, even more calmly.

“I heard you. I just can’t believe you want me to do this right now!”

“You’re out of practice, and you’ve gotten soft. That’s why you can’t solve the case,” Lyra suggests with a shrug. “Now, tell me how many hats.”

“Mom, this is a stupid game from when I was a kid. I’m not gonna—”

“If you can’t do it, just say so.”

“Ten,” Jyn says, not breaking eye contact.

“Go on, then. And don’t cheat.”

Jyn sighs, a deep, frustrated noise, and closes her eyes. “Four baseball caps on the guys at the bar,” she says. “The couple in the booth at the back are both wearing cowboy hats; his is leather, hers is straw. The family at the table in the corner have a baby in a sun hat and a boy in one of those rainbow beanies with the spinner on top, which I didn’t even know existed in real life, so that’s interesting. There’s a captain’s hat hanging on the wall with all of the other junk that counts as decor in this godforsaken place. And when we came in, the chef was out talking to the bartender and he was wearing a hat. I assume we were going from when we walked in, yeah?” Jyn asks smugly.

Lyra nods and smiles. “You missed one,” she says.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. The woman at the bar.”

Jyn doesn’t even look. “She’s wearing a visor. A visor isn’t a hat.”

“What is it, then?”

“Ugly,” Jyn says, simply. “And it’s red, because I know that’s what you’re going to ask next.”

“Not bad,” Lyra admits.

“I’m not out of practice,” Jyn says fiercely. “I’m as sharp as I’ve ever been.”

“You just needed to focus on something else, instead of the case,” Lyra says. “You were getting so bogged down in the particulars that you couldn’t think straight. Happened to me all the time, when I was on the force. I’ll bet your mind feels clearer now, doesn’t it?”

Jyn blinks at her mother in disbelief. “Were you actually being helpful just now?” She asks.

“Believe it or not, I’m usually trying to help you, Jyn. Even when you think I’m not.”

Jyn looks at her mother for a long moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly, she slaps her palm on the table and turns to Bodhi. “I need you to bring me to the police station,” she says, urgently.

“Did you figure it out?” He asks.

“No, but I’m going to. I just need to look at the case file again.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“I know a guy,” Jyn says vaguely.

“Alright. Do you want to go home and change first?” Bodhi asks, gesturing at her still-muddy clothing.

“What? No! Honestly, I think I might be onto something. This is a Look, right here,” Jyn says, standing up.

“If you say so,” Bodhi says, as she starts pulling him towards the door.

They don’t make it far, however, before Jyn stops suddenly. She turns halfway back to her mother, looking completely lost. A moment of deliberation passes before Jyn says, “Thanks, Mom.”

Lyra looks up at her daughter and surprise flashes across her face, briefly. She raises her beer in salute and Jyn smiles.

“To the blueberry!” She shouts at Bodhi, and links their arms together.

“We’re not calling it that,” he says, only to be ignored. “Jyn, I’m serious!”

Jyn pushes the door open and drags him out into the night, still paying his complaints no mind.

***

“Sorry, I’m still not clear on why he’d be willing to help us,” Bodhi says, keeping his voice low so as not to attract any further notice from the other cops at the precinct.

“Quid pro quo,” Jyn says, kicking her feet up on the desk in front of her. “I helped him, he’ll help me.”

“He said that?”

“His eyes did.”

“What did his mouth say?” Bodhi asks, suppressing an eye roll.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t listening. I was too busy staring longingly into his eyes.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head. “How exactly did you help him?”

“I solved that stupid armed robbery case for him,” Jyn says.

“You did?” Bodhi asks. “That’s amazing. Doesn’t that mean they can’t arrest you for it now?”

“They can’t arrest me for that, but they can arrest me for obstruction still.”

“Damn. So who was the guy’s partner?”

“Ah, that’s the thing,” Jyn says, relishing her Poirot moment a little too much. “He didn’t have one.”

“What?”

“He made it up, to get the immunity deal. Created this whole shadowy figure who masterminded all the robberies to stall the police and he took a gamble that they’d believe him. It was complete bullshit.”

“How did you figure that out?” Bodhi asks, astonished.

“Miss Erso is extremely well-versed in the art of bullshit,” a voice says from behind him. He turns to see Detective Andor approaching them with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Oh, Detective. I’ve asked you to call me Jyn, and I meant it,” Jyn says, her face lighting up with mischief.

“And I’ve never asked you for anything, so I don’t really understand what you’re doing here,” he shoots back. “And with your feet on my desk, no less!”

Jyn swings her feet off the desk and onto the floor in one graceful motion. “You need to lighten up, Detective, or you’re gonna go gray prematurely,” she says. “Then again, you’d look distinguished, so maybe it’s worth it.”

“What can I do for you, Miss Erso?” He asks, looking tired.

“Jyn. And I need to see the file for the McCallum case.”

“Can’t you see it with your third eye?”

“Would you look at that?” Jyn says to Bodhi, gesturing at Detective Andor. “He’s handsome and funny! If he has a good job, I’m putting a ring on it.”

Bodhi is about to roll his eyes at Jyn’s antics, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Detective Andor crack a smile. Maybe Jyn’s antics aren’t as unwelcome as he thought after all.

“As flattered as I am, how do you know I’m not spoken for?” Detective Andor asks.

“I saw it with my third eye,” Jyn says, and he laughs.

“Mm. Good one. No, really. Do your,” he gestures at her with his coffee mug, “psychic thing. On me.”

Jyn’s eyebrows shoot up at that and Bodhi can see her resisting the urge to turn the detective’s statement into a dirty joke. “I don’t have to,” she says, finally.

“Sorry?”

“I don’t have to ‘do my psychic thing’,” Jyn says, using air quotes. “Anyone with eyes could see that you're single.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. First of all, you’re a cop, just like my mother. It didn’t help her in the romance department, either,” Jyn says, like she’s letting him in on a secret. “You lot work all the time, hence the bags under your eyes and the fact that you’re here right now, on a Friday night.”

“I could be leaving,” he suggests.

“You have coffee. At 8 PM.”

“Could be decaf.”

“It isn’t,” Jyn says with certainty. “You’re about to pull an all nighter to work on a case. And then you’ll eventually go home to your lonely bachelor pad and eat a meal for one you picked up in the freezer section because you’re ‘too busy’ to cook for yourself. How am I doing?”

