#apparently they did some customized hats the day before and also picked the same colors

[alexturntable]

Chuck and Chilli 🤠 (via SF app)

[jawritter]

Second Chance

Part 2 (Final)

Warning: Angst, heartbreak, unrequited/requited love, young mistakes, light smut, unprotected smut, depression, panick attack, language, domestic voilence (a slap), I think that’s it.

Summary: No one has life figured out at 18, but can one mistake made and twenty-one years of hurt and regret be fixed with an “I’m sorry?”

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 3885

A/N: This is one of my older stories from WattPad that I wanted to bring over here and clean up a little. This is completely unbeta’d, and all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is gold! Part two will be posted tomorrow! Hope you all enjoy this one!

Want More? Check out my masterlist!

***MASTERLIST***

Jensen's POV:

Jensen pulled his baseball cap down lower over his face to hide his features from unsuspecting passing customers, his eyes glued on the door, as he ideally ran his finger over the rim of his coffee that had gone virtually untouched in front of him as he sat in the back booth at the little coffee shop in Dallas that he quite honestly couldn’t even remember the name of.

Jessie had said she'd meet him here over an hour ago, now she was late, and he was quickly losing his patients.

The coffee shop was already filling again for the second time since Jensen had taken his seat. He watched the people closely, afraid at any moment someone was going to figure out who he was and blow his cover. 

He'd gotten pretty good at hiding mind you, he'd been doing it since he was roughly eighteen years old, so he'd learned a few tricks to keep people kind of at bay when he really didn't want them around, or want to be noticed.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and shot Jessie the third text of the morning.

"Where the fuck are you?! I've been waiting for you for over an hour!"

Sitting the phone back down on the counter he waited for her reply, but no response. There were even more people filtering in and out of the coffee shop now, she must not be coming. It's probably for the best if he just leaves, and gets her to meet him somewhere else later. The longer he sat there, the longer he ran the risk of someone he knew walking in, or some fan figuring out who he was.

He’d just shoved the phone back down deep in his front pocket and was about to pick up his coffee and head towards the door when the shrill ding announcing someone’s entrance into the little shop made him look up, finally she was here.

Jensen watched her as she made her approach with a cold, dead look he usually reserved for his ex-wife. She looked at him completely unfazed by his sour temper as she made her way closer, and flopped down at the little table across from him. 

“What took you so fucking long?" Jensen almost snarled. 

"Fuck you asshole, I can walk out of her right now, and without me, you have zero chance with Y/N again? So what's your choice? You can either start treating me with some respect, or you can figure out how to get her to talk to your sorry ass all by yourself? Dealer's choice." she said coldly, looking at him like he was the most disgusting thing she'd ever laid eyes on.

"Fine, fine!" Jensen said, throwing his hands up in frustration and then glaring at her like if he could get away with it, and she wasn't a girl, he'd probably punch her in the face.

Another few moments or so silence passed with the two of them glaring at each other while Jensen's blood pressure simmered back down to a normal rate before he dared to speak again. 

"So, have you talked her into going out again?" Jensen said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. 

"No." 

"Well, then why the fuck did you say you wanted to talk to me! If you don't have information for me on where she's going to be then you're not...."

"Jensen!" 

"Ssshhhh!! Someone will recognize me!!" 

"Ugh!! I'll be so glad when the two of you kiss and makeup so I don't have to look at you anymore!"

"Feelings mutual, sweetheart!"

About that time Jessie's phone started to ring, effectively ending the argument between them. Looking down she saw it was Sherry and quickly silenced it. Jessie was already late for work, and if she kept this up she was going to get fired, and also caught in the middle of this drama, which is exactly what she had told Jensen she didn’t want to happen when he’d messaged her, asking for her help in fixing his fuck up.

"Look, let's just get this over with, I don't want people to know I'm still in Dallas, they'll start to ask questions," Jensen said with a huff of frustration, sinking lower into the booth seat.

"Fine, Y/n will not leave her apartment again, not with us or with anyone else. She's been locked in her apartment since the night we dropped her off when we left the bar, she's been working from home, she hasn't left the house at all. It's almost like she's slipped into some sort of depression. I don't think we're going to get her to go out with us again, so we might have to take a different approach." Jessie said, staring coldly at that man sitting across from her.

"Okay, then what do you suggest we do? " Jensen said, taking his hat off and carding his hands through his soft hair in frustration before putting the cap back in place harshly.  

Your POV:

It had been three weeks since you saw Jensen at the bar that night. It had set you back worse than you thought it ever could. Every time you closed your eyes all you could see was his face. You'd even been dreaming of him more than you had in the last three years. It wasn't healthy to say the least, and you were seriously starting to wonder if you had just dreamed it up, and had that nervous breakdown your therapist had warned you about.

All the progress you had made over the years in getting over him had seemed to spiral, and it had taken you three days to even get out of the bed once you stumbled through the apartment door. 

There was no doubt in your mind that after all these years you were still in love with this man, even though you were sure he'd ever loved you. Still, the heart wants what the heart wants. 

Over and over again you kicked yourself over the past three weeks for not accepting his offer to just talk. That damn ring when you saw it on his hand was like being nailed in the gut, by a ball pin hammer, just as hard as he could swing it.

He'd been able to do what you couldn't. He'd been able to move on, he'd been able to find love, and here you were alone. 

You hated him, but you loved him. To you that made no sense whatsoever, but there it was. 

You hated him for abandoning you all those years ago, you hated him for pushing you away, when all you'd ever done was love him, you hated him for giving up on you.

You loved him because it was something you just couldn't control. The way he smiled, those beautiful jade-colored eyes that always seemed to dance with an air of mischief that made your knees weak. You could still remember his scent, the way his strong arms felt when they wrapped around you all those years ago. You loved him because just with one smile he made your heart feel like it could leap out of your chest and fly around the room, you loved him, and for a lot of reasons, you didn't even know why still you did.

There were no denying things had changed in him. Even in the dim light of the bar, you could see that boy you fell in love with in Dallas was long gone, and a man had taken his place. The deep lines around his eyes, the way he carried himself, strong, confident. His voice was much deeper than it was back then, and even though his eyes were the same, the grey in his beard told you the boy he was back then was long gone, and really, you were in love with someone you didn’t even know anymore. He was a far cry from the boy that had taken your virginity all those years ago. 

He’d lived, and you hadn’t, simple as that.

He chose money, fame, and fortune over you. You would have given him everything, a family, a warm home to come home to. 

Then again, you guessed he'd found someone to do that for him, so again that rendered you useless.

Supernatural had been playing on your TV through Netflix for days. You just couldn’t stop watching it, and you couldn't stop kicking yourself. You couldn't stop thinking about him, and more than anything, you couldn't fill the hole that was in your chest, one that had almost closed, and was just a piece of you that was missing, now was ripped open and bleeding, and there was no way to make it go away.

Thank God your job allowed you to work from home. You just could do it. You couldn't deal with people, not in person, you couldn't go pretty yourself up and act like everything was fine, because it wasn't fine, and you didn't feel pretty. 

You weren't pretty enough for Jensen all those years ago, and you're not enough for him now, so why even try?

A loud knock on the door disturbed you from your self-loathing.

It was probably Sherry or Jessie. They were just worried about you, you know that, but you just hadn't been able to face them. The way you just completely broke down in the Uber on the way home was just embarrassing, and the fact that you couldn’t seem to pick yourself back up again was borderline humiliating on a whole different level.

Now apparently they'd given up on calling you and had just decided to show up. Well, you were a little impressed it had taken them this long actually.

"Go away! I don't feel like talking yet." 

Nothing, just another pounding knock on the door in response.

After sitting there a moment in confusion, you remembered Sherry knew where the spare key was, so it couldn’t be them. Getting up slowly you made your way to the door, pulling it open you looked through the crack and who you saw nearly knocked you on your ass.

"JENSEN!" you half yell, shocked to see that beautiful face on the other side of the door, and for just a moment you thought you were hallucinating. 

"Hey, can I come in or you just going to make me stand out in the hallway?" he said, looking around like he was afraid you were going to slam the door shut in his face. 

To be completely honest you thought about it, you just couldn't deal with the guilt and the “what ifs” this time if you did like you'd been dealing with for the past three weeks.

Pulling the door shut just enough to remove the chain lock that was placed on the door you open it, stepping back and letting him into your apartment. 

When you shut and relocked the door you turned around to find him staring at you, a look of concern painted over his God-like face as his eyes raked over you.

You walk around him and head for the TV, turning it off before he could see himself walking with a flashlight across the screen.

"What are you doing here Jensen?" you ask him, sitting down on the couch to keep your legs from falling out from under you. You didn't realize how weak he still made you, even after all these years.

"I wanted to see you, to talk to you." 

"Why? You said all you had to say to me 21 years ago." you watched as he visibly flinched at your sharp words. 

"Y/n, I'm sorry, I was young and stupid, I should have never let you go, I should have never let you walk away from me, I've regretted it since you have. I just haven't been man enough to tell you..." 

Standing up you cross the floor and get right in his face. A boldness you didn't have just five minutes ago springing out of nowhere, and anger burns deep, deep down in your belly. 

"Don’t come at me with your lies Jensen!” you scream at him. 

Bringing your hand up you slap him hard across the face before you could stop yourself. Not able to even control your own actions anymore, all you could see was red.

Your own pulse quickened in your ears as your slap staggered him back against the bar, and his hand flew up to the side of his face that was quickly turning red. You didn’t care, at that moment you didn’t even see it, all you could see was years, and years of hurt, and rejection.

“You’ve suffered so much huh?! With your perfect little wife, and kids that live in a fucking mansion on the lake in Austin! You really just expect to walk back into my life, say your sorry, and all the years of hurt would just magically go away? Fuck you!

You raised your hand to slap him again, but this time he caught it with his left hand, standing to tower over you he backed you against the wall, pinning you there with his solid form, using his sheer size and body weight to hold you there and keep you from hitting him again.

Through all the anger, through all the hurt, through the blinding tears that were now rolling down your face, there were two things you registered. First was the overwhelming feeling of his body weight pressing you, grounding you, and by some miracle, pulling you back down from your fit of rage his apology had triggered. 

The second and most important thing was that his wedding band was gone.

All your strength at that moment was gone.  The adrenaline crash hit you hard, and your knees buckled, a loud ringing taking the place of your pounding pulse in your ears, and your vision going white at the edges.

Jensen reached down and scooped you up into his arms before you could hit the floor, pulling you tight to his chest and bringing you over to the couch. Sitting down this you wrapped his arms, cradled in his lap like a small child. 

It was hard to breathe as the tears flowed down your face now, your chest felt so tight that you were almost certain you were breathing through a straw, even though your breath was coming in pants, the overwhelming feeling of passing out made your head spin, and your body began to shake.

Jensen shushed you over and over again, running his fingers through your hair, which gave you something else to focus on. “Breath for me Y/n, come one breathe with me.” 

You focused on the steady rise, and fall of his chest against you, the scent of his cologne, the steady brush of his hand through your hair, and before long you were able to focus enough to take a breath.

“That’s it, baby girl, fuck I’m so sorry sweetheart, this is all my fault.” 

This was a result of twenty-one years of hurt, hurt that he caused, and he knew it.

When you'd finally calmed down he put a finger under your chin and forced you to look up at him.

"I'm so, so sorry that I hurt you, I'm sorry that I did this to you, I'm sorry that I was a fucking coward, I was afraid to find you, afraid to admit I was wrong, I'm sorry it took me twenty-one years to get enough balls to apologize to you. I know that’s enough, but I plan to stick around and do everything I can to make this up to you. I'm not married anymore. I didn't love her, I tried to, I really did, but I just couldn't, So I did the right thing, and I let her go so she could go and find someone that can make her happy."

You sat there staring at him like he'd popped out a third head. You wanted to pinch yourself to see if you were dreaming, or if you were dead. 

"So I came here to find you, the one person that has ever really made me happy. Your parents wouldn't tell me where you were, so I found your friend Jessie, she was going to get you to come to the bar that night so I could try and talk to you. I'm sorry about that too. I didn't know I'd hurt you this way. If I did I wouldn't have sprung myself on you." 

Crawling off of his lap and sitting down on the couch next to him you tried to make sense of what he was telling you.

"So what do you want from me? After all these years, what do you want from me now?"

You tried to understand, but you just couldn’t. Hell if you weren’t good enough all those years ago to make him want you, why the hell did he think you would be enough now?

Moving to the floor, Jensen got down on his knees in front of you, grabbing your hands in his. He looked like it took all the strength he had not to start crying himself, which only made more tears flow from you as you watched him bite down on his lower lips for a moment before he spoke.

"I want a second chance with you, I know I have no right to ask you for one, and you have every right to tell me to fuck off, and if you do I'll leave, and I'll never come back If that's really what you want, but sweetheart please, please give me a chance to fix this. Let me fix what I broke all those years ago." 

His thumb made little circles on the back of your hand, and he broke eye contact with you, looking down at the floor as he waiting for you to tell him to go fuck himself.

All those years you'd prayed he'd come back. All those years you'd dreamed he wanted you again. Here he was, and if you didn't give him another chance now, he was gone for good, and that would be all, you'd die right here, you'd never be able to recover.

Jensen took a shaky breath drawing you back to the present. 

"Please Y/N, say something?" 

Putting your hands on either side of his face you did the only thing your brain would let you do. You pulled him to you, crashing your lips to his. 

At first, he sat there shocked, but he caught up quickly though. Getting off his knees he crawled his large frame over yours, laying you both back down on the couch you were sitting on, holding his weight on you just enough to make you feel safe, for the first time in a long time.

"So I guess that means yes???" he said, lifting a perfect eyebrow and looking at you with the cutest little expression on his face, his eye crinkles showing just enough to make your heart melt.

"Yeah, but you got a shit ton of makeup to do Ackles," you tell him through tears, smacking him on his solid chest playfully.

"Well darlin’, let me start now," he said, bringing his lips softly back to yours before standing and dragging you with him, pulling you towards the open door of your bedroom.

Your mind worked on autopilot as he backed you into the room, closing the door with his large foot, and like jolts of electricity being shocked to a still heart, every lingering touch of his hands trailing your body, and every passionate kiss that made you breathless seemed to wake you up again. 

This wasn’t some quickie in the back of his truck in the middle of the wood. There was no rush to this, there was no hurry in the way he lowered your body on the bed, and crawled his way over every inch of skin, leaving a trail of kisses he went. 

There was no uncertainty in the way he looked into your eye as he pressed himself slowly into you, rocking slow and deep, stretching you, in the most intimate way possible, breathing life back into you as his lips found yours again in a slow lazy kiss, as he continued to work you both higher in an almost painfully slow pace. 

This wasn’t going to fix it all together, twenty-one years was a lot of time, and there was a lot of damage, to the both of you, but the way his body moved inside of yours, the promise that he made not only with his words, but with his body, and with his soul that he’d never leave you, never hurt you again, it brought you back in a way that you thought was long dead to you. 

When your release came, and he held you close to him, your name falling from his lips as he spilled himself deep inside of you, you felt like your heart really started to beat for the first time. 

There were still a lot of unanswered questions, and there were some things you just never wanted to know. Right now as he pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around, and caging your body close to him, promising to never let you go again would be enough. 

Not everyone gets the second chance the two of you were having now, and this time you would follow him to the ends of the earth if that’s what it took, because he was the other half of your heart, and it just didn’t beat if he wasn’t there.

Jessie's POV:

“I can’t believe you sent him here!” Sherry hissed as Jessie dug around for the spare key to your apartment. 

It had been hours since she had sent Jensen here to try and talk to you, and they had heard nothing. Then when Jessie let it slip on her lunch break what had been going on with Jensen and herself over the past couple of weeks, Sherry had blown her top, and insisted on coming to check on them.

“Would you shut up! I’m sure they’re fine!” Jessie hissed back, finding the key and turning the knob slowly. 

The apartment was quiet as the two women pushed the door open, and closed it silently behind them. 

“If he’s done something to hurt her I swear to God!” Sherry hissed again, making her way over to where Jessie was standing by the bar, staring through a crack in Y/N’s bedroom door.

She pointed towards it, and Sherry silently made her way to peek inside, seeing Jensen and Y/N curled into one another sound asleep, clothes strewn all over the floor, and long forgotten. Sherry smiled to herself as he turned around and looked back at Jessie, who was leaning against the bar, grinning like she’d won the war, and that’s all that mattered. 

“Come on, let’s get out of here, I think those two are gonna be just fine.” She said, leading Sherry towards the door, and closing the door to the apparent behind them. Leaving the world outside unknowing, while two hearts did what it took to heal.

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Tag List: @lyarr24​ @amandamdiehl​ @deanwanddamons​ @imabitch4jensen​ @rvgrsbrns​ @bi-danvers0​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @i-love-superhero​ @akshi8278​ @lyss-dw79​ @magssteenkamp​ @lemondropirwin​ @squirrelnotsam​ @hobby27​ @spnbaby-67​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​ @defenderrosetyler​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @thecreatiivecorner​  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624​ @busy-bee-angel-misska​ @justanotherwinchester​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @idksupernatural​

[criticizing-blogger]

Fudge

Pairing: Dean x reader

Warning: cursing, gore

Word count: 3423

In a small, snowy town of Minnesota, a black Chevy impala drives into a motel parking lot and settles into an empty spot up front. Two men, brothers, stepped out. The driver was a shorter man with a crew cut style;  his hair a straight, dark blond, matching his smooth forehead to his strong cheekbones and chiseled jawline. His eyes were hues of a forest, an earthy green that revives grass from the harsh winter. His stature is short, a brown shirt covered with a black and red flannel and that covered by a brown, leather jacket as his pants were blue going over his brown boots.

The passenger was tall, taller than his brother. His hair was shaggy brown and long, shoulder length to be exact but brought wonders to his features. The man’s eyes were the softest of brown, infused with a deep green as if he held a forest inside them. He wore a blue and white flannel with a grey, denim jacket. Pants were a light blue and like the other man, they, too, covered his dark brown boots.

The two looked at each other before walking into the motel. The bell on the entrance door jingled signaling the employees that customers were walking in. A plump, ederly woman who stood behind the check-in counter smiled and greeted them. “Welcome. Bed for one?”

��N-no...we’re not….we’re not together.” The taller man of the two stuttered.

“It’s okay sweetie. No need to be ashamed. We don’t judge here.” .

“Yeah, no need to be ashamed, honey.” The short man spoke as he spanked the taller man, grinning in amusement.

He gave his brother a look of annoyance. She gave them 2 sets of keys and he grabbed one before walking off.

“He's something, isn't he?” He winked and walked away with his key. 

The brothers walk out of the building and towards their shared room. Walking in, the walls are a dark, plain green with brown wood trims and the flooring white carpet. By the door to the room was a mahogany desk with a small, black desk lamp on top, a painting of a forest hung above. A dresser, the same color as the desk, stood against the wall with a small green dining table and matching chairs beside it. Across the table on the other side of the room were two separate beds with an end table in between and a large lamp on top. On the far side of the room across the entryway stood a door to the small bathroom. 

The bathroom, on the other hand, consists of a small, white sink on a grained counter top, the sink cabinet matching the dresser. A white toilet sat on the black and white tile floor, towels neatly folded on a silver rack above.  And next to the toilet was an off colored white bathtub with a few unknowable light brown stains on the sides; white tiles stuck to the walls and a silver showerhead attached above.  The bathroom walls are beige.

Dean slams the door shut and drops his bag onto the bed closest to the entry. He rummages through the bag grabbing out a black and white suit and a gun. Sam does the same before walking into the bathroom to change as his brother changes in the main room.

 “Witnesses first?” Sam shouts.

“You can question witnesses,” Dean spoke, fully decked out in his suit as Sam was when he walked out of the bathroom. “I’ll check out the crime scene.” 

Both men tuck their guns into the back of their pants and the fake FBI badges in their front suit jacket pockets. The same routine they do in almost every case. With their feet covered by white socks with black dress shoes, guns and badges ready, they headed out the door and to the first crime scene.

The small parking lot of the only hardware store in town, had attracted plenty of locals who stood behind yellow tape and two police officers at each end keeping them in line. Police cars and ambulances swarmed the outside, officers questioning witnesses all the while the EMTs checked for injuries. Despite the lot being small, Sam and Dean were able to maneuver around everyone. They found the sheriff talking to the owner of the store. 

“Excuse us, sheriff.” Dean spoke causing the man to look up from his phone.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asked, putting his device away.

They pulled out their badges from their front pockets flipping them open. “I’m Agent Page and my partner here is Agent Young. Can we ask what happened here?”

The sheriff squints his eyes at the fake I.D.s and sighs. “According to crazy Doreen-” pointing a finger at an elderly lady with an annoyed officer watching her- “there were small men walking out of the store wearing bloody clothes and holding tools stolen from inside.”

“Mind if I check it out?” Dean asked. The sheriff gestured towards the store.

Sam stayed to talk to the man while Dean went inside to check out the scene. The first thing he noticed was splatters of blood over the walls and counter where the checkout counter is. He carefully leaned over the counter so as to not get blood on his suit or mess up evidence, his eyes roamed over the area to see a man dead, multiple stab wounds to the chest. He leaned back away from the counter to look over it. Smack dead in the middle of the blood splatter was a tiny handprint; as small as a child almost. Dean took out his cell and shot a picture and sent it to Sam.

Turning away he looked down at the floor for any further evidence. The blood hadn’t gone too far as most of it laid where the man is. Less clean up he supposed even though he knew it wasn’t the time to make jokes but does it anyways. Dean kept walking throughout the store. Nothing could be spotted on the floor. Even the shelves didn’t show signs of anything supernatural. They just looked ransacked. 

But something shiny caught the man’s attention from the corner of his eye. A bell. A small, gold bell. He walks towards then bends down to pick the object up. As it sat between his thumb and index finger, he slowly inspected the object. What the hell, he thought. Unfortunately he couldn't think further as his ears picked up the sound of footsteps coming up from behind. Dean quickly stood and turned only to let out a sigh of relief. It was just his brother.

“What did you find?” Sam asked, noticing Dean a little tense.

Dean opened his palm and showed him the bell. Sam’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He picked it up to inspect it. As it is just a bell, nothing more. He pockets it and starts to tell Dean what the elderly lady had said. “According to Doreen, when she was walking past the store, she saw little men walking out with sets of tools covered in blood, the same for their clothes. Apparently they were wearing red and green striped pointed hats that contained bells on top, the shirt and pants matched and the shoes were pointed upwards on the end of them, also with bells on top.”

Dean looked at him like he didn’t believe any of the words that just came out of his mouth. And he doesn’t believe Sam. “So dwarves? You’re saying dwarves. Like Santa’s little elves.”

“I-uh, I mean, I guess,” he shrugs as he rubs the back of his neck realizing the elderly woman might actually be crazy just as the sheriff said.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Does any other witness say anything actually useful?”

Sam shook his head. 

“So no one else saw elves? Not even Rudolph?” Dean sarcastically spoke, making it Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “Come on, let's go.”

Dean sat in his car parked in front of a small house with the window rolled down talking, no, flirting to a woman while Sam sat inside a house talking to the family of the dead employee from the hardware store. The woman, Dean learned whose name is (y/n), was trying her hardest not to laugh at his failed attempt of flirting with her. Which, he was epically failing and miserably. 

“Okay dude. Look, you’re cute and all but you are literally the walking cliche of James Dean. I’m not interested.” she spoke before walking off just as Sam was coming out of the house having heard everything and chuckling. 

“That was awesome.” he states getting into the impala.

“Oh shut up,” spoke  Dean, annoyed, as he started the car and drove off. “What did they say?”

“According to the mother, nobody told her and her husband that their son is dead. The sheriff said that the guy, whose name was Greg, died sometime around six this morning. And despite it being several hours later, they never got a call.”

“Anything useful?”

“She said that Greg had been seeing little men for about three days and shrugged it off as drinking too much. It seriously sounds like elves.”

“Yeah, no. There is no such thing as elves.” Dean spoke, obviously still not believing Sam.

“Do you remember the case with the girl that was in a coma and her dad was reading her fairy tales?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, so?”

“What if this is something similar except the whole disney sugar coating? Like how the mice were turning into servants and how Cinderella was being abused by her stepmother except this time it's elves.” Sam explains.

“Unless they’re dwarves from Lord of the Rings, I’m not buying it.”

.    .    .    .

Seven in the morning rolled around when a bedside alarm goes off. A hand reaches out and slams the top of it shutting it off. Yawning, (y/n) pulls back the covers and swings her legs over the side of the bed and stretches. She gets up and walks out of the bedroom and into the bathroom to do her business. When finished, she walked back into her room changing into some black leggings with a red sweater and white socks. After changing she walked downstairs putting on her black boots lined with white fur and a dark red double lapel jacket. She grabbed her purse and keys and headed out the door.

The weather outside was freezing causing her to slightly shiver. The ground is covered with pure white snow. Her boots leave small prints in the snow from the front door to her vehicle. She quickly gets into her car and lets it run for a few minutes before turning the heat on and leaving. She was used to the cold weather as she has lived in Minnesota for most of her life so the snow didn’t bother her.

The first place she headed for was the small cafe in town where she had breakfast almost every morning. The owner, Mrs. Smith has lived here for all her life and the cafe was passed down generation to generation. (Y/n) has known her since she moved here with her parents when she was younger. Mrs. Smith used to babysit her when her parents had to work. They were close and still are to this very day. The cafe has changed interior multiple times over the years as to keep up with modern times. But the outside has never changed. 

By the time (y/n) has arrived and walked into the building, her usual breakfast consists of fried egg, bacon and cheese on a toasted bagel, a bowl of maple and brown sugar oatmeal with sliced bananas and black coffee, in her spot she claims as hers in the far corner of the building in the booth. It was her favorite spot as she could watch customers for inspiration for her writings.

While she ate and watched people come and go, two men in black suits came in, taking a seat a couple booths away from her. One of them, the same one she talked to, well, technically watched him fail at flirting with her yesterday, caught her eye. He puts on a charming smile fixing his jacket while he says something to the other guy, who seemed amused to see him fail again, and made his way over to the woman. 

He sits across from her. “Morning.”

“Morning, Agent.” she smiles, leaning back into her seat, waiting to watch him fail for the second time.

“I think there’s something wrong with my eyes. I just can’t seem to take them off of you.” 

She couldn’t help but snort while she took a sip of her hot coffee.

“Boy, that coffee looks hot. Just like,” Dean started before sheepishly saying, “hi.”

That caused her to raise her eyebrows. “Okay, now that was kind of adorable.”

Dean perked up. “So, did it work?”

She stood up, her breakfast finished. “Nope.” And with that, she walked out of the cafe with an amusing grin on her face. Dean’s mouth was open with shock. He’s never been rejected by a woman in years. Especially twice. He lets out a groan before closing his mouth and sitting at the same table Sam currently sat at. Sam was grinning letting out chuckles at his older brother’s failure.

“Oh shut up.” Dean told him as he grabbed a menu covering his red face of embarrassment while he looked for food. “So, what did you find from research last night?”

Sam who already knew what he wanted to eat pulled out his laptop from his computer bag and placed it in front of him. “According to Wikipedia, in Germanic mythology, a dwarf is a human-shaped, usually bearde, entity that dwells in mountains and in the earth and is variously associated with wisdom, smithing, mining, and crafting. But in this case, it's around Christmas time so instead of it being dwarves, we could be dealing with elves.”

Dean deadpanned and looked at the man across from him. “Please for the love of Chuck, you’re joking.”

Sam shook his head.

“I thought elves were supposed to be nice. Not all murdery.”

Sam shrugs. “I think at this point from all the shit we thought wasn’t possible, this goes along with it.”

“But why would elves start killing people and taking hammers and shovels and whatever else?” Dean spoke confused as hell. 

The only thing Sam could come up with is, well, he couldn’t come up with anything as they never went through something even remotely close to this. They didn’t have much to go on since they only talked to very few people and saw one crime scene. He already knew this odd case was gonna take more than a few days unlike most of the ones they have been on. 

“Sam sighed. “I don’t know. We need to look at the other scenes and see what happened there. Like the one lumber yard.” 

Before Dean could say anything, a waitress came up and asked them if they were ready to eat. Dean ordered a large, meaty breakfast, something likely to give you a heart attack if you ate enough of it while Sam got something small and healthy so he could keep his physique up. She wrote it all down, eyes widening when Dean spoke what he wanted and giving Sam a flirty smile as she took the meus from his hand, letting their fingers touch before letting them know she’ll be back with coffee and walks away with an extra sway of her hips. Dean watched her backside as she walked away till he couldn’t no more. He looked at his brother eyebrows raising up and down and smirking at him. “She’s hot.”

He just ignored Dean’s behavior as he was used to it. 

“Dude! You should go for her.” Dean states.

“No thanks.”

“Oh come on, you need to get laid. That’s probably why you’re so tense all the time.”

Sam looked at his brother with annoyance and rolled his eyes. “Last I checked, saving lives is more important than getting some.”

“If you won’t have her, I will,” Dean grins. “What happened at the lumber yard?”

Sam pulled up the local newspaper, called Morning News written on top in huge black letters, on his laptop. Everything that had happened over the last several days here covered a good part of the first page. On the left column showed rebuilding the bridge that connects the two surrounding towns as it was falling apart and unsafe to drive on. It didn’t give an estimate of how much it would cost to demolish it, which Sam knew was gonna be expensive, but to build another was gonna be much, much more. 

On the right column was a ten-year-old boy being awarded for selling the most chocolate in time for the holidays. He won a two hundred and fifty dollar gift card and got to leave school to go to any restaurant for lunch. He remembers middle school used to do that but he was never able to because of his father, John Winchester. He would’ve liked to do normal activities growing up, and still does, but with the line of work they do, he can only do so many normal things every other human gets to do. Otherwise, nothing of importance.

And on the bottom of the page showed the weather for the next seven, cold and snowy. No sun or warmth which of course is normal with it being winter. Before Sam could get off topic in his thoughts, he read the column of the murders until it told him to turn to page nine. The whole entire page, he notices, was covered about the murders of two men but three crime scenes. Sam didn’t bother reading the few paragraphs of the scene at the hardware store. Next, it showed what may have happened at the lumber yard which apparently happened first before the hardware store as the man who chopped wood there was found with an axe in the back of his head.

“So it says here a man, Finn Huckle, was found at three am two days hunched over the tree stump. His legs hacked and an axe stuck in the back of his head as his body laid over the tree stump he was using to shop wood. It looked like a regular murder accoring to the police until they saw Finn holding a pointy hat in his hand. It looked like he tried fighting back because he had skin under his nails. But when the lab tested it, the skin didn’t belong to anybody. Like whoever, or whatever, did this, doesn’t exist. However, at the last scene, at a children's park, in the sand box was a large, gaping hole with what they know is snow, surrounding the area.”

Dean took everything his brother said in. This was definitely something they haven’t dealt with, even heard of. But Sam says he thinks its elves seem to be making more sense, oddly to him, the more they learn what's happening in town. But why elves? Weren’t they supposed to be nice and make presents for good boys and girls? This case seems to be getting odder and odder. 

“Say it is elves, did they lose their mojo or something? Maybe they ran out of alcohol. I’d be all grumpy if I ran out of alcohol and had to deal with shit ton of kids.” Dean spoke gruffly.

Sam suddenly perked up, an idea as to why, if it is elves, acting dangerous. “What if they were hit with some potion making them angry?”

Dean furrowed his eyebrows as he thought. Okay, maybe it is Santa’s little helpers, or logically, it's not. This is definitely something new. Before they can confirm what they think, they would need to see the hole at the park. His thoughts were interrupted with the pretty waitress bringing their food. She gave Sam his first, again, giving him a flirty smile then gave the other man his food, looking at him. Dean winked at her as he gave her his world famous smile he uses on all the ladies causing her to scoff and roll her eyes before walking off. Sam laughed at Dean’s flabbergasted look on his face. “Rejected by two women in one day. Got to be a new record.”

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped Sam off before digging into his food, annoyed.

___________________________________________________

DEAN X READER TAGS:

@akshi8278

[popculturebuffet]

Darkwing Double Feature: The Quiverwing Quack and Paint Misbehavin (Paint Misbehavin Comissoned by WeirdKev27)

Greetings darkwings of the night! It’s time to return to our daring duck of mystery for a third double feature! This one’s been a longtime coming.. as in since around black friday when I did a comissions sale. As usual Kev was my only customer and he bought both Splatter Phoenix episodes... and I shamefully admit this one has sat in my queue for a while as I wanted to finish the justice ducks retrospective first, as I also wanted to cover Quiverwing Quack’s first appearance, on my own time, and I wanted to save doing any Negaduck till I got done with Justice Ducks.  And that’s where errors were made, as I PAUSED said retrospective forgetting I both had this review sitting in my queue, and that I really didnt have that much left to go on it. SO yeah this took WAY longer than I usually do for a commission, and I apologize for that and i’m happy to correct it, with this, along with the freebie I gave him at the time, coming out tommorow i’ll finally be caught up and promise this won’t happen again.  So with my needed apologizes out of the way, let’s talk about why this is a double feature. Simple: Paint Misbehavin is Quiverwing Quack, Gosalyn’s superhero alter ego’s, only other appearance on the show. It would appear in the comics.. in a fashion.. but we’ll get to that. So it dind’t feel quite right covering one without the other, especially since this version of gos is a fan faviorite of many. So does our  archer live up to the hype? Let’s get dangerous under the cut and find out. 