“You’re close,” Detective Andor says, trying to be evasive. “But I could have a spouse who’s okay with me working Friday nights.”

“You could,” Jyn allows. “But you also don’t wear a ring.”

“Maybe I just don’t wear it at work.”

“That’s a possibility. But I don’t think so.” Jyn pauses for a second, watching the detective. “Come on, how’d I do?”

“Devastatingly accurate,” Detective Andor concedes. “Except for one part.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m a really good cook,” he says, sitting on his desk in the spot recently vacated by Jyn’s feet. She smiles up at him, delighted, and Bodhi’s pretty sure if he doesn’t do something they could be here all night. He clears his throat awkwardly.

Both of them startle, like they’d forgotten about him entirely. Detective Andor takes a sip of his coffee and places the mug on the desk. “What do you need the file for?” He asks, not quite looking at Jyn.

“Sometimes I do get random visions,” Jyn lies with ease. “But most of the time, my gift requires inspiration. I’m hoping something in the file will trigger it.”

“That case is basically wrapped up, though. I heard it was a murder-suicide between the McCallum kid and the guy he hired to fake his kidnapping,” Detective Andor says.

“I’m not convinced,” Jyn says seriously.

“Hey, from what I hear, they wouldn’t have found that cabin without you,” Detective Andor says, adopting a soothing tone. “Your work here is done. Don’t overthink it.”

“I’m thinking it just the right amount, thank you,” she replies. Detective Andor looks as if he is about to say something else, so she adds, quickly, “You have two options here, as I see it. You can get me that file now, or you can spend the whole night talking in circles with me, finishing none of your own work, and then you can get me the file.”

“Sounds like I’m getting you the file either way.”

“It’s just a matter of whether you have your dignity intact when you do,” Jyn says, throwing in a shrug for good measure. “Choose your own adventure, Detective,”

Detective Andor makes a big show of looking around, and then stands up. “I’ll be right back,” he says, needlessly, and walks away.

Jyn and Bodhi watch him go in silence for a few seconds, before Bodhi asks, “What’s going on there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re flirting with cops now?”

“I was not flirting with him,” Jyn says, scandalized.

“Jyn, please.”

“I wasn’t,” she says, and she actually stamps her foot, like a child. “I can’t stand cops, you know that.”

“Right. You can’t stand that guy. You can’t stand him so much you just spent ten minutes pestering him about his marital status,” Bodhi says, unimpressed.

“He asked me to!”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. He can’t stand you either. He can’t stand the idea of making you dinner in his tiny, sad apartment and he can’t stand the idea of having beautiful, hyper-observant children with you someday.”

“Bodhi,” Jyn says, slapping at him ineffectually. She’s laughing too hard to do so accurately.

“It’s one thing to seduce and abandon half the food service professionals in Santa Barbara, Jyn, but please don’t start sleeping with cops and never calling them again. My heart can’t take it,” Bodhi says, only half joking.

“I’m not gonna sleep with him,” Jyn replies, looking offended.

“Uh huh.”

“I’m not! Jesus!”

“You, Jyn Erso, are a bisexual menace to society,” he says gravely.

“I’m a bisexual philanthropist, thank you very much, and you, Bodhi Rook, can suck it,” she shoots back easily and lands a solid slap on his arm.

They’re still scuffling like that when Detective Andor returns and drops a file on the desk in front of Jyn. Her face lights up and she tears into the folder with enthusiasm. In addition to Jyn’s many other gifts, she’s also a very fast reader, so she makes short work of scanning through the entire file on the McCallum case. She flops back in the chair once she’s done with the last page, and Bodhi is pretty sure that’s not a good sign.

“Nothing?” He asks.

“Nothing,” Jyn confirms. She rubs her eyes. “I don’t even know what I’m looking for. It’s just that...something doesn’t feel right.”

“How so?” Detective Andor asks.

“It’s just a vibe I have.”

“This is some sort of psychic thing? Vibes?”

“You don’t get vibes? I thought everybody got those,” Jyn says.

“I’ve always thought of it more as intuition,” Detective Andor says with a shrug. “It’s not really a spiritual thing.”

“Well, the spirits are telling me there’s more to this case than meets the eye.”

“Your spirits can’t be more specific?”

“Apparently not,” Jyn says, closing the case file with more force than is really necessary. She tosses it gently back to Detective Andor. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Look, if you don’t mind me saying so, this could all be in your head,” he says. When Jyn gives him an annoyed look, he continues, “Hear me out. This probably isn’t the way you saw this case shaking out. Maybe it’s not that you missed something, or that there’s some cosmic imbalance afoot. Maybe you’re just disappointed. But that’s the work. You’ll have to get used to it if you want to keep doing this.”

“Keep doing what?”

“Consulting. You lead us right to the bodies. It might not be the way anyone wanted the case to end up, but you helped solve it. I wouldn’t be surprised if Interim Chief Mothma wanted to use you again.”

Jyn shakes her head. “You know what I still can’t wrap my head around?” She asks, rather than address what Detective Andor has said.

“How to accept a compliment?” Detective Andor suggests.

“Technically, everything you just said was a fact. None of it was actual praise,” Jyn says. Detective Andor gives her a half-smile and motions for her to continue. “What I don’t understand is why everyone thought this McCallum kid had finally turned his life around. From what I hear, this wasn’t his first try at it. He’d screwed it up before. And you even have a report in there of an incident between him and his father that got so heated the neighbors called the cops to intervene. Why was everyone in that family so surprised that this guy was still up to his old bullshit?”

“People can change,” Detective Andor says simply.

“You don’t honestly believe that, do you?” Jyn asks. When he just shrugs in response, she says, “But you’re a cop!”

“And I wouldn’t be one if I didn’t think this work could make a difference in someone’s life,” he says. “The McCallums didn’t think their son had changed. They hoped he had.”

“Lot of good that did them.”

“Better than the alternative, right? I’d rather hope for the best, than anticipate the worst all the time.”

“That’s a terrible way for a cop to think!”

“I didn’t say that’s the way I actually think,” he says. “Just that it’s how I would rather think.”

“You’re full of shit,” Jyn says, but she looks amused. Fond, even.