The Quiverwing Quack:

This.. may be the best Darkwing i’ve seen so far. There is some competition of course, but this one is easily the frontrunner. It’s hilarious, has a really great and intresting plot, few faults, and is just.. about as good as this show can get. I could end that here but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t, so let’s get into why. 

The episode starts with a fairly typical day for Darkwing: Fighting Negaduck, hilariously as always, and mocking his arch enemy for only being Public Enemy #2 behind Dr. Slug, an oft mentioned but never seen in an actual episode villian that’s apparently one of DW’s deadliest foes. So already we have a great motive for Negaduck, who usually just has the motive of “destroy darkwing’ or do evil, though to the show’s credit, just looking at the summaries for his other eps alone, they NEVER ran out of ideas for the guy or forgot he was as clever as he was ax crazy. 

But just as he’s about to beat darkwing, Gosalyn arrives with an archery set Launchpad purchased for her and easily holds him down. And rather than be greatful Drake is mad at her and feels the arrows are too dangerous which.. fair those look to be real arrows but not the time or place.  Gosalyn however is angry her dad stopped her and is chafing both under his overprotectivness and feeling this is about ego, creates her own crime fighting alter ego Quiverwing Quack, dragging Honker along as her sidekick Arrow Boy. He dosen’t WANT to get into hero work, but he’s afraid she’ll pulverize him if he dosen’t. HA HA.. GET IT.. BECAUSE SHE’S A GIRL AND IT’S NOT LIKE GIRLS CAN ABUSE BOYS HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAA

Yeah as you can tell that bit hasn’t aged well and is the one down note in an otherwise great episode. And I do mean great. Because this essential conflict works perfectly and is expertly built on what we’ve already seen of the characters. 

For starters Gosalyn forming her own hero identity feels like a natural evolution of her character. It genuinely feels that, given her love for adventure and of her dad being a superhero, that she’d take the next step in wanting to follow in her footsteps and put on her own costume eventually. Her making her OWN rather than something derivitative of darkwing also perfectly fits both her anger at her dad’s overprotectivness and her own individual nature. The costume itself is.. okay pretty simplistic, with an early green arrow style hat and some gloves and boots.. but while I didn’t like it at first It’s grown on me a bit, as I realized it feels like the kind of a costume a kid would throw together and given Gosalyn dosne’t have her dad’s backing, it makes sense the costume would be slapped together. Grante dit dosen’t explain her trick arrows, but given we’ve seen gosalyn is pretty talented and that she can easily acess Darkwing’s lair, it’s not a huge stretch to say she went into her dad’s lair while he was gone, took some suplies and made the arrows herself. 

And i’ll freely admit i’m a sucker for a good archer hero as Hawkeye is easily one of my faviroite superheroes. Which granted is a sentence I know will probably baffle anyone who hasn’t picked up a comic with clint, or has but it was written by brianmicheal bendis, as in the movies up to Endgame you could easily replace him with a block of wood with a purple h painted on it and no one would notice the difference. And other archer heroes like Arowette, Speedy, Kate Bishop, Arsenal and Green Arrow are also on the whole pretty fucking awesome, as is the Young Justice Cartoon version of Artemis and the JLU version of Green Arrow. So this was kind of a slam dunk for me and the fact Gos’ costume comes off as a combination of Hawkeye and Green Arrow, having Ollie’s hat but Clint’s purple color scheme and gloves with no sleeves aesthetic, just makes me all the more on board for this. 

What truly makes the episode though is Darkwing, whose internal conflict is masterful to watch. While his being overproective isn’t anything new to the show, this episode takes it in a more dramatic directon: While there’s still a few jokes the episode gives some very painful reasons why he’s like this: He dosen’t want to loose his baby girl, both figuratively in her growing up and becoming more self sufficent.. and literally in her dying. It’s a terror any parent faces and it makes him sympathetic: While he IS overreacting at times and would be better off training her and helping nurture her while still keeping her safe, so when she DOES run off to do her own thing she’ll be ready, you can’t blame him for not wanting that, for wanting her to just stay home, stay safe and stay ALIVE.  The comics, which i’ve read some of and will cover here at some point, make this hit HARDER as during the second arc, where we meet a bunch of Darkwing Ducks from other dimenisons.. and one of them is Quiverwing Duck. You can probably guess just by the name what happened to his Gosalyn after years and years of working together. 

So the risk .. is very real. Loosing her is VERY possible. Being a kid to teen superhero is a VERY dangerous line of work as with less experince and being a possible target if you have any mentors, and sometimes you genuinely DON’T make it. Cypher, Jason Todd Robin, Ultimate Peter Parker, Synch, Danny Chase, Kid Devil, Skin, Wallflower, Icarus, Genisis.. the list goes on, and on, and while MOST of them came back even then the ones that did didnt exactly lack in scars: Jason was never the same after the joker’s beating and Doug, Cypher, had severe trauma he never adressed. The danger Darkwing fears is VERY real.. but is a danger she faces ANYWAY by rushing in and acompanying him. The tragedy is traning her would at least give her a fighting chance as it’s clear from the above that Quiverwing Duck’s Gos died not because she wasn’t ready or because her dad din’t train her.. but because , like MOST of the heroes above.. she died a hero saving the world.  And the show recognizes this even if it doen’t mention the death because the show has to have limits and it was the early 90′s, wiht Darkwing’s fears also being that she’s growing up. He knows sh’es capable of this.. he’s just tearful she’s growing up.. and that she could be gone. It puts his overprotectiveness from other episodes in a much more understandable light, and makes it clear that while it comes from a good place it’s not really healthy: As the episode shows, Gosalyn thinks ALL he sees of her is a baby to be coddled and protected and not as her own person, and while he’s right to protect her.. he’s gone so far in it and in dismisisng her again, and again AND AGAIN, that he’s given the poor girl a complex. Leaping into danger alone isn’t the answer.. but when we get to the climax of the episode you can see why it’s gotten this bad. It’s suprisingly layred for what’s normally a pretty simple character conlficts. Here there’s no easy answer and even while by the end Darkwing’s accepted she’ll be a hero someday and both earnestly apologize, ther’es no real resolution. And sometimes.. that’s okay. It’s something they could’ve revisited had the series gone on and we did get at least one sequel episode at least and the comics do explore the issue of gosalyn being a kid hero and drake’s overprotectiness, with his issues there being why he retired and ended up badly straining his relationhip with gosalyn and ending , for a while, his friendship with launchpad and relationsihp with morgan as well as his costumed career. But obviously as I said we’ll get to that another day. But as an episode.. this one is truly excellent and one of the best the series put out, with plenty of humor but the more complicated dynamics at play BUILT on what we’ve seen before, including Gos rightfuly supsecting dakwing’s against her due to his own ego at points, are what elevate it to the series best. So how’d they follow it up?

Paint Misbehavin:

This one’s in an awkard middle place, where it’s FAR better than the previous splatter Phoenix Episode but not as good as “The Quiverwing Quack”. Still it’s a pretty fun episode all together.  So the main plot is that Darkwing and Gosalyn are at cross purposes because Darkwing is overshadowed by Gosalyn, in this case at the local comic con where Gosalyn, returning to her Quiverwing Quack guise, is the big new thing while Darkwing’s practically ignored. 

Yeah no way around it this is a rehash of “Whiffle While You Work”, same basic conflict, just with suprheroing instead of a video game. So naturally at first it annoyed me especially since they had a debate over who was better, Darkwing’s old traditional hero or Gosalyn’s new very 90′s hero. This.. goes about nowhere and is just cringe inducing for me as a comics fan, whose not against 90′s characters but acknolsges the vast majority got better LATER under new writers, with the exception of some such as superboy, steel, kyle rayner and impulse, who were fresh out of the package.  Thankfully.. the episode pushes past this and it ends up being a better version of Whiffle While You Work, as Drake isn’t as overbearingly obnoxious as he was there: Here Gosalyn is just as egotsitical, at one point trying to lead him away from a crime scene, and it’s only when they finally work as a team that they become unstoppable. It does say something though that Darkwing has genuinely grown as his objection is pure ego instead of overprotectivness like last time and he willingly lets her tag along even if he’s trying to show her up. It’s not the BEST conflict, and it ends with egos clashing, but while this part of the episode is recycled.. at least it’s recycling an episode that genuinely wasted the idea and using it better. Darkwing being jealous here is FAR more understandable as he’s been a hero far longer and while his ego is way too big for his head, it’s understandble to be a big pissy, and agian he dosen’t go nearly as far in how he treats gosalyn. He just wants to show up his own daughter and he’s shown as fully wrong for this. Not great but far better than before.  What IS great and what makes this episode fun, is Splatter Phoenix, whose even better than last time. I attribute this to the change in voice actors. While Dani Staahl was excellent.. her replacment is far better and far more notable. It’s SCTV’s andrea martin... who i’m realizing most of you have probably never heard of. 

Or know what  SCTV is. It was before both our times trust me: it was an early 80′s sketch comedy show that had a unique premise as the sketches were all programs for a fictional tv station, and there’d often be wraparounds about what was going on at the station that oftne led to sketches or impacted them: From dealing with sponser issues brought on by the Moral Majority, aliens, the russians hyjacking their signal, and forging checks from Fred Willard’s account, yes that was a plot and yes he was indeed a guest star, there was no end to the number of shenanigans in and out of program. IT was really good stuff with an all star cast: John Candy, Rick Moranis, Dave Thomas, Cathrine O’Hara, Eugene Levy, Joe Flarhety, Martin Short, and of course Martin. Even Harold Ramis was on the show for it’s first season. It was just a damn good time and if you can find the dvd’s or clips on youtube I recommend it.  My point is Martin is vastly underated and really deserves better than she’s gotten, and this eps proves it as her energy really adds to Splatter’s astetic and really fits the show like a glove and it’s a shame the show ended shortly after this episode, as it would’ve been nice to see her return in the role. But for a one shot she’s UTTERLY awesome, and Splatter gets to do far more this time as her brush has now expanded to be able to create, so we get helicopter cats, pumpkin dogs, a pink gorilla with a toaster for a head and when told superheroes always win she creates her own, absract man, with a hand for a head and a weird body and I just want to see more of him. He even skips off with Launchpad’s faivorie hero, bascally mr rodgers as a weasel, after launchpad draws the guy in. I want to see this gay couple fight crime with love and existetaalism dammit!

But yeah she’s just fun, as is her vandalism of various art works including making the dogs playing poker into skeletons.. which I now want a picture of for my room because that is nice. SHe also brings back the art shitfts from before in little ways, transforming darkwing into abstract art and to blocky art at diffrent points with her brush. And that’s what puts this episode over the other: The creativity is still there but without the whole “Honker being gaslighted” plot that I still hate to this very second, it’s allowed to be fun and fancy free and with Splatter out in the open she’s allowed to get a LOT more ambitious and thus the writers and martin get to have a LOT more fun with the gimmick. 

So while I do feel the episode’s a bit crowded, as they try to cram in both splatter phoenix and this super feud between family into the same space and both episodes would’ve been better served seperatley, i’ts so fun with clever use of the magic brush by our heroes and what not I can’t help but love it. I don’t love the climax though as splatter gets turpentine spilled on her by gosalyny and .. melts for some reason. Because she’s made of paint now even though that was never a thing before? Not to mention the fact our heroes just killed a person...

So yeah the ending’s a bit wonky but it’s a fun episode with the return of a great villian, a decent of played out main conflict and some great gags and fights in it. All in all i’m glad I got comissioned for this one and finally tackled it. Good stuff.  So that does it for this. We’ll be back to darkwing next week just in time for valentine’s day.. and back with Negaduck too. Until then it’s been a pleasure. 

[niftybottle]

Hey @tulipsandsake, I’m your @bering-and-wells-exchange person. I saw you reblog D&D and Critical Role stuff, so I thought I’d do designs for Myka and Helena as D&D characters. Helena is a half-Drow multiclass Bard (College of Glamour)/Artificer (Battle Smith), while Myka is an old-school (2e/AD&D/Baldur’s Gate era) human dual Kensai->Mage. (I don’t have races/subclasses for everyone, but Artie is a college of lore bard, Claudia is an Artificer, Pete is a fighter, and I’m not sure what Leena is). Helena is very much a “seduce anything that moves” ~D&D Bard~, while Artie is very much not - he leans hard into the collection of lore/jack of all trades angle, and while he can play music very well he borders on anti-social. This is the source of some of the tension between them, with his distrust for her Drow parentage occupying most of the rest.

At this point I’m going interrupt to give a blanket apology if I explain something you already know - it’s hard to judge knowledge levels with a gift exchange without ruining the surprise, so I’m going to err on the side of explaining things just in case.

Helena is a bard to capture the importance of her novels, but novel-writing isn't the most practical in a fight or as a live performance, so I gave her an instrument. I chose the hurdy-gurdy, which is a (real) instrument with a very silly name. I picked it because it is very complex and mechanical, like something she might have invented or cobbled together. It’s kind of like an automatic violin or fiddle - rather than being plucked or bowed, a crank on the side is rotated, which moves a wheel across the strings. Rather than frets there are keys which hold the strings at certain points when pressed. There are also “drone” strings, which play a given note (that can be adjusted using a tuning peg) whenever the wheel is turned. You can technically “play” a drone string by holding a sting as if a guitar string as the wheel turns, but that isn’t traditional. Both drone and melody strings can be adjusted using tuning pegs, and apparently you can adjust the exact note the keys play. Some hurdy-gurdys (but not Helena's) also have additional strings not played by the wheel that can be played like a guitar. Hurdy-gurdys do not have much standardization, and the number/presence of all the different kinds of strings can vary.

Helena's bard college I went back and forth with - the college of glamour is about charming, as in the magic, which does suit her, but the college of lore would also be good. Ultimately I decided that college of lore would be better for Artie. Battle Smith, her artificer specialization, I kind of chose to make the character a little more practical to play - artillerist might have suited her character a touch more, but not too much more, and the battle smith's ability to use intelligence for (magic) weapon attacks/damage reduces the important stats to two (int and cha) rather than three (adding str or dex for weapon rolls). Helena's Steel Defender is Dickens the Mechanical Cat, and he can turn the crank for the hurdy-gurdy, letting her play it with one hand.

I don't have her backstory completely pinned down; I feel like her Drow parent escaped to the surface rather than being a functioning member of Drow society, if only to reduce the sketchiness of the alternative method of conception. Christina is definitely a valid "reason for adventuring", but Endless Wonder or fleeing the consequences of a lab accident or charm spell wearing off are also possibilities.

In terms of the illustration itself, I tried to balance bard flamboyance, artificer practicality with a touch of mad science, and Helena's canonical slightly Victorian elegance. I definitely needed the fancy bard hat, because I am of the firm belief that every bard needs a fancy hat. She's wearing a cute pair of overalls (and I now have "stylish overalls" in my google search history), but they got covered by Dickens :( . With the more muted browns inspired by the artificer half as well as her canon style, she was looking a little drab for a bard, so I added a little cape. In terms of skin/hair/eyes and being half-Drow my thoughts were kind of: leaning in to the purplish/blue/lavender skin thing some illustrations of Drow have, because between the inherent problems of the evil elves having black skin and wanting to stay fifty feet away from anything that might come close to being a race-bend I wasn't going to deal with having her skin be darker. I think it turned out OK? For some reason Helena's eye color is significant to me, so they stayed brown rather than Drow purple or something, though they wound up a bit brighter thanks to my attempts to add a little purple. Jaime Murray's hair is iconic, but more for its smoothness and luster than its color, so I was fine making it white as long as I kept the style. The hurdy-gurdy was a bit of a nightmare (twice over, since I had to ink it), which isn't surprising - I kind of cursed myself with that instrument choice, but it was so perfect ;_; . In general, and especially in comparison with Myka, Helena's illustration fought me the whole way down. If you watch the time-lapse, you can see some of the references I used, but far from all - I streamed so much hurdy-gurdy playing youtube is still confused, and the pose went through some shenanigans.

Now, to Myka. Thinking of her pre-med before pre-law before secret service vaguely remembered quote, I thought of the old Baldur's Gate fighter(kensai)->mage cheese build, and thought it might be a good way to capture that simultaneous indecision and discipline/intelligence.

Going very briefly into Baldur's Gate/2e: Kensai, in BG, is a Fighter kit. Kits, in BG and 2e both, are a little like specializations in 5e, in that they are a kind of further customization beyond the class itself. The difference is, not every character has a kit - there is a base class (fighter) and a kit is a set of trade-offs, taking away base class features in exchange for various benefits. So fighter, the base kit, is pretty similar to the fighter in other editions - good at using weapons and armor and attacking a lot. Can equip the best stuff, and use it well, but doesn't get a lot of bonuses apart from that of equipment. Kensai (in BG), on the other hand, trades the ability to wear armor (and use non-thrown ranged weapons) for scaling bonuses to to-hit and damage (abstracting some things for you), and a minor one-time bonus to natural armor, as well as the Kai ability, which temporarily maxes out damage on successful attacks, usable a few times a day, depending on class level. In short, they trade off the armor portions of the Fighter class for additional weapon bonuses.

In Baldur's Gate, if you want to build a dual fighter/wizard, kensai is a great pick for kit, since wizards can't cast in armor anyway, but they can cast spells to boost their AC, mitigating some of the disadvantage of the kit. Mage is a base class and basically what would be called a wizard in later editions. Mage kits, with the exception of wild mage (in BG), which is a whole thing I won't get into, are pretty much picking a school to specialize in - they get bonuses to spells of that school, but there is an "opposing" school which they can't use at all. I wouldn't be terribly interested in those specializations even if I could use them for Myka, but I couldn't, because of how dual-classing works.

Dual-classing in BG and 2e is one of two methods to have more than one class on a character. Which one you can do depends on your race (as does a lot of things in 2e). If you're human, you dual-class; if you're not, you multi-class. Multi-class characters are more what you'd expect from multi-classing in other editions - you have two classes, you gain levels in both. There are differences (exp is divided evenly between classes, rather than choosing what to level, class and combination restrictions), but most relevantly, you can't use any kits with multi-class characters. So, we want to dual-class, not multi-class, so that Myka can use the Kensai (BG) kit, which makes her human, which is fine.

Dual-classing, compared to multi-classing, is weird. Basically, you start off in one class, with a kit if you like, and level normally in that class/kit until you decide to switch, at which point you are done with the first class and can't level in it anymore. Then you *start over* in your new class (which cannot have a kit), as if you were a level one character in that class, without (effectively) the ability to use anything from the previous class (except hp). This continues until the number of levels in the second class exceeds that of the levels in the first class, at which point the character regains all the qualities and abilities of their first class. Dual classes can wind up quite powerful, but they require both planning and a willingness to be weaker for a time to be more powerful later (which I feel suit Myka well - she's a planner and has the patience and discipline to accept temporary weakness to be stronger later). So, given that we want to use the Kensai (BG) kit, Myka needs to start with it, and then switch to mage later, since the second class can't have a kit.

At this point I want to clarify why I keep specifying Baldur's Gate and/or D&D 2e for things. Turns out, Baldur's Gate does use D&D 2e as a base, but makes some modifications. One of the changes it makes, which I didn't know when I started this, is the Kensai kit itself. Kensai is not officially a 2e kit, and technically isn't in 2e at all. There is a (fighter-ish) class in the "Oriental Adventures" book for first edition, but it isn't quite the same, more it's own class that happens to share some tables with fighter. Since the end goal is character design, not creating a legal 2e character, I won't go too far into it, but I did create both a (cheated to level up) Baldur's Gate kensai -> mage and a (1e-ish)Kensai->(2e)Mage, using the rules from 2e for most things not directly in the Kensai class description (and ignoring the stat requirements for dual-classing since I didn't roll any 17s); screenshots of both should be in the supplemental reblog, in addition to a link to Helena's dndbeyond character sheet.

Fortunately for me and my lack of foresight, both BG Kensai and 1/2e Kensai have similar flavor: a heavily "eastern" inspired warrior with even more discipline and asceticism than standard fighters, focused on their weapons and unable to wear armor, with a restriction to either lawful (1/2e) or at least not chaotic (BG) alignments (if this sounds a little monk-ish WotC agrees - kensai is a monk specialization in 5e, being a monk that can use a not-monk weapon). Also fortunately for me, mage is wizard is mage, regardless of edition. Magic from book learning/intelligence. Not too complicated.

In terms of character narrative, in canon, I feel like coming to the Warehouse was a significant breakpoint in Myka's life and worldview. Not being a writer, this small essay notwithstanding, I'm going to sum it up as a break from tradition and from seeking the approval of her father. Where joining the Warehouse crew was for canon Myka, I want dualing from Kensai to Mage to be for DnD Myka, with reaching the point where she can use Kensai features again representing the peace with her past she eventually reaches at the warehouse in canon. What I'm picturing is: Myka is from an isolated and very traditional mountain village where the kensai tradition (and 2e mechanics) has been preserved. Myka is trained in this tradition, and has both the mental discipline and physical capabilities to excel. The people of this village are purists and don't believe in using magic, especially in conjunction with being a kensai. Somehow (at this point my having thought this through starts to fail) Myka gets ahold of some spellbooks, and with her love of books and curiosity, begins to read and reread them, until one day she casts some magic. This is against the rules, and she's kicked out of the village for "corrupting" their traditions, and now she has to make her way through the world with only her fledgling mage talent to rely on.

Talking about the illustration/design itself: given the heavily eastern vibe, I'm trying for a samurai/ronin style based on my recollections from my weeb phase. I wanted in particular with the robe/kimono to make something that would be in between the plain practicality of Myka's kensai kimono and the flashiness of wizard robes (if you watch the timelapse, you may spot the part where I accidentally took a left turn into fallout's vault boy coloration before tweaking it a bit). I also wanted to have her using magic, and I think the magic effect turned out well. Really, this illustration just came out really easy. I was just … drawing hands. If you watch the timelapse, I even saved a third hand for a while because it was so nice (but at the wrong angle). I don't know what happened. Really the only snags were the aforementioned Vault Boy Moment and coloring Myka's hair (although I did decide to leave her face as a sketch rather than try to ink it).

I think maybe I've babbled enough for now. I'll reblog this in a moment (since tumblr hates links) with character sheets, timelapses of the drawings, and a bonus doodle that came to me reading the artificer specializations.

[bts-love-sweat-tears]

Café Potente

Title: Café Potente

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Type: cafe!au, pure tooth-rotting fluff!

Rating: PG

Warnings: Namjoon being a slight perv, kinkshaming if you squint (haha)

Word count: 1,628

Summary: In which Namjoon uses English and Clumsy to get himself a date. 

A/N: First ever collab with @sugarcookiesandsins. She just had to re-create so be sure to follow her. She’s also the grand admin of a really amazing Discord fangirl server. This was both really fun and obnoxiously hard to write, bc we kept dying of uwus while writing (I’m old, does this make sense)? Anyway, sorry not sorry for the massive amounts of cheese.

For once in your life, you were hoping that the universe would cooperate. So far, everything was going perfectly: the bus schedule, the weather, the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee. But good things come only in threes and you felt it in your gut that the universe would be giving you something bad to balance it out. 

Still, you soldiered on; you had been dying to try this new coffee shop, and it did not disappoint. From the soft fairy lights framing the chalkboard menu to the soft murmuring of the people around you, this cafe looked like it had been pulled straight from a fiction romance: the type of place where a meet-cute would happen. You dragged your eyes over the old-fashioned brick wall on the left side, patterned with a collage of art and paper notices, some advertising other stores and other simply messages about loving life. 

All-in-all you could definitely see yourself coming back here, perhaps to study, or even just to curl up in that plush bean bag in the corner with a good book.

Walking further into your personal utopia, you entered the line and focused on the menu. It had all the classics, and even a special menu that you were considering making your way through. Settling on your order, you let your thoughts wander until they settled on the other patrons. 

There was a tall boy in front of you, clad in all denim and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. You normally didn’t pay much attention to those around you, but the line was barely moving, and he had presence.  He was on his phone, speaking animatedly about something or other. As you eyed him idly, you realized that the phone conversation he was having was in perfect English. It had been months since you had had any meaningful conversations, rather than the mindless repetition of colors and numbers you circled though with your students.

Without permission from your social graces, your feet moved closer, yearning to hear more about whatever mundane conversation he was having.  Just as you got close enough to actually hear the conversation, it was finally his turn to order. He almost dropped his phone upon hanging up, scrambling to catch it, but knocking over the tip jar in the process. It clanged noisily to the ground and you noticed a blush tint the top of his ears as he bent down to recover it. 

It seemed that luck was not on his side however as his hat managed to catch on the lip of the counter falling off his head to the hardwood floor. You picked it up, and handed it to him. He nodded gratefully but didn’t say anything. You had been hoping to strike up a conversation with the stranger, but he clearly had enough on his plate. He moved to the far end of the counter to wait for his drink and before you could think of anything to say, it was your turn to order.

After ordering and paying for your drink, you moved down to the far end of the counter, and stood once again behind the taller man. He was back on his phone, emphatically gesturing as he continued his conversation on the phone. He seemed clueless that he was mixing korean and english into a new language all its own. It was oddly endearing. 

You thought that you were at a respectable normal distance, but apparently chaos was a natural state of being for him. Before you knew what had happened, you were covered in the remnants of his drink. Though you knew forces of entropy were present in the universe, this boy must have been prime among them.

Somehow, in the scant seconds between grabbing his drink and spinning around, the two of you collided. You had expected that such a public embarrassment would move slowly, like in the seconds before a fall, but no. In one fell swoop, you had gone from cozy anticipation of your drink to completely drenched in his. You felt like a complete idiot, standing there frozen pondering the statistical probability of what had just occurred. 

However frozen you felt, though, the chaotic bilingual boy in front of you was a flurry of energy, moving for the napkins, apologizing profusely, and somehow still managing to maintain that smooth flow of bilinguality with whoever was on the other end. 

You decided to choose one for him, with a small grin you pacified the man. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” You rejoiced as the syllables flowed out your mouth, relishing in the rare feeling of speaking english. 

His eyes widened comically, whether surprised at your language skills, or lack of rage; you couldn’t be entirely certain. Still he managed to compose himself pretty quickly, before blurting out a final apology, seemingly blank on any other words. 

You covered your giggle with your hand, momentarily forgetting about the brown stain on the front of your favorite t-shirt, emblazoned with the words THAT GIRL. But, the passing breeze of an opening door felt cold against the front of your chest, causing you to try to shield your torso from the offending wind. 

You glared at the new customer, blaming them for the new awkwardness you were feeling. Yet, you felt the pointed stare of someone. Turning back to the clumsy genius, you raised an eyebrow at the way his eyes were fixated on your chest. Seeing his pupils moving back and forth was the only thing keeping you from slapping his porcelain skin. 

“Oi. My eyes are up here you know.” His face bloomed roses as he realized what it had looked like from your perspective. Stumbling over his words, he tried quickly to excuse himself. The next words out of his mouth satiated your rage completely. 

“It’s not what you think. Just trying to figure out whether you’re a Marlo Thomas or Phoebe Buffay fan.” Whatever words you had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t these. Instead of swearing off men forever, you were wondering whether you had just met your soulmate. Not only was he a fellow 90s kid, but he also knew one of the original leading ladies of primetime TV. 

“And if I say both?” You tease, wondering whether his words would be as clumsy as his actions.  Instead, he was surprisingly smooth, and despite his earlier mishaps, his entire demeanor had changed from a gangly awkward youth to someone comfortable with witty repartee. 

“Then I would say that we need to meet up again to fully discuss the pros and cons of each of the shows. This is a serious undertaking and we can’t be rash,” though his words suggest gravity, the expression on his face indicates that he is joking. 

“Same time next week? And maybe next time, I won’t become your personal coffee dispenser.”

Never in your life would you have thought to yourself that the most obscure t-shirt in your wardrobe would be the reason you fell in love, yet here you were cuddled on the couch, tracing words on the paper as warm breaths caressed your neck. 

“You done reading baby?” You nod your head once, shift backwards to envelop yourself even more in Namjoon’s embrace. At his words, you put down your book and try to be more present in the moment with the love of your life.

It was a Friday night, almost 2 years to the day that Namjoon had the great misfortune of spilling coffee and inadvertently staring at your chest. You had the great fortune of meeting a cute, nerdy, multi-talented guy who enjoyed the same old tv shows at you, and remembered the same microscopic details that you did.

 It had gotten to the point where none of your friends wanted to hang out with you anymore, the two of you finishing each other’s movie quotes and winning incessantly at trivia. But you and Namjoon couldn’t be happier much to your friends’ chagrin. And despite their grumbles, you knew that they were happy that the two of you had found someone so perfectly matched. 

You smiled at the memory as Namjoon turned the page for the both of you. It had become a tradition; both of you cuddled up on the couch under the blanket that you had gifted him the first Christmas. There was always coffee on the small table, the dark color contrasting against matching couple mugs. 

It was enough to make someone vomit, but you didn’t mind, and neither did he. In fact, the two of you would often try to outdo each other on the mug front, and you were never at a loss for a clean cup for a warm beverage. Some might call you hoarders, but you and Joon maintained that you were collectors. 

You finally had the man of your dreams, romantic, nerdy, and caring all wrapped into one being and sprinkled with a dash of clumsy for good measure.

“I guess the world was wrong Joonie?” Your boyfriend lifted his eyes from the book, glasses allowing you to see the shades of brown that painted his irises. He gave you a quizzical look that made you giggle - it wasn’t often that you were able to confuse him. 

“Good things don’t come in threes. They come in fours.”

“Spilling my coffee on you was a good thing? You know, y/n, some might call that a kink.” His dimples are out full force, softening your heart and the gentle smack to his arm.

“You know, Joon, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dumb sometimes,” you want to make him sweat a little, but you are unable to keep a straight face.

“I mean you.” 

[sugarcookiesandsins]

Café Potente

Word Count: 1.6+ Warnings: slight perv, slight kinkshaming if you squint  Notes: collab with @/bts-love-sweat-tears - please give her all the love and affection! She was wonderful to work with! 

For once in your life, you were hoping that the universe would cooperate. So far, everything was going perfectly: the bus schedule, the weather, the heavenly smell of freshly brewed coffee. But good things come only in threes and you felt it in your gut that the universe would be giving you something bad to balance it out.

Still, you soldiered on; you had been dying to try this new coffee shop, and it did not disappoint. From the soft fairy lights framing the chalkboard menu to the soft murmuring of the people around you, this cafe looked like it had been pulled straight from a fiction romance: the type of place where a meet-cute would happen. You dragged your eyes over the old-fashioned brick wall on the left side, patterned with a collage of art and paper notices, some advertising other stores and other simply messages about loving life. 

All-in-all you could definitely see yourself coming back here, perhaps to study, or even just to curl up in that plush bean bag in the corner with a good book.

Walking further into your personal utopia, you entered the line and focused on the menu. It had all the classics, and even a special menu that you were considering making your way through. Settling on your order, you let your thoughts wander until they settled on the other patrons. 

There was a tall boy in front of you, clad in all denim and a baseball cap pulled low over his face. You normally didn’t pay much attention to those around you, but the line was barely moving, and he had presence.  He was on his phone, speaking animatedly about something or other. As you eyed him idly, you realized that the phone conversation he was having was in perfect English. It had been months since you had had any meaningful conversations, rather than the mindless repetition of colors and numbers you circled though with your students.

Without permission from your social graces, your feet moved closer, yearning to hear more about whatever mundane conversation he was having.  Just as you got close enough to actually hear the conversation, it was finally his turn to order. He almost dropped his phone upon hanging up, scrambling to catch it, but knocking over the tip jar in the process. It clanged noisily to the ground and you noticed a blush tint the top of his ears as he bent down to recover it.

It seemed that luck was not on his side however as his hat managed to catch on the lip of the counter falling off his head to the hardwood floor. You picked it up, and handed it to him. He nodded gratefully but didn’t say anything. You had been hoping to strike up a conversation with the stranger, but he clearly had enough on his plate. He moved to the far end of the counter to wait for his drink and before you could think of anything to say, it was your turn to order.

After ordering and paying for your drink, you moved down to the far end of the counter, and stood once again behind the taller man. He was back on his phone, emphatically gesturing as he continued his conversation on the phone. He seemed clueless that he was mixing korean and english into a new language all its own. It was oddly endearing.

You thought that you were at a respectable normal distance, but apparently chaos was a natural state of being for him. Before you knew what had happened, you were covered in the remnants of his drink. Though you knew forces of entropy were present in the universe, this boy must have been prime among them.

Somehow, in the scant seconds between grabbing his drink and spinning around, the two of you collided. You had expected that such a public embarrassment would move slowly, like in the seconds before a fall, but no. In one fell swoop, you had gone from cozy anticipation of your drink to completely drenched in his. You felt like a complete idiot, standing there frozen pondering the statistical probability of what had just occurred.