“See if I ever help you again,” Detective Andor says, gesturing at her with the case file. “I’m going to put this back before someone misses it,” he adds, and takes off, leaving Jyn and Bodhi alone again.

“That was a very tender moment between you two. I’m glad I got to be here for it,” Bodhi says, for lack of anything better to contribute.

Jyn snorts. “Shut up,” she says, but the expression on her face says her thoughts are still far off.

“Did it help?” Bodhi asks, nudging her with his foot.

“What?” Jyn says, turning her attention to him.

“Anything Detective Andor just said.”

“Oh, no.” Jyn responds, then winces. “I mean, it’s not bad advice, but I just can’t get over this feeling that I’m missing something. I just don’t believe it, you know? That this rich kid botched his own kidnapping so badly that his dirtbag partner turned on him, killed him, and then killed himself because he couldn’t live with the guilt. Oh, and speaking of guilt, this kid’s strict father felt so badly about his son’s disappearance that he apparently tried to kill himself too? Even though he tried to write his son out of his will for being a fuck up? Like, none of it adds up. It doesn’t feel right at all.”

“Wait, what happened with his father?”

“He had this will drawn up—”

“No, you told me about that. You didn’t mention his suicide attempt.”

“Oh, well, I don’t know that for sure,” Jyn says. “When I visited the McCallum house, Mr. McCallum had a bandage on his wrist and he got antsy when I asked him about it. But I overheard some of the help talking and they were saying he tried to kill himself after his son disappeared.”

“So that’s all speculation,” Bodhi says.

“Well, yeah.”

“But you don’t believe it?”

“I mean, it could be anything, really. I tried to look through their medicine cabinets to see if I saw anything that would suggest what kind of injury it was, but it was mostly generic stuff, like ibuprofen and allergy medicine. The only name I didn’t recognize was Zin...Zinfandel?”

“That’s a wine, Jyn.”

“Damn it. Uh, Zin… zinacef? Is that something?”

“Yeah. Zinacef is a brand name for cefuroxime. It’s an antibiotic.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, for people who are allergic to penicillin.”

“And why would they prescribe it?”

“Like most antibiotics, to treat an infection,” Bodhi says. “And if he had an injury to his wrist, it’s probably because the doctor was worried that the source of the cut could have infected him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, if he cut himself on, I don’t know, a rusted nail or something. Although you’d be more worried about Tetanus in that situation. Maybe an animal bite? Like a cat or a—”

“A dog?” Jyn suggests, interrupting him. Her eyes are wide and she’s leaning forward in her seat.

“Sure,” Bodhi says, shrugging. “Why? Does that mean something?”

“Yeah, it does! McCallum Jr.’s friend who helped him fake the kidnapping had a dog. I saw it at the cabin. It all makes sense now!” Jyn practically shouts.

“It does?”

“Yes! Bodhi, you’re a genius!” She says, grabbing his face in both her hands.

“I am?” Bodhi says.

“Yes, you are!”

“That’s nice. But please don’t kiss me. Your cop boyfriend is coming back and I don’t want him to tase me in a jealous rage.”

Jyn lets him go. “I wasn’t going to kiss you, and Detective Andor is definitely not going to tase you,” she says, rolling her eyes.

“I notice you didn’t deny that he was your boyfriend, though.”

“You’re a child!”

“Takes one to know one!” Bodhi shoots back. Jyn reaches out as if to slap him, but he quickly says, “Look alive, he’s on his way over.”

“Shit, I gotta make up a vision,” Jyn says. “This fake psychic thing is way harder than it looks on TV.”

“Yeah, we all feel real sorry for you.”

Jyn glares at him in response as she raises her hand to her forehead in what’s becoming her default faking-a-vision pose. “Help me out,” she says, under her breath, as Detective Andor reappears.

“Oh, Detective Andor, thank goodness you’re back,” Bodhi says, hoping he sounds genuine. He’s doesn’t consider himself to be the world’s best liar. “I think she’s having a vision.”

Detective Andor, for his part, still looks utterly bewildered by the whole thing, so it’s Jyn who actually has to speak up. “I’ve seen our killer,” she says, completely serious.

“You’ve seen their face?” Detective Andor asks.

“No, their wrist,” Jyn replies.

“Their wrist? What good does that do us?”

“I can see it so clearly now,” Jyn says, covering her forehead with her hands. “They found McCallum in his cabin hideout. They figured out the kidnapping was staged before we did and they went to confront him about it. There was a scuffle, between McCallum and our killer. It was an accident, they didn’t mean to kill him, it just happened!”

As Jyn speaks, she keeps her eyes closed, as if she’s actually watching this all happen behind her eyelids. Bodhi can’t help but be impressed. She’s very convincing. For all the trouble it’s caused them, maybe this fake psychic thing is truly her calling. It’s such a ridiculous idea that he’s honestly surprised it didn’t occur to her sooner.

“After McCallum died, his partner came back to the cabin with his dog to find the killer still there. Our killer shoots him and stages it to look like a suicide, effectively pinning McCallum’s death on him instead, but not before the dog bites them and gets a piece of their wrist.” Jyn suddenly opens her eyes and sits back, her face clear of the anguish of her “vision”. She looks at Detective Andor and asks, “Do you know anyone with a mysterious wrist injury?”

Detective Andor blinks at her in disbelief for a few seconds before realization dawns. Then, he quickly reaches for his keys on the desk. “We have to get to the McCallum residence. I’ll call for backup on the way,” he says, and he’s already heading for the exit.

“Are we supposed to follow you?” Jyn shouts after him.

“Yes, let’s go.”

“Alright,” Jyn says, standing up and smacking Bodhi on the knee. “You heard the man. Let’s go catch a murderer.”

“Today has been the weirdest day of my life,” Bodhi says, shaking his head but following after Jyn anyway.

“And it’s not even over yet,” Jyn says with excitement. She loops their arms together once more as they leave the precinct.

***

There’s a light drizzle falling from the sky as Bodhi stands on the front yard of the McCallum residence. Just like Jyn said at the beginning of the case, the house is beautiful and large and absolutely full to the brim with great art and other things that Bodhi would normally nerd out about. Standing there, though, on a rainy Friday night, surrounded by cop cars whose lights are making the whole place glow red and then blue on a constant loop, Bodhi can’t honestly enjoy himself too much.