However frozen you felt, though, the chaotic bilingual boy in front of you was a flurry of energy, moving for the napkins, apologizing profusely, and somehow still managing to maintain that smooth flow of bilinguality with whoever was on the other end.

You decided to choose one for him, with a small grin you pacified the man. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” You rejoiced as the syllables flowed out your mouth, relishing in the rare feeling of speaking english.

His eyes widened comically, whether surprised at your language skills, or lack of rage; you couldn’t be entirely certain. Still he managed to compose himself pretty quickly, before blurting out a final apology, seemingly blank on any other words.

You covered your giggle with your hand, momentarily forgetting about the brown stain on the front of your favorite t-shirt, emblazoned with the words THAT GIRL. But, the passing breeze of an opening door felt cold against the front of your chest, causing you to try to shield your torso from the offending wind.

You glared at the new customer, blaming them for the new awkwardness you were feeling. Yet, you felt the pointed stare of someone. Turning back to the clumsy genius, you raised an eyebrow at the way his eyes were fixated on your chest. Seeing his pupils moving back and forth was the only thing keeping you from slapping his porcelain skin.

“Oi. My eyes are up here you know.” His face bloomed roses as he realized what it had looked like from your perspective. Stumbling over his words, he tried quickly to excuse himself. The next words out of his mouth satiated your rage completely.

“It’s not what you think. Just trying to figure out whether you’re a Marlo Thomas or Phoebe Buffay fan.” Whatever words you had been expecting, it certainly wasn’t these. Instead of swearing off men forever, you were wondering whether you had just met your soulmate. Not only was he a fellow 90s kid, but he also knew one of the original leading ladies of primetime TV.

“And if I say both?” You tease, wondering whether his words would be as clumsy as his actions.  Instead, he was surprisingly smooth, and despite his earlier mishaps, his entire demeanor had changed from a gangly awkward youth to someone comfortable with witty repartee.

“Then I would say that we need to meet up again to fully discuss the pros and cons of each of the shows. This is a serious undertaking and we can’t be rash,” though his words suggest gravity, the expression on his face indicates that he is joking.

“Same time next week? And maybe next time, I won’t become your personal coffee dispenser.”

Never in your life would you have thought to yourself that the most obscure t-shirt in your wardrobe would be the reason you fell in love, yet here you were cuddled on the couch, tracing words on the paper as warm breaths caressed your neck.

“You done reading baby?” You nod your head once, shift backwards to envelop yourself even more in Namjoon’s embrace. At his words, you put down your book and try to be more present in the moment with the love of your life.

It was a Friday night, almost 2 years to the day that Namjoon had the great misfortune of spilling coffee and inadvertently staring at your chest. You had the great fortune of meeting a cute, nerdy, multi-talented guy who enjoyed the same old tv shows at you, and remembered the same microscopic details that you did.

It had gotten to the point where none of your friends wanted to hang out with you anymore, the two of you finishing each other’s movie quotes and winning incessantly at trivia. But you and Namjoon couldn’t be happier much to your friends’ chagrin. And despite their grumbles, you knew that they were happy that the two of you had found someone so perfectly matched.

You smiled at the memory as Namjoon turned the page for the both of you. It had become a tradition; both of you cuddled up on the couch under the blanket that you had gifted him the first Christmas. There was always coffee on the small table, the dark color contrasting against matching couple mugs.

It was enough to make someone vomit, but you didn’t mind, and neither did he. In fact, the two of you would often try to outdo each other on the mug front, and you were never at a loss for a clean cup for a warm beverage. Some might call you hoarders, but you and Joon maintained that you were collectors. 

You finally had the man of your dreams, romantic, nerdy, and caring all wrapped into one being and sprinkled with a dash of clumsy for good measure.

“I guess the world was wrong Joonie?” Your boyfriend lifted his eyes from the book, glasses allowing you to see the shades of brown that painted his irises. He gave you a quizzical look that made you giggle - it wasn’t often that you were able to confuse him.

“Good things don’t come in threes. They come in fours.”

“Spilling my coffee on you was a good thing? You know, y/n, some might call that a kink.” His dimples are out full force, softening your heart and the gentle smack to his arm.

“You know, Joon, for someone so smart, you’re pretty dumb sometimes,” you want to make him sweat a little, but you are unable to keep a straight face.

“I mean you.”

[orderoftheavengers]

I’ll Do You One Better--What House is Gamora?!

Summary: Gamora is from a race of Egyptian snake-women, that was massacred by the Titan Thanos. She carries the legacy of Salazar Slytherin wherever she goes, often literally.

House: Slytherin

Species: Wadjet (Egyptian snake women)

Wand: Cypress, 14 inches, Sphinx hair

Broom: Custom made, with two tails; able to power through weather most brooms would shatter in

Other effects: The Sword of Salazar Slytherin, which she often stores in her broom

Patronus: Python

Specialties: Dark Arts

Groomed for Slytherin

Gamora has the traits of both Gryffindor and Slytherin down to a T, and by a happy coincidence, her skin and hair reflect the colors of both houses. It really was a close call.

Standing up to a giant whose army just massacred your homeland takes balls for anyone, especially a child. That was a pretty damn Gryffindor thing to do. But Thanos decided to adopt Gamora for the Slytherin traits he sensed in her. He hand-picked all of his children for the same reason, but Gamora had an ambition, cunning and stubbornness that blew the others out of the water. Taking her aside, so she wouldn't see the massacre of her people, he showed her a tattered old green hat, once worn by Salazar Slytherin, and told her to reach inside. The green child pulled out the Sword of Slytherin faster and more smoothly than any of his previous "children" had before. That was when Thanos decided Gamora was his favorite daughter.

Thanos "adopted" (kidnapped and brainwashed) Gamora, and applied the the most extreme versions of the traits of Slytherin House in her upbringing. He taught her to be cold and calculating, mercilessly cunning, and to stop at nothing to achieve her goals. He used the Cruciatus Curse as both discipline and to "build character" in all his children, and pitted Gamora against her adopted sister Nebula.

Her Slytherin traits of self-preservation and determination were more apparent than her Gryffindor courage and chivalry, in that it took years for her to finally realize how evil her "father" was and disobey him. And it never even occurred to her to think about what every fight did to her adoptive sister Nebula, because she was so focused on her own survival. But Gamora eventually learned to retool her Slytherin traits to blend with her Gryffindor heroism, and broke free of Thanos.

Wherever she went, Gamora was judged as a "villain" before she even did anything, simply because of her connection to Thanos and her House. Not only did she prove herself a hero, Gamora wound up being the most tempered, wise, and noble member of Peter Quill's crew. It was usually she, with her Slytherin pragmatism, tempering Quills Gryffindor rashness, in the relationship. (The whole crew learned their Houses while visiting the Collector, who temporarily had possession of Hogwarts' Sorting Hat.)

Gamora was courageous and chivalrous, but there's a reason Peter Quill was the Gryffindor and she was not. When the time finally came, Peter was willing to kill Gamora to stop Thanos, as she'd requested of him. But hypocritically, Gamora was not willing to do the same when it was a choice between her sister Nebula and the Soul Stone.

Gamora's worst fear was dying alone with only her evil "father" near her, and by a cruel irony, that was not only exactly what happened, but it was all for the sake of Salazar's legacy. Each of the Infinity Stones had been hidden by a powerful wizard throughout history (Merlin had the Time Stone, obviously). Salazar Slytherin had surrounded the Soul Stone with an incredibly dark curse, testing the seeker's ambition, forcing them to sacrifice the person they loved most to obtain it. On the ruins of Salazar's home castle, where the Stone was hidden, Gamora tried to commit suicide with Salazar's sword before Thanos could kill her to obtain the stone; but using the Reality Stone, he turned the Sword of Slytherin into bubbles. Then he tossed her off the tower, and obtained the Soul Stone.

To Thanos's surprise, the Sword of Slytherin returned in the later battle at Hogwarts, when Tony Stark pulled it from the Sorting Hat. But that is another story entirely.

For My Real Parents 

Through a combination of Time Travel and Priorie Incantatem, Gamora returned both in spirit and body. While Tony Stark dusted Thanos’s minions, the Titan resisted the spell, until two Gamoras jumped him: one, the ghost of the “daughter” he’d murdered, that had emerged when Thanos and Tony’s Infinity Wands had clashed; and the other, a version of Gamora from the past, that followed Nebula back to the present-day. 

Past-Gamora stabs Thanos through the heart with the Sword of Slytherin, and says just loud enough for him to hear, “For my real parents.” Before he dies, Thanos sees himself in a field, facing a young Gamora, the child he orphaned and kidnapped all those years ago. “You love nothing,” the green child says locking eyes with him. “And so you have nothing. You are nothing.” She, the field, and Thanos’s entire universe disintegrate, as the Titan crumbles into a pile of ash. You Promised When the dust settles, there is only one Gamora. The Infinity-Ghost has merged with the past body. She shakily rises to her feet, tears falling down her green face. “Gamora!” Peter Quill, who hasn’t had a chance to speak to her yet, tears across the field to her. For a moment, it looks like they’re about to kiss. Gamora chokes, “Peter…” and then knees him in the balls. She finishes with a hiss, “You promised!” Clutching his shattered bludgers, Quill retorts in a strained voice, “Hypocrite!” He is referring to the fact that Gamora couldn’t sacrifice her sister to keep the Stone from Thanos. Gamora makes an admitting face, helps him up, and now they kiss.

Species:

FACT: In Ancient Egypt, Muggles living in the city of Dep worshiped a local snake goddess named Wadjet. (Source: real history.) In fact, the Wadjet were a whole magical race of reptilian snake-like women. (Source: my ass.)

These were Gamora's people. They resembled reptilian humanoids, and were often considered the better-looking cousins of Goblins. As a Wadjet, Gamora has enhanced strength, durability, speed and senses. Harry Potter didn't learn much about the Wadjet at Hogwarts, because their society was on the brink of collapse by that time. Thanos "saved" them by killing off half the population. He considered it a testament to his "fairness" that he made no exception for the race held in high regard by his ancestor and idol, Salazar Slytherin.

Naturally, Peter Quill--lacking in any education, Magical or Muggle--had never heard of the Wadjet. Gamora was confused when he asked if she was related to the Wicked Witch of the West. She didn't understand why she should fear a house falling on her, or why she would need the protection of glittering shoes when she already had a dragonhide coat armed with several protective charms. Wand: "Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures." (harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Cyp…) Remus Lupin's wand was a Cypress. The sphinx hair may seem like an odd choice, with Gamora not particularly specializing on riddles or puzzles. But sphinxes are overall associated with wisdom and ferocity, both of which describe Gamora. And of course, the Sphinx is from the same part of the world she is. Patronus:

Pythons are "ambush predators," fitting for Gamora. Naturally, Quill took one look at her Patronus and dubbed it "Monty." Monty Python, he explained, was the name of a band of Human minstrels, from around the same era as the hero Kevin Bacon. Pythons are adaptable snakes, that can make their homes in a variety of environments, as long as they are left to their own devices, as they are solitary animals. They are agile, and some species are able get up into trees. (www.livescience.com/53785-pyth…)

AN: Gamora was hard to sort. Like so many others, I made the decision based on her dynamic with other characters. And the Slytherin legacy worked so well into her story, that I had to use it. While the Egyptian connection was partially a homage to her actress Zoe Saldana, who has African ancestry, it was also inspired by her eye-shadow and cyborg facial markings, which have a vaguely Egyptian look to them.

[iminclinedtowriting]

Love Yourself (Chapter 3)

title: Love Yourself summary: A lot of things about Dan’s life are pretty great. He gets to make the music he wants, he’s got a great fanbase, and his manager is his best friend. A few things about his life suck a bit more. He’s currently lacking inspiration, he’s rather lonely, and he’s stuck in a rut. Dan’s been going to the same coffee shop for years. It’s quiet, it’s quaint, it’s near his home. Most importantly: none of the employees give a shit that’s he a world-famous singer. Things change when he meets the new barista. chapter words: 3.3k story words: 9.1k (so far) chapter: 2/? genre: singer!dan, coffee shop au, barista!phil, slow burn [[ao3]] [[previous chapter]] [[first chapter]]

The third and the fourth and the fifth time Dan came to the coffee shop were increasingly normal. Phil found himself falling into an easy routine. Dan came in, sometimes tired, sometimes not. He ordered the same coffee, sometimes one for a friend, sometimes not. He always lingered a bit, sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for twenty. Sure, Phil still kind of sucked at making frappuccinos, but he’d become a right professional at making a triple espresso with one sugar

The sixth time Dan came in, however, he broke the routine.

It was nearing one o’clock — and the end of Phil’s shift — when Dan finally showed up. Phil breathed a sigh of relief. Dan hadn’t come in yesterday, and the previous day had been Phil’s day off. Weirdly, Phil was missing time with Dan, even though he was just a customer.

Well, there wasn't anything just about him.

“Morning Phil!” Dan seemed more chipper than normal this afternoon. His curly hair was peeking out from a pale pink beanie -- a weirdly soft color choice for him, particularly with his black skinny jeans and jumper.

Phil smiled back at Dan, acutely aware that his smile might have been betraying how eager he was to see Dan again. "It’s afternoon, Dan. The usual?"

"Yeah," Dan dug his wallet out of his front pocket. Those damn heavenly tight jeans were just too tight to be functional. "And a blueberry muffin. For here."

Phil's hand stilled over the to-go cup he was reaching for. He smiled but didn't risk looking up to meet Dan's eyes. He wasn't sure he could contain his excitement about Dan committing to sticking around for a bit.

When he'd recovered from the shock, he teased, "Actually staying here? Does that mean you're not late for once?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Dan gave him a playfully annoyed look. "I'll have you know I actually have nothing on my schedule today, so the only thing I could have been late for was getting here."

Phil’s head cocked to the side in confusion. "How can you be late to a coffee shop?"

"Well, I didn't know when your shift ended and I wanted to be here before it. I just couldn't manage to get myself out of bed before noon today for some reason."

Phil was eternally grateful for the fact that he didn't have anything in his hands at that moment because, surely, he would have dropped it.

Why would you care about getting here during my shift?

Do you like chatting with me too?

You have a day off and decided to come here?

Despite all of these — valid — questions running through Phil's head, all he managed was a perplexed, unintelligible "oh."

Great conversation skills, Phil.

Luckily, Dan didn’t need any more encouragement to continue talking. He sat down on the bar stool in between the cash register and the espresso machine. "When I have the day off, I have a tendency to not leave my house at all and end up not socializing with anyone. I'm too much of an introvert for my own good sometimes."

Finally, Phil found his voice again as he sat Dan's muffin down in front of him. "Same, actually. That's mainly why I picked this job. I figured it'd force me to have some human interaction. Maybe meet some new people in London."

Dan raised his eyebrows and popped a small bit of the muffin in his mouth. "And how's that working out for you?"

Phil poured the right amount of beans into the espresso maker and shoved the mug under the spout, accidentally smacking it against the machine. "Not too bad. Emmalee — you know, the other girl who works here? She's pretty cool, we have a lot in common. And—" Phil paused apprehensively "—you, which has been really nice. So, there's two new nice people at least." Before he could hear Dan's reaction, he flipped the machine on. The loud whir of the beans grinding was too loud to talk over, mercifully.

When the machine stopped, Phil looked back up at Dan. To his surprise, Dan's gaze was focused on his muffin, not Phil, and his cheeks were tinted light pink, almost the same color as his hat. Did I make him blush?

Dan stared at the muffin for a full minute while Phil finished making his coffee. If it weren't for Dan's rosy cheeks and the corners of his lips quirking up, Phil would be worried he’d said the wrong thing.

Finally, finally, when Phil set Dan's drink next to his picked-apart muffin, Dan looked back up at Phil with a bright smile. It was the big, toothy smile that Phil was getting used to seeing, not the tighter, more reserved one that Phil saw in the media and on his instagram (not that he would ever admit to knowing as much as he did about Dan's public life, if avoidable).

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you picked this job, too. I was also in need of a new London friend.”

Friend?

Did Dan consider Phil his friend?

Dan didn’t appear to notice Phil was in shock. “I didn’t leave my house at all yesterday — which is fully your fault by the way. I started watching Food Wars. I know you said not to watch it when I didn’t have good food at home, but I did.”

He’d take friend.

Phil laughed — properly laughed. On instinct, his hand raised up to cover his mouth. He thought he saw Dan’s eyes follow the movement of his hand, but he couldn’t be sure. “It’s so good right?”

“I might not have left my couch for 6 hours.”