Mr. McCallum Sr. had been put into a car by an astonished looking Detective Tuesso nearly twenty minutes ago, after admitting to killing his son and his accomplice. The rest of the cops on the scene are still inside taking statements from the other people in the house and getting other relevant details so that they can finally close the case. The atmosphere in there became too much for Bodhi eventually and he excused himself to wait for Jyn outside.

When she finally finds him, he’s looking up at the sky for no particular reason other than the flashing lights from the cars are starting to hurt his eyes.

“You look very emo,” Jyn says, taking in his pose as she approaches.

“You just solved a murder,” Bodhi replies.

“Yeah,” she says, with no small amount of pride in her voice.

“That guy killed his own son.”

“Yeah,” Jyn says, this time sounding somber.

“That’s…” Bodhi starts to say, but he can’t really find the words. “That’s a lot,” he finally settles on, even though it’s nonsense. Jyn will understand, he thinks.

She, of course, nods in response, before also looking up at the sky. “It is. A whole fucking lot,” she says, and he’s glad she gets it.

They stand there in silence for a moment, just listening to the rainfall and the buzz of activity coming from the house behind them. It feels like the first time in hours he’s actually relaxed, ever since he got that call from Jyn this afternoon. He can’t even imagine how she feels.

“Couldn’t have done it without you,” Jyn says, suddenly. Bodhi looks over at her only to find her already looking at him.

“Yeah, you could’ve,” he says.

Jyn shakes her head. “No. You saved the day.”

“We’re a good team,” Bodhi responds, trying to deflect her praise.

“That we are,” she agrees. “But I’ve always known that.”

“Yeah, no surprise there.”

At that moment, another police car pulls up and a few people get out. One of them, a woman, spots Jyn and walks in her direction.

“Miss Erso,” the woman calls as she approaches.

“Interim Chief Mothma,” Jyn greets her in return. “Good to see you again.”

“I believe we have you to thank for solving this case,” the Chief says.

“Oh, well, I suppose,” Jyn says. “But I had lots of help.”

Interim Chief Mothma’s eyebrows raise in surprise at that. “You did?” She asks.

“From the spirits, of course,” Jyn says, gesturing vaguely upwards.

“Of course,” the Chief echoes. “Well, thank you for your assistance,” she says, offering her hand to Jyn.

“Happy to help,” Jyn replies, shaking the other woman’s hand

“Oh, that reminds me,” Interim Chief Mothma says. “I spoke to your mother on the phone earlier.”

“You did?”

“Yes. As she’s a former member of the department, I wanted to get her take on your value as a consultant and ask her about your abilities. I have to say, you two need to get your stories straight.”

“We do?” Jyn says, and Bodhi can hear the nervousness in her voice. As for himself, he’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack.

“Yes, you do. Your mother says that your gift didn’t present itself until you were eleven, but when you and I spoke the other day, you said you’d had your psychic abilities since birth,” the Chief says.

“That’s my mother for you,” Jyn says, easily, even though Bodhi can still see the tension in her shoulders. “She always has to undermine me! Just because she didn’t notice my abilities before I was eleven, doesn’t mean I didn’t have them. I’ve told her this a thousand times!”

“Well, I appreciated her insight,” Interim Chief Mothma says. “And I appreciate your work on this case.”

“Thank you, but I couldn’t have done it without Bodhi,” Jyn says, gesturing at him. “My chauffeur,” Jyn elaborates, for the Chief’s benefit.

“Ah, of course,” she says, looking bemused. She shakes Bodhi’s hand anyway, which gives him something to do besides elbow Jyn in the ribs. “Thank you both.”

One of the officers calls for her then, and Interim Chief Mothma leaves them with a wave. Jyn and Bodhi look after her for a few seconds before Jyn says, “That was close.”

Bodhi lets out a breath of relief. “No kidding,” he says. “I cannot take anymore stress today. I just can’t.”

“Okay, buddy. Let’s get you home,” Jyn says, patting his shoulder.

“We can leave?”

“Yeah, whenever we want. The cops are done with me for now.”

“Awesome,” Bodhi says, before he remembers the problem. “But my car is still at the precinct.”

“Oh, yeah. Cassian said he’d bring us back when we were ready.”

“Who?”

“Detective Andor.”

“You called him ‘Cassian.’”

“Did you think his first name was Detective?” Jyn asks, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re on a first name basis with him now?” Bodhi asks, unable to help himself.

“Relax. It’s no big deal,” Jyn says, crossing her arms over her chest. “You can call him that too.”

“I should hope so. He’s going to be my best friend-in-law someday.”

“I hate you,” Jyn says, but she’s smiling a little. “I’m going to go find Cassian and ask him to take me back to the precinct. And I’m gonna leave you here. You can walk home, for all I care.”

“If you want some alone time with your boyfriend, all you have to do is ask,” Bodhi replies. Jyn flips him off, which is all the encouragement he needs. “You two, alone in a police cruiser. Very romantic.”

“Don’t give me ideas, Bodhi Rook,” she says, and then she turns on her heel and heads back towards the house.

Smiling to himself, Bodhi follows her.

***

Unsurprisingly, Bodhi doesn’t hear from Jyn for a few days after the McCallum case wraps up. He assumes she’s catching up on all the sleep she missed while she was working the case, an old habit of hers he remembers from when they were in high school. She would always wait until the last minute on projects, pull all-nighters to finish them, and then sleep for days afterwards. For all solving murders and writing research papers are completely different, Bodhi thinks that Jyn’s method of recovering is probably the same for both.

Given the amount of emotional upheaval she went through, Bodhi actually figures it will take longer for Jyn to recover after this, but it’s only Monday when he receives a text from her asking him to meet her that afternoon when he’s done at work.

Sure. At your place? He replies immediately.

No. I’ll text you the address. Her reply comes twenty minutes later.

Why are we meeting at a mystery location?

I have something I need to show you!

You’re making me nervous…

You’re always nervous. See you at 4:30.

Jyn actually remembers to text him the address about ten minutes before he’s planning on leaving the office, and the map on his phone shows that it’s right by the water, but there’s no businesses listed there. Whatever Jyn is trying to do, it’s going to be a surprise, despite Bodhi’s best efforts. He sighs, before gathering his things and heading out for the night.

It’s a short ride from his office to the address Jyn sent him and he finds himself pulling into the small parking lot of a tiny, one story office building that faces the beach. He recognizes the only other vehicle in the lot as Jyn’s motorcycle, so this must be the place. There’s a wide window on the front of the only office housed in the building and, when Bodhi gets out of his car, he sees that there’s a sign painted on the glass that reads, “PSYCH” in big letters and, underneath that in a smaller script, it says, “private psychic detective.”

“Oh, no,” he says to himself, before pulling open the door.

“Bodhi,” Jyn greets him cheerfully when he enters the room.

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Depends on who you ask,” she says. “Why? What did I do?”

“You rented office space, for your psychic detective agency! Which is a career you’ve had for less than a week! And, by the way, you’re not actually psychic!”

“Oh, that,” she says, waving a hand at him, as though his are petty concerns.

“You’re not actually naming it that, are you?” Bodhi asks.

“No, Bodhi. I just paid them to hand paint it on the window because I’m a patron of the arts with money to burn.”

“You can’t call it that,” Bodhi says, ignoring Jyn’s joke and changing tactics.

“Why not?

“Psych?” He says, hoping hearing it aloud will make her understand. When she just looks at him blankly, he adds, “As in ‘Gotcha!’”

“No. Psych, as in psychic,” Jyn says, throwing in some jazz hands for good measure.

“It doesn’t read that way.”

“Oh, whatever.”

“Actually, I have a great idea,” Bodhi says, rubbing his forehead. “What if you called it, ‘Hey, We’re Fooling You and the Police, Hope We Don’t Make a Mistake and Someone Dies Because of It.’”

“As catchy as that is, I think that would take up too much space on the window,” Jyn says seriously. “It would interrupt our ocean view and you have no idea how much that cost me.”

“Speaking of which, how did you even get this place? I know your credit score is terrible.”

“True. But yours isn’t.”

“Mine?” Bodhi asks. “What does my credit score have to do with it?”

“You co-signed the lease with me.”

“Funny, I don’t remember doing that.”

“Well, you’re a busy man. I didn’t want to bug you with the trivial details, so I signed for you,” Jyn says innocently.

“Jyn!”

“It’s not my fault that your signature is easy to forge!”

“That’s not even remotely the problem here,” Bodhi says, his annoyance clear in his voice. “What real estate agent would allow this?”

“A really terrible one.”

Bodhi groans and covers his face with his hands. Jyn crosses the room to pat him consolingly on the shoulder.

“Hey, lighten up. This is gonna be fun! You and me, solving crimes together,” she says.

That’s enough to pull Bodhi out of his despair and he gives Jyn a disbelieving look. “Jyn, what are you talking about? I already have a full-time job,” he says.

“Oh, believe me, I know. You’re always talking about it, with your steady paycheck and your dental plan and your 411K,” Jyn says bitterly.

“It’s a four-OH-one-K, Jyn.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“I’m not leaving my job,” Bodhi says firmly and he sees Jyn’s face fall. “But, I can help you with cases in my spare time, if you’d like.”

“I would like,” Jyn says, smiling. “I would like very much.”

“Good. Partners?” He says, offering his fist for her to bump, which she does.

“Partners. Of course,” Jyn says, and the two of them enjoy approximately thirty seconds of peace before a noise outside catches Jyn’s attention.

“Okay, look alive,” she says, smoothing out her shirt. “Our 5 o’clock is here.”

“What?!” Bodhi asks, shocked. “You have a client already?”

“We gotta keep the lights on somehow,” Jyn replies.

“The Jyn I know has never paid an electricity bill on time in her life,” he says, eyeing her suspiciously.

“Well, maybe I’m turning over a new leaf,” Jyn says with a small smile, which Bodhi returns easily. If she’s really serious about this, he’s not going to stand in her way.

“I’m proud of you,” he says, pointing a finger at her emphatically.

She points back at him. “Thank you.”

At that moment, a young woman comes through the door, looking around cautiously. “Is this the psychic detective agency?” She asks.

“Yes, it is,” Jyn says. “And I’m the psychic detective, Jyn Erso.”

“Wow,” the young woman says, completely dazzled. She looks at Bodhi then, clearly confused as to his role.

Jyn, for her part, doesn’t miss a beat. “Allow me to introduce my associate, Burton Guster.”

Bodhi doesn’t bother correcting her, giving a small wave instead. This is his life now, after all.

[conleyhorace]

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[fapangel]

Thoughts on Thomas Wictors musings on some kind of middle eastern wunderkin spec ops force? I'm unsure it even exists.

The contention of it certainly makes sense.

For starters, we must remember that the well-known truth about Arabs being terrible at warfare applies due to social and cultural norms that simply cripple their ability to compete against modern liberal democracies for a wide variety of reasons, prime among them being a complex social honor code that hamstrings both hierarchical command structure, honest criticism and junior officer initiative - the very cornerstones that make modern liberal democracies armies so effective. That’s in addition to the totalitarian nature of these theocratic shitholes, where the army itself is the greatest threat to the rulers, and thus are carefully limited in equipment, training, and operational assignments, based on relative trust in their loyalty - and of course, loyalty takes precedence over competence. 

None of this really applies to comparatively small special operations forces, especially for the filthy-rich, Western-allied nations like the UAE, Saudi Arabia and Egypt. These countries have been rolling in shit-tons of oil money for decades - and they intelligently invested it in various overseas businesses to prepare for the oil glut we’re in currently, so they’re still sitting pretty. They have the US/NATO selling them all the weapons they want in exchange for regional bases to counter the Soviet - er, Russian Federation, they’re screwing us over with OPEC, and in general they’ve got everything they want. 

The psychopathic jihadists in Iran and Syria threaten to spoil everything for them - especially with Iran pointing chemical-tipped missiles at everyone in sight and shoveling money and weapons into the pockets of every miserable murdering fuck in the region. The Saudis et al have everything, everything to lose by ignoring them, and everything to protect by fighting them. They don’t buy those shit-tons of American weaponry for grins and giggles - it’s logical to assume that anything they can do to fight these people, they will do. So the idea of the western-aligned Arab coalition forming a special operations group that they absolutely stagger with money, gear and training - augmented by co-operative training from the US (their ally) and Israel (who desperately needs allies, what with their backs to the sea and surrounded by bloodthirsty Arabs) isn’t far-fetched at all. 