Phil laughed. “Yeah? I’m not surprised. The first few episodes are kind of awkward to get through, and I’ll admit I still hate Nakiri, but Yukihara and Tadakoro are definitely keeping me invested.”

“What? Nakiri is the best character!”

“Excuse me?” Phil demanded. “She’s the one with so much pride she failed Yukihara despite him making her the best “pedestrian” food she’d ever tasted!”

“I mean, fair point. She is rather prideful, but that’s only because she’s not used to being around other people. Can you really blame her, when she’s been considered a food genius for so long? I can’t imagine she has many people skills.”

“You’ve got that right,” Phil snorted. “But that doesn’t mean she should be failing people who fully deserve to go to the school! She has a responsibility to both the students and the staff to make sure only the best of the best get in, and Yukihara is definitely the best of the best!”

“Sure, but how do you explain Tadakoro getting in?”

Phil’s jaw practically fell open, and his cheeks heated up as he realized he’d been beaten. Tadakoro often didn’t seem like she really truly belonged at the culinary academy, but still. “At least Yukihara isn’t too prideful to actually help the other students!”

Somewhere during their heated debate, Phil had completely lost track of the time. Dan was so easy to talk to; it felt like they just clicked. He liked that they had seemingly endless shared interests, but had opinions that were just different enough to keep the conversation interesting.

The door chime caught both Dan and Phil’s attention. Phil expected to see a customer, but it was Emmalee.

“Philip, I am here to relinquish you from customer service hell.” She dropped her backpack on the counter. If she was surprised to see Dan sitting at the counter, she hid it well. “Hey, Dan.”

Dan smiled politely and nodded hello before turning his attention quickly back to Phil.

“Is your shift over?”

Phil glanced at his watch. 14:25. Apparently him and Dan had managed to talk for nearly an hour and a half.

“Yeah, actually, looks like I’m off in five minutes.”

Dan looked almost disappointed. Or at least Phil thought he did. He was slowly getting better at reading Dan, but sometimes he wasn’t sure if the feelings he picked up were actually Dan’s or if they were just a hopeful projection of his own.

“I suppose I should get going anyway. I promised my Mum I’d ring her today. It’s my sister’s birthday this weekend and I think she wants to make plans.” Dan dropped a bill on the counter— Phil realized that he’d never actually taken Dan’s money earlier. Oops. “I’ll see you soon, Phil. Have a nice afternoon Emmalee.”

Phil waved goodbye to Dan. The bill on the counter was a twenty. Again, an over fifty percent tip on his tab of two coffees and a muffin.

Emmalee gently butted Phil out of the way of the cash register so she could clock in.

“He asked after you, you know.”

“Huh?”

“The other day. He came in when you weren’t working and he asked where you were.” Emmalee looked up, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Oh.” Phil couldn’t come up with anything better to say.

“If you ask me, it seems like somebody has a bit of a crush.”

Phil felt his cheeks and neck heat up. “Oh. I — uh. He has a girlfriend.”

Emmalee shrugged, cashing the twenty for him. “Right, like that’s ever stopped anyone from having a crush.”

“Wait, are we talking about me or him?”

Emmalee laughed. “Does it matter? My theory’s the same either way.”

Upon getting back to his apartment, Dan looked around and surveyed the damage from nearly 36 hours of not leaving the house. Somehow, there were four mugs on the coffee table. Four.

Did I really have that much coffee yesterday?

In addition to the four mugs, there were two half drank glasses of water, his dinner plate, two different gaming controllers, and his laptop. As much as he preferred his house to be tidy, this happened every time he hibernated. With an exasperated sigh at himself, Dan gathered the dirty dishes and carried them into the kitchen. He piled them on the counter and set his phone next to them, a safe distance from the sink.

“Hey Siri, call mum on speaker.”

While the phone rang, Dan started unloading the clean dishes from the dishwasher.

“Daniel James Howell, I told you to call me hours ago.”

Okay, so maybe Dan was always late for something, regardless of what he was trying to convince Phil.

“Sorry, Mum. I was being social. For once.”

“That’s good, I get worried about you when you stay inside playing video games for too long. With Louise or Isabella?”

“Someone else, actually. I do have more than one friend and a girlfriend, you know.” Technically.

“Not that I’ve ever heard of, dear.” She was teasing, but Dan could hear the ever-present undertone of concern in her voice.

“I… well… yeah.” Dan wasn’t sure what to say on the matter. He didn’t know how to explain that really most of his friends outside of Louise and Isabella were completely surface level but that he’d recently met a person he thought could be a real friend. Somehow, he doubted his mum would really believe him when he said that he was actually making friends with his barista.

Best to just change the subject. “What did you want me ring about?”

“Oh! Adaline’s birthday is Friday.”

Dan put the last clean mug away — jesus is all I drink coffee? — and started loading the dirty dishes. “I know, I have a reminder set. What do you want to do?”

“I was thinking we could come up to London for dinner. I know you said you’ve gone to some lovely restaurants. I’m sure she’d love to eat at one of those nice places. You can pick which one you think she’d like the most.”

“Yeah, okay. What time should I make a reservation for?”

“Does seven work for you?”

Dan headed to his room to round up any more dirty dishes, remembering at the last second to shove his mother in his back pocket.

“That’s fine. Is it just the four of us?” Dan asked absently. “Is Adaline still dating whats-his-face?”

“Mark? No. I think they broke up, unfortunately.”

“He was an idiot, Mum. Actual rocks are smarter than him.”

“He was such a nice boy, though. Sure, he wasn’t as smart as Adaline, but he had wonderful manners and he treated your sister right.”

“I suppose. Still doesn’t mean she has to date him.” Dan rolled his eyes as he picked up the glasses on his bedside table. “So just the four of us, then?”

“Actually dear—” Uh oh, I know that tone. “—I was thinking you could bring Isabella. We’ve all been hoping to meet her for a while.” Dan just about dropped the glasses.

Are we there yet? Are we at the meet the parents stage?

“Er—” Dan fumbled for an excuse. “I don’t want to step on Adaline’s birthday, I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate that.

“It was her idea, actually.” Unlikely. “So, will you bring her?”

“Oh. Um. I guess I’ll talk to her and see if she’s free.”

“Lovely, I can’t wait to meet her. Text me tonight to confirm that she’s coming, please. Have a good night, dear!”

Apparently, making birthday plans and dropping that bomb was all his mother wanted, because she hung up almost immediately. As soon as he was off the phone, Dan rang Isabella. No point in putting off asking her.

Isabella answered on the first ring, sounding relieved and a little bit upset. “Oh thank god you saw my text.” Quickly, Dan pulled the phone from his ear and put Isabella on speakerphone so he could figure out what the fuck the text was. “Please tell me you’re free tonight, baby.”

Dan scanned Isabella’s texts. Most of them seemed pretty mundane — she was ranting about her assistant again. Ah, wait, there it is. The last message seemed to sum up the problem.

Isabella: So obvi, i had no choice but to fire her & now I’m like totally screwed. I mean like Fashion Week is NEXT MONTH

Probably a beat too late, Dan responded, “Izzy, that sucks, I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I have to sort through resumes tomorrow, but right now I’m just…” She let out a long exhale. “I’m just stressed. Can we, like, go have a drink or something? Maybe at that place down the street from my place?”

Dan was already searching through the pile of clean laundry for a button down. “Of course, babe. When do you want me to be there?”

He thought he heard Isabella sniffle. I hope she’s not crying. “I’m already home, so can you just text me once you have a table at the bar?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” He pulled off his beanie and grumbled at the way the hat had made his hair look. He thought briefly about putting the hat back on, but the bar was too nice of a place for that. Oh well, nothing to be done about it now. “I’m leaving in just a few minutes, so I should be there in half an hour, okay?”

“You’re the best, Danny. Mwah!” Isabella hung up before Dan said goodbye.

The bar was more crowded than Dan had expected for four pm on a Wednesday — although Dan figured that was probably what Isabella liked about this place. He’d learned early on that she always preferred lively, crowded places when they went out.

Dan had barely made it through the door before the hostess rushed off to set up his and Isabella’s favorite table. Dan waited to text Isabella until the bartender had served them their usual drinks — a gin martini with a twist for Dan, and a vodka martini with a lemon peel (because olives are just too fatty) for Isabella.

By the time Izzy arrived, Dan was already halfway finished with his martini. Isabella came through the door uncharacteristically quietly. Normally, she stopped to talk to at least three people on her way to their table, but today she made a beeline for Dan. She didn’t even wait until she was fully seated to start telling him about her day.

“Babe, today was a mess!” she said.

Apparently, her assistant had given Isabella’s measurements to all of her tailors wrong, and all of her clothing had come back too big. Dan wasn’t sure why, but Isabella seemed to interpret that as a personal attack against her, and assumed her assistant thought she was fat.

Dan drank two and a half more martinis while Isabella told him the rest of the story. Truthfully, he wasn’t fully convinced her assistant deserved to be fired, but he wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud. Forty-five minutes later, Isabella finally seemed done ranting, and Dan decided to broach the topic of Friday night with her. He considered waiting until tomorrow to talk to her about it, but he knew his mum would pester him later if he didn’t confirm tonight that Isabella was coming.

“Hey, Izzy, I know this probably isn’t the best time to bring this up, but Friday is Adaline’s birthday.”

“What the fuck, Dan?” Isabella exploded.

Dan recoiled. Woah, that’s not the reaction I expected. He was afraid that anything he said would make the situation worse, so he wait for Isabella to continue.

“Who the fuck is Adaline? You told me you weren’t seeing any other girls!”

Oh, clearly she doesn’t remember who Adaline is. Dan reached across the table and covered Isabella’s hand with his own. “I promised you I’m not seeing other people, Izzy, and I’m not. Adaline is my sister, remember?”

Isabella smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Clearly she wasn’t entirely happy about something he’d said. “Oh right, silly me. I knew that.”

Dan squeezed her hand and gave her a small smile. “It’s okay, I know you’ve had a rough day. I shouldn’t have brought this up right now.”

Perhaps as a sign of forgiveness, Isabella flipped her hand over and interlaced her fingers with Dan’s. “So what about her birthday? Do you need help, like, finding her a present? I’ll go shopping for you!”

Her willingness to help made Dan happy. “I already have her present. Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to come to her birthday dinner with me? My parents and her are coming to London on Friday to celebrate.”

From the wide smile on her face, Dan never would have guessed that Isabella had been nearly crying fifteen minutes ago. “Danny!” she squealed. “I would love to come! I’ve been dying to meet your family. Honestly, I was, like, getting a little annoyed that you hadn’t introduced me to them yet.”

Dan tried his best to keep his surprise off his face. “Well, it’s only been a few months, and I’ve been really busy with work.”

“But they’ve been such totally perfect months. Whatever, it doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you’re taking me to meet your parents on Friday. This is an exciting step, babe!”

It’s a step, alright.

Dan just wasn’t sure it was a step he was ready for.

“This calls for a celebration, I think. I’m going to go to the ladies’ room, you take care of the check so we can go back to my place. I’ve got one of those nice bottles of champagne in the fridge and I think we deserve it.”

Isabella primly sat her folded napkin on the table and stood up. Before heading to the loo, she stepped around to Dan’s side of the table, moving in close. Her hand landed on his knee and teasingly ran up his thigh, stopping just centimeters from his hip. Her lips brushed his earlobe when she leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“I think you deserve something too, babe.”

She punctuated her statement with a suggestive squeeze of his thigh before she sauntered away, her hips swaying with every step.

On second thought, maybe this step was a brilliant idea.

thanks for reading! please like or reblog if you enjoyed :) i’m still planning to stick with the wednesday update schedule, so get excited for more hot content 

thanks @snowbunnylester for helping me tons and talking about food wars, which i’ve never seen oops.

[fuck-customers]

This is going to be a bit lengthy, and even though it was a small purchase and only a few bucks, I caught a scammer and im proud of myself. Plus the whole thing was insanely extra and annoying so I’m just gonna share it with you.

So onto the story…

Last night I was working a closing shift. Around 8 (2 hours before closing), a woman and her son come up to my register to check out. At this point there are no other customers. She has 12 red mangoes, and that’s all.

I go to ring them up but halfway through me typing the produce code for them, she asks, “these are the ones that are $3 for $1, right?” So I pause mid-code type, change it to a price inquiry, type it in, and inform her, “errr, no, they'e 88 cents a piece.”

Sooo… here’s where it gets good. We’ll refer to my coworker in produce by the name “Richard”. It is extremely important to note that Richard always wears a black company hat while on the clock. Next to no one else does this.

She tells me, “well Richard over there in produce said they were 3 for $1.”

Okay… at the time I wasn’t really thinking about it, but looking back I think my subconsious kicked in and smelled something fishy. Here in good old Colorado, and at my store, mangoes are never 3 for $1 unless we’re having one of our special 3 day sales… in the summer. They haven’t been that cheap in I don’t know how long, and my 2 year anniversary is in February, so I’ve been there long enough to know about that. Additionally, There’s been no other customers coming up with complaints about the price, which if it’s wrong, mangoes are popular, so I would have heard about it by now. And it was the last day of our weekly ad cycle so, what even?

So as a recap - at this point, I have a woman and her son at my register, claiming the mangoes are 3 for $1, and she’s specifically using an employee’s name to convince me she’s right, but I am doubtful. Already the beginning of a good scam story, right?

Well, here’s where it gets even better. Let me tell you how our conversation went.

Her: Richard in produce said I could have them for 3 for 1.

Me: err, okay well let me call and see.

Richard (over the phone): hello?

Me: hey, man, so what’s going on with the mangoes? Like, What price are they back there?

Richard: um… 88 cents. Wait… let me double check and look at organics too hold on.

Me: okay. *puts down phone and turns to woman* well, he’s saying they’re 88 cents a piece as well but he’s double checking.

Her: well I just talked to Richard back there a minute ago! Richard told me that I could have them 3 for $1. He was wearing a hat! Richard told me that was the price!

Richard (calling me back on the phone): yeah the regular ones are 88 cents. Organic 98.

Me: and there’s no sign anywhere that says 3 for 1? I have a woman up here saying that you said she could have them at 3 for a dollar. 

Richard: ..no? They'e 88 cents.

Her: Richard back in produce told me!

Me, knowing I was speaking to Richard but asks anyway: right uh.. is this Richard?

Richard: yeah..?

Me: well there’s a woman up here claiming that YOU told her that the mangoes were 3 for a dollar.

Richard, annoyed: is it (brief description of woman at my register)?

Me: yes.

Richard: I saw her in my department but she didn’t speak to me. I haven’t talked to anyone. I’ve been on lunch for the last half hour.

Me: okay, thank you. *sets phone back down, turns, faces woman, and looks her right in her eyes*

So I just got off of the phone with Richard, and he says that he didn’t tell you that, and that he’s been on lunch for the last half hour.

— so at this point she seems to understand that her scam isn’t working, but refuses to back down. At this point in getting a line but I’m INVESTED in this at this point, and there’s nothing I can really do at this point anyways because she won’t back down, so i am stuck there while she changes her scam from “Richard in produce told me” to now we are at -

Her: *turning towards the store and looking around* well it must have been somebody else then!! Who was it? I know he had a hat…

Me: …right well, Richard is our produce manager, sooooo….

She begins scanning the store for employees to pin this on, but hilariously, since she picked 8pm on a Tuesday night, the store is practically a ghost town void of both customers AND employees. Literally the only other employee that she can see besides me and Richard is a guy working in the meat department back room behind a glass wall.

Now, the thing is, is that the meat guys basically never leave their area, and they don’t rove the floor either as right next to the meat counter there are double doors leading to the back room. While they do face produce, they’re not exactly close to it. They have a coffin case in between them, and the doors for the back room that produce uses are literally on the opposite side of the store that meat counter is.

To her credit, I think the woman knew that trying to pin it on the meat guy, Who actually conveniently was wearing the same color and type of hat as Richard was, was ridiculous and wouldn’t have made any sense because she didn’t try to blame him for this. So not as stupid as you’d think, but still pretty questionable.

Anyways, I feel like at this point ive done all I can do, and she STILL won’t leave or accept me all but calling her a liar (all over wanting to pay $4 for almost $11 worth of mangoes, like really lady if you'e gonna pull a scam do it for something that’s WORTH IT), so i call the manager on duty.

However, I was trying to get to the MOD before this woman did, because in MY EXPERIENCE scammers and liars will absolutely talk and walk all over you as soon as a manager shows up and lie to their face - and unfortunately managers always believe the lies and get away with it. I knew if I was able to explain the situation first, it would be different - given that my current manager WILL bend rules, but is also known to stick up for us cashiers.