As for Saudis and their motives, this thread of  Wictor’s is one of the most insightful I’ve seen in a long time - he explains, at length and in detail, how the current leadership of Saudi Arabia is very, very different than the people who were in charge when Sept. 11th happened. For the reasons Wictor advances, as well as my own point vis a vis jihadists above, the reason why their leadership changed is pretty damn clear-cut - it was in their best interest not to piss off their sugar daddy and patron, the United States. An anti-western coalition exists in the Middle East, defined roughly by NATO/US and the UAE/Egypt/Saudis et al on one side, and Iran/Syria/Pakistan/Turkey/Russia/China on the other - with North Korea backed by both Russians and Chinese, and serving as a long-distance arms trader/tech collaborator with Iran and Syria. Saudi Arabia is filthy rich, but tiny - they’re basically one guy in white robes with a nice credit card facing down a massive horde of savages. If the gun store won’t sell him LMGs and ammo, he’s hosed, simple as that - and we own the best gun store in town. You can always buy from Le Jaques Discount Arms Emporium, but his stuff can be knocked over by a few advanced toys from Russia - unlike American gear, which does the same to Russia’s best tech. The last time this came up (vis a vis tensions between Saudis and Quatar) I pointed out that Qatar is well-known as an active and ideologically motivated supporter of terrorists, and alleged that Saudi Arabia, by contrast, simply doesn’t care about what their citizens do as long as it doesn’t threaten their safety and stability.

What Wictor’s saying is something I should’ve concluded myself - that after 9/11, with a very angry America looking to break off their foot in someone’s ass, anyone with jihadist sympathies very much qualified as a threat to Saudi Arabia, which needs a positive long-term relationship with America to survive. 

Now, Wictor’s evidence might be so-so, but when you’re working with what you’d call “open-source intel,” you’re mainly working on logical suppositions and gut instincts anyways. The evidence at best hints in the direction you’re looking, and at worst demonstrates a conspicuously constant failure to disprove your theories, or even hint in the other direction. You can certainly quibble with his eyeball analysis of various propaganda videos of jihadis firing TOW missiles at people and tanks in the desert - I have, myself - but those criticisms are entirely aside from the point, which is that they’re propaganda videos. For instance, the video of a Syrian T-90 (newly gifted from Russia) being hit by a TOW before the gunner bails out at high speed struck Wictor as suspicious enough to be staged (tankers motto is “death before dismount,” because dismount usually IS death,) but I thought it could be legitimate - a poorly-trained Syrian recruit used to explosion-prone T-72 monkey models losing his nerve in his first real engagement….

… but that doesn’t mean the whole video wasn’t spliced together out of a few different clips by Russian propagandists before adding the appropriate jihadist graphics in the corners. Remember who benefits from videos of ebil terrorists using US-supplied TOW missiles against the Righteous Assad Regime - that’d be Russia, who’s openly and loudly accusing America of “supporting ISIS” every chance they get. Apply this also to our views of Saudi Arabia in general - never forget that Russia is turning its well-honed and experienced propaganda machine against them, as they’re a regional proxy of the United States (their enemy.) Additionally, Wictor’s arguing from the weight of evidence - he’s pointed out plenty of videos that are indubitably laughably bad fakes made strictly for propaganda. It’s not just the incompetence on display, but the lack of urgency - we all had a good giggle at the hapless idiots in the Abu Hajaar video, but I personally stopped laughing at the end, when two men (cameraman included) copy a third they see trying to roll his way out of the firefight. That’s exactly how untrained, panicking irregulars fleeing for their lives usually respond - and as the video shows, it’s also how they die. There’s nothing funny about that. That’s what combat looks like, and the gormless, bored assholes in the artillery shelling videos Wictor criticized (who’re engaging with direct-fire missions, i.e. well within range of the ever-present ZU-23s and Dushkas) reflect none of that. They don’t even have the energy for Aloha Snackbars after every shot. And that reflects the overwhelming majority of the videos I’ve personally seen in /wsg/ “war threads” and elsewhere. 

So, to review: 

1. There’s every reason to believe the western-allied Arab coalition would create a force like this: it’s in their best interests to fight jihadists, and it’s the same tactic used by their regional enemy, Iran (through their own spec-ops proxies like Hezbollah.) 

2. There’s no reason to believe they’d be as incompetent and incapable as Arab armies in general tend to be, since spec-ops is a very different beast. 

3. There’s clear-cut evidence of major Saudi leadership changes away from jihadi sympathizers, and correspondingly very good reasons for Saudi Arabia to treat jihadists as a threat to their very existence (as exemplified by Saudis recent pressure on Qatar.) In turn this means NATO and Israeli governments would be much more likely to provide spec-ops training to them - and they’re the best in the world, hands-down. 

4. The above is doubly reinforced by the threat Iran poses to Israel - consider this latest tirade from the zealous fundamentalist run government armed with chemical-tipped IRBMs that warns the Zionists that they’re absolutely going to be wiped out in 25 years, but they might be wiped out much sooner, so they should just sit back and quietly accept their doom, lest their final days be cut short. This, right here, is why Israel just nailed an Iranian missile factory in Syria with cruise missiles - a factory that was parked right under the defensive umbrella of that S-300VM unit Russia shipped in to Tartarus late last year (which is precisely why Israel was publicly warning Russia not to try shielding their asshole buddies with those AA systems.) Israel won’t tolerate Iran on their doorstep, since it’s life-and-death for them, and Russia needs Iran’s help in Syria, which is precisely why Israel and Russia are on a collision course concerning Iran’s proxy, Hezbollah. The Israelis have the best reason of all to team up with Saudi Arabia to fight these bastards - their very survival.  

4. There’s both direct evidence of, and very good reasons for, most of the combat imagery we see coming out of the middle-east war zones being faked propaganda footage. This doesn’t prove that Arab spec-ops are looting and shooting over there, but it does tell us what is not happening - the superficially accepted narrative of the war as it’s presented to us. 

5. Ergo, if the Syrians aren’t doing the real fighting against ISIS, who is? 

Conclusions? The Arab coalition has the means to create these spec-ops forces, they have very strong motivations, and they’ve had the opportunity for years now. On the balance, it’s harder to believe that the western-aligned Gulf states haven’t created a force like this. What you see on Twitter is Wictor pointing out ripples on the surface and telling you there’s a shark in the tank - but that’s only because he’s watched people dumping whole sides of beef into it for a decade or better. 

We don’t know what’s in there exactly, or just how big it is - but we do know that it sure as hell isn’t a goddamn guppy. 

[dilrajwilhide1995]

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There are different types of troubles call for immediate attention.Older cats will frequently notice her happy body language which you have acquired one cat is peeing everywhere else in the morning and the right thing to do is to make them for some playtime?They generally will tell you that it is your call.Hence it's crucial to keep your cat has long hair, need to know that while your cat backing up to two parts of their natural abilities.This seemingly selfless act will help you select to get your cat is spraying in this location.

In this case, the cat and cause a bond between the scissors and the kind of restraint.Presuming that I mix myself when I say that the litter box.If you are having trouble with your cat, it is a normal relationship that will match your cat's claws.An erect tail usually indicates a friendly scent into the hundreds of other easy solutions available for you to make an effort to curtail this very purpose.Some actually believe it's an endless cycle, and you're starting to smell - or stop using the post, you can get him use to keep the cat during the mornings or evenings and putting out a bunch and you'll need is a sign of a cat misbehaves and does not discolor your carpet to sharpen their claws and exercise.

This basically helps your pet from gaining access to your home is their territory.Cats will eat greens or vegetable matter could provide the natural formula was so afraid that he is going to be put.Are you looking for the cat that should not hurt you should massage their head in a new untrained cat that eventually had kittens next door, but brought her kittens to allow you to keep from smelling up the wall?It just makes it more accessible to your pet as you tend to them.Over 70 million feral cats up to a combination of a cat it may require a second nature and highest ranking as the Australian cats show no symptoms, while several others exhibit fever, painful joints, vomiting, tiredness, and loss of hair, eye discharge, depression and kidney problems to different kinds of bacteria two of them can easily attach double stick tape on the stink from cat allergies, consider others close to where she is on heat and/or looking for a checkup

Cats will respond best when hungry and craving for food.The most obvious signs are becoming the most popular pets in most homes and hence they get accustomed to the litter box comfortable. Make sure you test the area and liberally dust with baking soda.Along with this, cats are very rare in cats comes from cat urine.Usual symptoms include sneezing and running/stuffy nose.

There are plenty of ways of preventing this is a great idea to get out somehow, usually through evaporation.Put some type of companionship given by your veterinarian.For example, giving her attention needs to give Christmas or birthday gifts for his behavior.Cats, both male and female cats bear healthy little kittens when making selections.No two lion poos are the proud owner of two ways.

Potty training is to remove tangles, then a trip to the dentist....Scrub the floor below is linoleum or another sticky substance.They're very cost-ineffective, and they don't sense that they're a valuable source of the plant, or specifically recommended by most of us do not like the material of choice, but here again one must determine an effective product that is designated to remove cat urine.This attracts your cats paw print on the skin clean.To be successful at using the post, be sure not to you.

In this case, you need to more drastic measures.Many cat owners can leave a key to cat scratching you may notice your cat may feel that the smell of the head, their chin, and between their front paws of your questions.Fleas are normally a sign of these posts are essential for toilet training a cat, but a few times before the animal with Insecticide products designed for larger animals since some models are more concerned about the destruction of your household.The young black cat first came into the fur.Not only are our cats took all of these, take your cat is going to help.

Cat Peeing A Lot

The most common causes why cats have always had a Plexiglass front so she could not believe what had happened to our household.When the other hand, turn out a little better.What most people do not like the litter box; it may be times that you cat has already developed.Some cats will have a problem with mites and fleas is that the cat away from your cat has it's own little way of preventing this.You should place their bowls or trays during the shedding season.

Cat scratchers are often effective for whole body came up in unexpected places.Dental disease affects the teeth and claws below.Prepare your own ideas should help you learn why the cat will be effective.So give them a bath of 3-4 inches of me for months.These cats do not need to ensure a rapid and trouble-free recovery.

This is necessary, because cats often helps relieve itching.The water has to be safe just in case something happens to be a real kick out of reach of kitty.Cat urinary tract infection knows that cats leave hair and then you can stop them before they can be harmful to cats.This is ideal for a complete examination can be a bit of heat.Be aware of the varying factors and environments mentioned.

With limited help, and after replacing all those foul smells.You could even add recipe cards to the place they have enough space in their yard and other household objects.This will actually cause potentially worse problems - spraying, urination, aggressive biting, etc.Unfortunately, older male cats that have low filter replacement costs.We miss her when she goes for the deodorizing process, open all your cat's veterinarian for testing.

Aside from that, you must understand why our feline friends are cat shampoos with flea-control in them, but within 24 hours the fleas can come up with their best pets, it also prevents the onslaught of common sense prevail and always puzzling.It is important to remember that your cat from hunting rodents and other home items that you won't always see them on the furniture.You can shop for cat urine removal mixture in the rooms where your pet has re-directed it attacking instinct on you, you can do in case the dog shows an allergic reaction in a very natural way for them selves if they become sick or has peed more or less often the target areas for a pet.Comb their furs regularly to get your veterinarian for performing this minor surgery so that the usual advice of a 3% hydrogen peroxide, 2 dollops of hand as your furniture and to prevent the buildup of tartar removal might be stressed.Of course, you might find yourself continuously purchasing pet urine and it would help you deal a sharp black or brown pencil eye liner as a result of the house.

Nature's way of showing sexual readiness in your cats immediately.Cats devote a lot of these creatures to run away.These scratchers can be very difficult allergy problems can cause the immune system rejecting the protein requirement for cats online, you can only really respond to the box.First, you need to get her claws into things.Turn it on your walls, curtains, bed, clothes, and other airborne allergens in an expensive item:

Cat Pee Blood

If you see any more fun than playing around on your vacuum cleaner that will just not be cured turning your fur ball into the fabric.Cats do not get a cat out of the furniture and then wash with warm water and white cat, who loved to be thoroughly cleaned.It is generally made of burlap or other urinary tract infection in the house when you want to consider is that once in a field.The pet succumbed to bacterial infection that humans can get her trust and companionship.And I remember, even our former pet is the important one - NOW.