Luckily, I spot her pushing a cart down an action alley towards us, so I book it over and explain everything as fast as I can. At the end i say, “but you know, She’s…” my manager tries to finish, “She’s being rude?” But I reply, “She’s lying is what she’s doing. She’s lying.” And my manager says “oh, okay. Call (supervisor) up here to deal with the lines.” So I do, as at this point we had accumulated a long one.

So she walks up and asks this woman what’s going on, and in the SNOTTIEST, RUDEST tone she says, “Who are you?” It kind of surprised me because at this point while the scammer was being mind numbingly annoying, she had been reasonably polite, so for her to get so hostile over a manager kind of surprised me, but at this point, thank god, said manager was in charge and dealing with it now.

I took care of a few other customers while they were talking, and as soon as my line was done i excused myself and hung out by my supervisors register, which happened to be close enough to listen but far away enough to not be involved.

And I can hear what they'e saying - my manager having been informed of the scam, is holding firm on the 88 cent price, and the woman, for some unfathomable reason, is still insistent on the price. I think at this point she knew she was caught and was trying to leave gracefully by making it seem like a mistake, but it was really annoying.

Her: it must have been in the online ad.. unless the online ad is wrong.

Manager: they haven’t been that price for a while, MAYBE it was like that 2 weeks ago… (so not in any recent ad she might have “gotten confused” about.)

Even better was that… now, I didn’t find this out until afterwards as my supervisor started to ask me what was going on and since I was explaing it I didn’t hear this part of the drama… but my manager came up to me afterwards after she was done talking to the woman, that apparently the woman switched tactic again, never mentioned Richard, and instead said that she had called the store and asked about the price and whoever was on the phone, was now the magical entity that told her the mythical price of 3 for $1

Absolutely fucking hilariously, said manager said that she had gotten a call like that, answered it herself, and knew for a fact that she did not tell this woman they were 3 for a dollar.

Fucking OH MY GOD WOMAN, you got caught! It’s been obvious for the past 10 minutes that you'e not fleecing any of us! You can save yourself the most dignity by just… FUCKING OFF!

The whole thing was super obnoxious, but handle-able and im proud of myself for sticking to my guns and glad that my manager backed me up and stood firm, as orginally, before i said that the woman was lying, she started telling me to just give them to her for that price. So it was nice that she took me seriously and stood her (our) ground.

The only frustrating thing is that since I have borderline personality disorder… I’m not afraid of confrontation by any means (obviously) but sometimes my body overreacts to my emotion as well. So while I was keeping a cool and level head on the outside (believe it or not) my body was giving me away… my face was flushing, my voice was uneven, my body became stiff and weird and gangly, on top of shaking… too much adrenaline. But other than that I’m happy on how it worked out. Luckily I think my supervisor saw I was a bit jittery and sent me on my break to cool off.

And may I also say, that there’s few other customers that I hate as much as ones who name drop when the person they’re naming didn’t do what they claim they did. Richard seemed mad but cool and collected.. I know if someone did that to me like she did to him I would be stomping over and being like “she said WHAT now? No I did NOT!!!!!!” Back tf up. But that’s just another reason I don’t wear my name tag… can’t use my name if it’s not broadcasted!

But anyways kids, just keep in mind that name dropping is actually a really common way of scamming, it gives the illusion that they really did talk to someone when they didn’t. So it never hurts to double check with that person.

[lobsters-on-their-heads]

Continuing Travels of Cophine, Chapt. 8

This one was more of a bitch than the past chapters have been, but I think it’s okay now.  You can read the entire work here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12116799?view_full_work=true 

After shuttling through every major airport in Latin America (and several of the minor ones), Cosima expected landing in Toronto to be different, to feel like home.

It didn't.

As she leaned around Delphine to watch the city appear on the banks of Lake Ontario, she didn't get the thrill of seeing her home coming into view. It was just another city growing larger with their approach, not so different from San Juan, Buenos Aires, or São Paolo. Just colder and greyer.

“I've never seen it from this angle before,” she said.

“Hm?” Delphine opened one eye, frowning, both arms wrapped around her stomach.

“I've never flown into Canada before. I've driven or taken buses or whatever, but I've never seen it from the air.”

Delphine grunted. “`s nothing special.”

The plan landed in a few minutes, and they sat quietly waiting for first class to disembark before they stood up. When it was their turn, Cosima retrieved the carry-on suitcase containing the two remaining vials of clone cure from the overhead compartment, and led her still bleary-eyed fiancée from the plane. Parking themselves and their luggage in the non-citizens line for customs, Cosima wrapped her arms around Delphine's midsection and let Delphine rest her cheek on her the top of her head.

“Do you think you'll want to be a Canadian citizen one day? Like, after we're done traveling?”

Delphine shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Just maybe. Hmm. Usually I'm the one too tired to function after a flight, not you. You sure you're okay?”

Delphine nodded, though Cosima swore she felt a heaviness in Delphine's body that wasn't usually there.

“How much you wanna bet that you'll be wide awake once we put you in bed later?”

Delphine didn't answer.

The line moved foot by foot, a segmented snake of people moving through the legal limbo that existed on Canadian soil but not yet in Canada, and Delphine's eyes were closed more than they were open as she leaned either on Cosima's shoulder or on one of the lane dividers. The only time she perked up was when a security beagle went by sniffing everyone's luggage, and she pressed a knuckle against her lips to contain a squeal. Cosima mentally filed away the memory for later, when she might, potentially, be able to get Delphine a puppy. Some day. The thought was interrupted when Cosima's phone buzzed.

“Sarah says they're here,” she told Delphine.

“Hm,” was all Delphine said, still watching the beagle work its way down the line but no longer smiling. Cosima watched the way Delphine still rubbed her abdomen, and she wanted to do whatever she could to make the pain stop, to make Delphine smile again even for a second, but she knew that a customs line wasn't the place to try kissing it to make it better. She had to settle for kissing Delphine's cheek, instead.

“We'll be home soon,” she said.

For now, Cosima navigated their way through customs, paying the duty fee for the tequila they were bringing in, and leading her fiancée by the hand through the double doors into the arrivals area, where a small mass of people waited to greet their loved ones or business connections.

She saw the signs first – large poster board signs reading “WELCOME HOME” along with their names in rainbow colors and drawings of butterflies and airplanes, held by Charlotte and Kira. Charlotte stood as still and stoically as any of the sensible business people nearby, but Kira almost wiggled out of her skin. Both girls had grown since the summer, she saw, and Charlotte looked even more like the other sestras than she had on Skype. No matter how many times she saw her youngest clone, the resemblance to herself in adolescence still startled Cosima. Add a few years, a nose ring, and glasses, and Charlotte could start doing clone swaps. Behind the girls stood Sarah, looking almost the same as when Cosima last saw her, exhaustion, torn jeans, and all, and in her arms were two winter coats, one red, one black.

“You're gonna need these,” Sarah said after she'd hugged them both.

Cosima swathed herself in her old red coat, smelling the must of the Rabbit Hole's closet, and fought the memories that threatened to explode in her mind.

Meeting Alison for the first time. Running through campus with Delphine and a bottle of wine. Coughing up blood.

She shook her head and smiled to thank her sister. From her bag she took her hat and gloves, packed back in June with this day in mind, and Delphine did the same. Hers, though, were purchased in Mexico, where selection was limited. The hat was one of those ear-flap varieties decorated with bright red snow flakes and a white pompom on top that looked frikkin' adorable on Delphine, but which Cosima knew would be traded for Delphine's trusty old grey beanie in less than 24 hours.

Outside the airport, both of them gasped when the frigid air hit their faces, making Sarah and Kira laugh. Making sure the girls weren't quite in earshot, Cosima muttered, “fuuuuuck....”

“A bit different than what you've gotten used to, isn't it?” Sarah said.

Several rows of cars later, Sarah pulled out her keys and pushed a button to unlock a black Prius.

“What happened to Siobhan's truck?”

“Nothing. It's still back at the house. It's not that easy getting two girls to and from everywhere with it, though, you know? Especially since they keep getting taller on me.”

The Prius had four doors and a hatchback and looked more suited for Alison Hendrix than Sarah Manning, except for a bumper sticker advertising Bobby's Bar. Charlotte took the front seat, with Kira sitting between Cosima and Delphine in the back.

“Me and Charlotte convinced Mom to get this car,” Kira said. “And Colin helped, too.”

“Yeah,” Sarah said as she pulled out of their spot. “Alison wanted me to get a minivan.”

Cosima tried to imagine Sarah driving a minivan, and laughed. “Well, I appreciate any and all attempts at reducing the carbon footprint.”

Sarah pulled into the long line of cars exiting the airport parking lot. “That's what the girls said. What do you want for dinner, by the way? Or did you eat on the plane?”

Cosima smirked. “Yeah, no, we fly coach. No in-flight meals for us. And whatever you guys want is fine. How `bout you, babe?” She reached around Kira to tap Delphine's shoulder. “You want anything special for dinner?”

“Anything is fine. All I really want is a cup of coffee.”

Cosima snorted. “Only if you want to spend the night by yourself.”

In the time since leaving Dyad, Delphine's caffeine intake had been severely reduced, meaning each cup of coffee packed a much larger punch than it had in her days of four to six cups a day. She'd forgotten that once in Guatemala, when one of the clinic doctors gave her a 16 ounce cup of local brew in the afternoon and Cosima thought she might actually jitter out of her own skin. It was the only night Cosima had ever kicked Delphine out of bed, because Delphine simply could not keep her body still.

Charlotte twisted to look at them from the front seat. “Sarah says we're going wherever you guys want to go for dinner.”

“Yeah,” Kira agreed. “So you should pick something.”

They looked at each other over Kira's head, and Delphine shrugged. “You have been saying you miss maple syrup. And peanut butter.”

At that, both Charlotte and Kira broke into smiles. “We can go to Jack's!” Kira cried. “We can have breakfast for dinner!”

Sarah paid for their parking and the car sped out onto the highway towards Toronto proper. Cosima was struck by how different the landscape here was from each Latin American city they'd been to, and she was about to comment on it, but when she looked over, she saw a far off look on Delphine's face. Her fiancée's mouth was drawn into a small frown, and her eyes were larger than usual. Cosima reached over and brushed the side of her head, making Delphine jump a little.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yes.” Delphine turned to kiss Cosima's wrist. “Just remembering things.”

At Jack's Diner, they all piled into a booth towards the back, and everyone got hot chocolate except Sarah, who got black tea. Cosima hadn't thought she was hungry on the ride over, but the pies in the front display case called her name as she walked past, and just about everything on the menu looked amazing.

“Will you judge me,” Cosima asked the table at large, “if I order something super unhealthy?”

“It's the Christmas season,” Delphine said, “so we can all be a little unhealthy, I think.”

“Alison would disagree with you there,” Sarah said. “Apparently she's got her whole family on a diet right now.”

Kira giggled. “That's just because she caught Helena giving the twins butter.”

“What's wrong with butter?” Delphine asked. “They're eating solids now, aren't they?”

“Yes,” Charlotte said, “but it's just butter. Like, she gets a glob of butter on her fingers and gives it to them like that. They love it.”

Cosima could picture that quite well, and she imagined that Helena would transfer some of her own idiosyncrasies about food to her feeding of the boys, who were now nine months old. “That sounds like Helena,” she said.

Delphine nodded. “As long as they're getting a balanced diet otherwise and their pediatrician says they're okay, butter should be fine.”

“She also gave them a can of frosting,” Charlotte said, “but I think she ate most of that herself.”

It must've been news to Kira, who turned to her mother to indignantly say, “you never let me eat frosting out of the can!”

“Yeah, `cause I'm not Helena, and neither are you! You heard about her trip to the dentist, yeah, Cos?”

She had. Apparently Helena had gone most, or even all, of her life without seeing a dentist, and that combined with her sugar addiction had created a goldmine of cavities. The only way the family had gotten her through the initial exam and cleaning was by Donnie holding her hand the whole time, and discussions were underway as to how to get her through the recommended fillings and a potential root canal.

“She just needs a little moral support,” Kira had said. “She's afraid of doctors.”

“I'm sure one of us can sit with her through it,” Cosima said. “If that's what it takes. We'll find a dentist who understands.”

The waiter came for their orders, and Delphine got a salad. All the talk of butter and frosting turned her off of the heavier menu items, but Cosima had the opposite response, ordering a plate of French toast, scrambled eggs with cheese, and hash browns. She might regret it all later, but that was a problem for later. Sarah ordered a club sandwich, Kira got a stack of pancakes, and Charlotte ordered the eggs benedict.

While they waited for their food to arrive, they chatted about family news and local happenings, with Kira doing most of the talking and Sarah or Charlotte chiming in with side notes or corrections. They learned that Cal Morrison, Kira's father, might be coming to town for Christmas, but no one was quite sure how likely that was. Then their food arrived, and Cosima stopped caring about Cal Morrison. After a few minutes of quiet chewing and the clatter of silverware on plates, Charlotte sighed and slumped in her seat.

“What's wrong?” Cosima asked. The youngest Leda had seemed in better spirits that evening than in their recent Skype calls, but she could be moody, too.

Charlotte twisted her mouth like she didn't want to say, but then said, “Ira's was better.”

Ira's. Cosima had not thought about Ira for months, focusing on the Ledas they could and would save rather than the Castor men they hadn't even tried to save. She reached across the table and took Charlotte's hand in hers. “Ira was a good guy,” she said. “I know you miss him.”

Tears gathered in Charlotte's eyes, but she nodded and picked her fork back up. She didn't eat, but pushed a piece of egg around on her plate, eyes down.

“Did he ever show you how to make it?” Delphine asked.

Charlotte shook her head. “He said it was hard to get it right.”

Delphine nodded. “It is hard, but once you have the technique, it's not too bad. Would you like to learn?”

“Do you know how to make it?” Charlotte asked.

“Yes, but it's been a while.”

Cosima leaned back from her own decimated plate to arch an eyebrow at Delphine. “You've never made me an eggs benedict.”

“You've never asked for one.”

After they'd eaten their fill of diner food and Cosima decided against buying any pies, Sarah drove them to the Rabbit Hole and dropped them off. “See you tomorrow, yeah?” she called from the driver's seat.

Cosima nodded. “Yeah, definitely. Maybe tomorrow afternoon, though. We need to settle in a little before too much family time.”

Downstairs, in the cold former storage space come laboratory, she and Delphine turned on all the lights, set down their luggage, and stood for a minute, staring at the space and each other. It was cold enough that their breath fogged in the air. Despite the months that she and Delphine had spent living here after the fall of Neolution, the first memories that sprang to Cosima's mind were of bloody coughing fits, robot worms, and soul crushing despair, but to her surprise, she still felt a rush of fondness for the little apartment – laboratory combo.

“You know,” Cosima said, “I didn't realize it, but I kind of missed this place. In a weird way.”

Delphine turned on the nearest space heater, then wrapped her arms around Cosima and nuzzled her hair. “Why is it weird?”

“Because so much of the time I spent here was.... well, it wasn't exactly happy.”

“No. But some of it was, I think.”

She nodded and rubbed her nose against Delphine's warm neck. “Yeah. Especially once you got here.”

Delphine giggled. Her clothes smelled like coffee and bacon, and the stale airplane air they had marinated in for much of the day. Then she sighed and pulled Cosima closer.

Cosima rested her her hands on Delphine's hips and thought back to their dinner. “Is it okay with you that I've only told Sarah so far?”

“What?”

“That we're engaged. Sarah's the only one I've told, well, not counting Art. The girls don't know.”

“Oh, no, that's okay. If you told the girls, they would run around and tell everyone else before we got the chance to, and you want to tell them yourself.”

“Exactly.”

They broke away from each other to turn on the remaining space heaters scattered around the basement and to check their stores of winter clothing. Then, Cosima went over to the storage case and looked at the new vials of the clone vaccine Scott had put together for them. “We'll need some more. There's only twenty here, and we have, what, fifty in Europe and the Middle East?”

“Something like that.” Delphine plucked at the sleeve of Cosima's jacket. “Worry about that tomorrow. I'm going to take a shower, and you know the hot water here doesn't last very long.”

By the time Cosima got into the tiny bathroom with the clawfoot bathtub and the fitful shower head, Delphine was already naked and shampooing her hair. No matter how many times Cosima had seen Delphine naked, in various states, moods, and positions, watching Delphine wash her hair always held a special appeal for her. Maybe it was the way Delphine's arms raised above her head and stretched out her torso, or the way she held her head to one side, or maybe it was just the play of water over her skin, coursing across the freckles on her back and down the crack of her ass...

“Are you coming in?”

“Yeah, yeah. Totally.” She shucked off her clothing and climbed in with her, hurrying to soap up the most important parts of herself. As Delphine predicted, the water cooled off just as they finished rinsing off, so Cosima had goose bumps when she stepped out. There would be no shower sex in this place, that was for sure.