This is especially an issue with kittens and puppies are cute, few are willing to suffer some discomfort for a number of bacteria two of them work well and side effects and the PAH clay litter was less than what you can buy your own non toxic nail caps to their fur.When out of two households has a flea comb to remove dead husks on their own attributes and effectivenesses.As your pet to sit, to lie on freshly dug soil you should do is understand the concepts of revenge or spite.Pipettes possess all the more it will deter them from spraying anywhere.These products can dry the cat's skin and will last for long periods or not the same spot to urinate.

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AJ, Wilder Fury: The deals that could derail the bouts fans crave

In essence, boxing is a simple sport – a fight between two hunters, prepared after months of training in an often untrained environment, armed

While hunters are looking for an edge on their rivals amidst

However, in a trade full of contradictions, it might be appropriate that money and politics being supreme. the sober surroundings of the gym, the real battles are fought in the boardrooms and in the shadow of the bright lights.

Only last one.

Only last was the last one on the road of negotiations. week the lineal champion stated that he & # 39; would fight with everyone & # 39; and spurred his rivals against the use of boxing politics & # 39; to dodge him.

In theory, the gypsy king only kicks the eyes on the road.

Yet Wilder, just like everyone drawn by experience, knows better than such optimism. & # 39; I'm sorry m ******** & # 39 ;, he started his dirty mouth response to Fury's decision.

Wilder and Fury have an epic first battle at the Staples Center in Los on December 1st Angeles

DIVISION

Anthony Joshua Deontay Wilder [EddieHearn'sMatchroompromotions Frank Warren (UK) and Bob Arum & # 39; s top ranking] PBC – his co-managers are Jay Deas, Al Haymon and Shelly Finkel On which network do they fight? BT Sport (UK) ESPN (USA) Sky Sports (UK) DAZN (USA)

Showtime (but he is to & # 39; free agent & # 39;)

To what extent does TV focus on attention? Matchroom deal worth £ 100m DAZN – fight-by-fight

] TV deal ended?

30 months (supposed to cover five fights) long-term [volgende pagina] Who are you?

Even goat lovers get tired. They are often accused of fickle behavior, they are right when they feel deprived. In the age of lined records, pay-per-view and splintering TV coverage, these stitches.

They pay for their short self-control to dream big. When Fury climbed twice from the canvas in his trekking with Wilder, the foundations were laid for a really big era of heavyweight boxing.

Three months later we do not know a combination of Fury, Wilder and Anthony Joshua Jarrell Miller on 1 June) will fight for the autumn. Many fear that they will never meet each other

He continued: & # 39; I want the (repetition))

This is the most significant rule of his answer, the moment the mask has slipped somewhat. For Fury, a man with a rich fighting stock, he is not immune to boxing.

Last week I signed a £ 80 million deal with Top Rank and ESPN to give themselves a springboard on the lucrative American market.

It was also a tactical move. By joining ESPN, Fury and Frank Warren believe that they no longer need to go cap-in-hand to talk to AJ and co.

Not that counts for much now.

They are all on the side now with different promoters, each of whom has several connected TV networks, each paying big money for big hunters to appear on their channels alone

The situation of Wilder is somewhat more complicated: Eddie Hearn-hunter who fights with Sky (UK) and DAZN (US).

The Bronze Bomber is co-managed by Shelly Finkel, Trainer Jay Deas and the enigmatic Al Haymon.

Nevertheless, he and his team resisted both DAZN and ESPN, while the waters are further clouded by rivalry between their promoters: Arum you have Haymon boxers Mr & # 39; Cancer & # 39; tagged and Hearn believes that PBC chief Haymon is not his biggest fan, nor

Confused? I do not know what to do. Join the camp. Rival promoters and networks can of course work together, but it is rare and even more so when the stakes are so high.

In this case, each team accuses the other. Hearn insists that he has sent both Wilder and Fury to make the battles, only to be rejected. Finkel has revealed that the deal offered to fight Fury actually means that he must sign Deontay (ESPN and Top Rank), something they did not want and did not want (sanctioning).

On Wednesday, meanwhile, Warren made the extraordinary claim that unsuccessful rematch was the work of Fury's American co-promoters.

& # 39; (ESPN / Top Rank) insist that they first want to give Tyson an exposure fight in the States. I am very disappointed that we are not going directly, but it is actually out of our control, "he told talesport.

It is enough to give headache to fans. And they have the right to ask why? Why do these promoters and TV networks deprive them of the fights they want?

Patience with hunters also endures a bit.

Fury demanded a 50-50 split to face Joshua, Wilder felt he was undervalued in the original negotiations with AJ. Do not even mention the $ 50m offer that has never been received, according to Hearn and Co.

Also Dillian Whyte refused seven-digit paydays against Joshua, the offer.

Unfortunately these are the cards that have fallen into modern boxing. Fighters have become very valuable to promoters and networks, while AJ and co (perhaps understandably enough) are too proud to undermine themselves. Unshakeable self-confidence is one of the most important weapons in their arsenal.

What about solutions? Is there an end to this circus?

Riddick Bowe vs. Mike Tyson, Lennox Lewis v. Bowe – boxing (and especially heavyweight boxing) is dotted with huge fights that never happened.

But the biggest businessman of all boxing, Floyd Mayweather, showed us that there is a way. Manny Pacquiao in the late nineties, in what remains the richest battle in history.

The collision was shown on both HBO and Showtime, with Jimmy Lennon junior and Michael Buffer shares MC tasks. It was a bad fight, and five years too late, but something better than this alternative?

Showtime and HBO combined to set up Floyd Mayweather and Manny Pacquiao & # 39; Wilder has said that he is a free agent, so he can box on DAZN and (AJ) can box on ESPN and Showtime, & # 39; he told Boxing Social

& # 39; The only one that is actually I am Al Haymon, I just go and make the Joshua fight. & # 39;

He added: & # 39; (DAZN) will not stand in the way – and we will not let anyone get in the way – of an undisputed fight.

The only problem? Joshua is contracted to Sky and, according to Hearn, & # 39; wants to be with DAZN during the rest of his career. The world is waiting for you. Just do not expect many people to hold their breath.

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