After they'd showered, dried off, and crawled under the layers of blankets on the bed, Cosima tucked herself against Delphine's body and breathed in the warm smell of her skin and hair. Delphine wore a T-shirt and flannel pajamas pants, and Cosima missed the easy access to her bare skin she'd had in Latin America, when all Delphine wore to bed most nights was a pair of shorts. She kissed her above the neckline of the T-shirt.

“I'm glad you're here,” she whispered.

Delphine squeezed her arm. “Me too. Did you think I wouldn't be?”

“No, no. It's not that. I'm just glad you're here.”

“Hm.”

She felt Delphine smile, and her fingers tapped against Cosima's arm even as residual warmth from the shower weighted Cosima's limbs down. “You're not even, like, remotely tired anymore, are you?” Cosima asked.

“Only a little bit. I slept pretty heavily on the plane.”

Cosima remembered Delphine's face, tucked into and drooling on her rolled up sweatshirt, scowling in her sleep. “You did. You seemed upset when you woke up, too. Did you have a bad dream?”

Delphine paused before answering, which meant the answer was probably yes even if Delphine said no. She pulled Cosima closer and ran her fingers over her upper arm, feeling the curves of her muscles. They'd both kept fit on their journey, walking and biking a lot, doing yoga, and discovering a mutual love of rock climbing, complete with jokes about the next time they'd get each other in a harness.

“You could say that,” she said.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Delphine chest shook a little as she breathed in, making Cosima look up to see her staring at the ceiling. Cosima knew when Delphine was stalling. A year after their little Don't Ask Don't Tell arrangement on Revival, Delphine talked a lot more, but her habit was still to keep difficult topics close to her chest, even as Cosima got better about seeing through her defenses.

“I don't remember all of it,” she said.

Cosima rubbed her thumb over Delphine's ribs through her shirt. “That's okay. Tell me what you remember.”

“It was just... old worries I thought I was finished with. Like, something scraped up the old, accumulated gunk from the underside of my psyche and set it floating around in my head again. I need to just let it settle back into place, forget about it again.”

“That's an oddly poetic way to describe it without telling me what you actually dreamed about.”

She let out a huff of air. “Okay. I dreamed that you were dead. Is that better?”

Cosima kissed her jaw, then her cheek. “I'm sorry.”

“For what?”

“For your dream, for almost dying on you a couple times before, for being a brat. You know. For all of it. All the clone drama you've had to put up with over the years. And that you'll probably have to keep putting up with.”

Delphine kissed her back, holding her lips in hers for a moment before letting go. “You're worth it. And besides, I don't expect any upcoming clone drama to even remotely rival the drama with Neolution. Do you?”

“Oh, God, let's hope not.”

“We're safe now. I mean, as safe as anyone really is.”

She kissed the corner of Delphine's mouth, then the side of her nose and her temple. “I still think about it though, in like, fits and spurts. Sometimes I go days without even thinking or remembering that, hey, we didn't always have it this nice, you know. And then it hits me, like, I'll have a bad dream, or some smell will hit me, or I'll see someone who looks like Coady or Susan Duncan or whoever, and it all comes rushing back. Is it like that with you, too?”

Delphine gave her a small smile and stroked her face. “Yes. It is exactly like that.”

Cosima wanted to say more, but a large yawn stifled her words, and she snuggled back against Delphine. When she spoke again, her voice slurred a little with sleepiness. “It's probably just being back here. Back in Toronto, back in this basement. Seeing Sarah again, all that. It's kind of hit me, too. There's a lot of memories here.”

“Yes, there are. But, we can make new ones. New memories.”

“Damn skippy we will.”

Delphine giggled and tugged the blankets higher to cover their shoulders. Cosima's body relaxed, but her mind kept going, catching on the rough edges of memories. “Are you okay?” Delphine asked.

“Yeah, I'm good. Just, you know. You got me thinking, too. About the power of memories, and how our brains just, like, snap us back in time without much warning.”

“Mmm. Yes, they do.”

“Like, there was that one clinic we were in, I think it was in Sucre, and they'd just had a patient come in bleeding all over the damn place, and the walls were just concrete, and it was damp, and something about the smell just...”

She closed her eyes, but it wasn't the clinic she saw behind her eyelids.

“Like, I didn't even register the smell first,” Cosima went on. “The memory hit me before the smell really clicked. I didn't have any choice about whether or not to remember.”

Delphine stroked her hair. “Which memory?”

“The cage, and Janus. All that.”

Delphine hadn't learned about those details until after Westmoreland was dead, after the dust had settled on Neolution and various law enforcement agencies had tied up the loose ends. Delphine had stumbled across the partial tuxedo tucked in the back of the closet and asked Cosima if she would ever wear it again, and Cosima had told her the story. Cosima remembered how pale Delphine's face had gone, and how tightly she'd held her in her arms afterwards.

Delphine rubbed her back under the covers and nuzzled her hair. “You can talk about it more, if you want to.”

“I know. As I recall, though, we started talking about your inner demons, not mine.”

“I'll tell you more about mine in the morning.”

“Hmm. You promise?”

“I promise.”

“Do you promise to still be here in the morning when I wake up?”

She kissed Cosima's fingers. “Yes, I promise. There's nowhere else I want to be.”

[starlabsforever-blog]

Dude, I have so many. So here's a bunch for Killervibe :) Location (Freelance Whales), I Can't Help Falling In Love With You (Elvis), Hold My Heart (Sara Bareilles), Issues (Julia Michaels), I Dream and Ocean (Charlene Kaye)

I went with Location. The song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JqIz5_qbxrA

Also, kudos to @mosylufanfic for giving me someone to bounce ideas off of for this one

I Am Sensing Your Location

The first time it happened, Cisco was right in the middle of a fight. He was taking down a couple of rough customers with Cindy, and needless to say, it was a very inconvenient time to be rendered incapacitated on the ground by a headache.

When he came to, even the scumbags Cindy had cuffed were concerned. Cindy brought him to Julian, much to Cisco’s annoyance (“You realize you just swapped out one migraine for another one, right?”). Julian diagnosed Cisco with a serious case of off-his-meds and referred him to someone who would write him a prescription of dubious legality.

It wasn’t getting better. On the contrary, it was getting exponentially worse, but Cisco hid it from the others as best he could. They had enough to deal with.

At first, he thought it was just the vibing circuits of his brain throwing a fit because of some electrical anomaly, and he didn’t think there was any sort of significance to the vibes. After all, it had been a long while since he’d had random vibes of any importance. Thanks to Cindy, his skills were becoming honed enough that he could see things at will when he needed to. When he had the migraines, it was usually the visual equivalent of static- flashes of light and color, occasionally punctuated by a shape or a blurry image if his brain was feeling generous, but they were disjointed and never made sense. Until he had the fourth migraine, and he saw Caitlin. 

It wasn’t a very clear image; it had the the same cobalt tint and smear around the edges as the rest of his vibes. He saw her face clear as day, but where she was or what she was doing he couldn’t tell.

It happened a few more times, but it was always the same- too blurry, too vague. He was tempted to vibe in on her intentionally, to see if he could clear up the picture, but he didn’t. He told himself it was because of the migraines. Really, it was because he was terrified of what he might see.

“You just couldn’t wait to see me again, huh? You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

“Shut up.” Her hands misted dangerously.

“Actually, I’m kinda inclined to do the opposite of that. You’ve done nothing to convince me that you’re not gonna Frozone my ass as soon as I stop stalling.”

“I’m not going to kill you, Cisco,” she said, and for a second, her eyes were murky blue-brown, like the bottom of a lake.

He stepped forward, hands up. 

Then her eyes glinted, and she said in that horrible, inhuman voice, “I’m going to put you through hell.”  

Cisco woke up screaming.

When his voice gave out, he pulled the covers over his head, bunching his hands up in them, trying to calm down with the breathing exercises Caitlin had taught him a millennia ago. He was drenched in sweat but at the same time he felt cold clear through. He told himself that it was just a dream, that it wasn’t the right shade of blue. It had had the distorted, trippy feel of a hallucination, so it must have been a fever dream or else just stress.

That goddamn fight in the woods. Infantino Street wouldn’t leave him alone. He clutched onto his phone, his fingers hovering over Cindy’s contact, but he ended up dropping it on his nightstand. She was great and she cared and all, but she hadn’t seen him having a breakdown of this magnitude, and he wasn’t sure she would know what to do with him. He wasn’t sure she would be any comfort at all.

What he really wanted was Caitlin. Not the pale, distant woman who’d left H.R.’s funeral, and certainly not the hell maiden he’d just seen in his nightmare. He wanted his best friend Caitlin, who watched The Walking Dead with him, who hated when he stole her pizza pockets, who had spent nights sleeping on his couch just to keep her company. He wanted her so badly and it made him want to cry. 

He sat up and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. He didn’t need any help from his nightmares or his vibes to worry about Caitlin. He had no idea where she was or what she was doing, or if she was even alive, and his overactive imagination had been more than happy to remind him of all of the horrible fates that she could have suffered. That was all this was, was his overactive brain and his anxiety, and the sleep deprivation certainly couldn’t be helping.

With his nightmare fresh in his mind, he was weak. He just had to know that she was safe, that she was okay, that she was alive somewhere. Then that would give him enough peace of mind to sleep. He hadn’t slept much for the last three weeks.

He rifled through his dresser and found what he was looking for, folded up in the bottom drawer. It was a blue t-shirt that said Trust me, I’m the doctor. He had bought it, but she was the only one who ever wore it. The last time she’d worn it must have been months ago, the last time he’d gotten badly hurt enough that she’d insisted on going home with him. He hoped it would be good enough.

He held it with both hands, close to his face. It still had the faded scent of her lavender shampoo. He breathed in lavender and closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on Caitlin.

Nothing.

He huffed, frustrated, and tried again. He knew how to do this. These days, he didn’t even need an object, so why couldn’t he do it now?  Maybe he needed to be in the right mindset. Okay, be zen. Calm down. Deep yoga breaths. He picked up the shirt and tried again. Still nothing.

He tossed the shirt to the ground, frustrated. He scoured his apartment, hoping he’d find an old earring of hers or something that would have soaked up her presence, but there was nothing any better than the t-shirt, not here.

He drove his truck to STAR Labs, because the migraine nibbling at the nape of his neck threatened to split his skull in two if he tried to open a breach. He raced to the elevator, his pulse still humming from the adrenaline of his dream.

He tore her desk apart, but everything felt felt too trivial or impersonal. The things he’d used before, Barry’s suit, Zoom’s hat. Dante’s car keys, were more than just a favorite pen or an earring left behind. It had to be something special.

He saw it in the corner of his eye, just a glint at the bottom of her desk drawer, and it felt like a godsend.

Her wedding ring. 

He scooped it up, hands trembling, and closed his fingers around it.

Nothing happened.

He put his foot through the drawer and got a splinter in his leg.

Cisco kept trying to vibe her, but either he hit the same wall of blocky static or he was seized by an unbearable migraine. He took to wearing the wedding ring on a chain around his neck, just to keep it close to him. He decided Ronnie wouldn’t have minded. 

He asked Cynthia if she’d ever not been able to vibe before. “Um, like, hypothetically. Have you ever had a block for a specific person?”

She looked at him a little suspiciously, but didn’t ask. She didn’t ask him for much these days. “Once. My partner. He was in serious trouble and I was trying to- to make sure he was okay.”

It was a striking parallel, but it just made him more frustrated. He never asked for these stupid brain-splitting powers, okay, and the one time he really needed to use them, the omnipotent power of the multiverse had decided, nah, you don’t need to know whether Caitlin’s alive. 

“How did you get past it?” he asked Cynthia. 

She stiffened. “I never got the chance,” she said, and turned away.

The migraines basically kept him from sleeping, ever, so that’s why he was slumped over his couch at 3 AM and at least a little high on pain medication. He was tightly clutching Cait’s wedding ring, his hand loosely over his heart, and not quite on the upside of the spectrum of consciousness when his world sputtered into blue. 

This time, there was no migraine, and no acid trip. He saw Caitlin, with her shock-white hair and pale skin. She turned around and her eyes were brown, they were brown. She wore all black and red lipstick, and she was in a room he’d never seen before. He tried to look around to find maybe a window or any distinct feature that could help him locate her, but there was nothing. Lonely white walls and a depressing beige carpet. She sat on a bed in the corner, playing with something in her hand. 

“Caitlin,” he whispered, even though he’d never tried that before. Predictably, she didn’t look up. He tried to focus on the shiny, silvery object in her hand, and his heart stopped when he realized what it was.

The pieces of the necklace he’d made her.

He had no idea where she’d found the remnants, or why or how she’d kept them. That didn’t matter to him nearly as much as the fact that wherever she was, she still had it and she apparently spent a lot of time looking at it.

Something he’d once made to protect her.

He focused on her face, trying to make out her features through the blurry unfocused lens. Her eyes were downcast and her face was lined, tired. She was slumped against the wall behind that bed, hugging herself.

Even though he was almost positive it didn’t work this way, he tried to project thoughts to her- Caitlin, Cait, where are you? I miss you. I need you. I still want you.

He wasn’t sure it was him calling out to her so much as his heart bursting out of his chest, mourning for her, yearning for her. His hand closed over the ring.and the atmosphere changed.

It was as sudden as a flash of lightning but as subtle as a heat wave. For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw her eyes lock with hers. Then the necklace slid out of her fingers.

He came to on his living room floor, still clutching the wedding ring tightly in his fist.

Caitlin stared at the broken pieces in her hand. Its purpose was purely sentimental. Even before Killer Frost, she hadn’t been much of a sentimental person, but having your life turned upside down and fundamentally shaken had an effect on you. 

She didn’t know why she brought these. She shouldn’t have. She needed to spend this time with herself and reflect on herself and if and when Central City ever fit into that picture again, she would go back. Everything around her had changed, and she was changing, too. She had to. 

But she could only be so strong for so long. When she felt this helpless and hopeless, she just held the biggest remnant of the silvery snowflake in her hand, thinking of the hands that had made it for her. She closed her eyes and imagined his strong, warm hands, his smile, his voice, his arms.  

If she allowed herself to, she missed him so badly that it hurt. She closed her hand around the necklace.

I need you

She jumped and glanced around wildly. Hearing things, definitely. She was alone.

And then for a split second, she wasn’t.

Cait

She wasn’t sure if he was there, exactly, but she felt him. She felt his presence like a burst of warm sunlight, like a sudden summer storm, like two arms wrapped around her. 

Then like a crack of lightning, she was alone again.

Cisco slept with the ring around his neck that night. He decided Ronnie definitely wouldn’t mind.

The next morning, his head was full of cotton, but the migraine was gone. He didn’t feel as lonely as the last night before, or as desperate. Something had shifted.

He held the ring against his chest and closed his eyes, thinking with all of his might, Cait, I’m here. Wherever you are, I’m here.

Somehow, what had felt like an unnavigable chasm between them was just the tiniest bit smaller.

[nish-e-r-r-o-r-neesh]

Write older pines twins *runs away*

Here’s the requested fanfic for anon (yay!). Thanksfor that request! Here’s your Gravity Falls fic about older Pines twins. Hopeyou like it~! (pls don’t hate me this turned out pretty angsty and nostalgic)

Summary:  Maybe riflingthrough Stan’s and Ford’s old stuff wasn’t the thing to do to find somedecorations.  It worked out pretty wellfor Dipper and Mabel, though.

Title: “OldStuff”

Heh… it hasn’t even been that long ago andeverything’s covered in dust.

The ear-piercing sound of metal grinding againstrusted slates sounded through the now empty gift shop. I shoved harder, forcingthe flickering metal box open. Apparently, punching in the familiar code wasn’tenough to crack open the chamber of secrets hidden beneath the Shack. For thefirst time in a long while, I had to use brute force.

I grunted each time my shoulder hit the rustedmetal. I counted every little inch the old vending machine gave way.

Seven…eight…nine—

“Gahh!”

The hunk of metal slipped completely, crumplingloudly into a rusted pile at my feet—and I’d almost fallen with it. I had myhand on the wall, trying to regain my breath. Only a few inches away was thegaping maw of darkness in which I knew there was a stairwell waiting, coveredin years and years’ worth of dust.  

It was quite laughable, actually; the Shack hadalways been prone to dust. I remembered constantly having to dust off theknick-knacks in Stan’s office, finding the same intense consistency of dustspread over the shelved items each week. I’d even chalked it up to some sort ofancient ghost or entity that brought dust in its mourning wake. Who knows? It could still be something of the sort…

“Hey, Bro-Bro! You in here?” Came the holler fromthe hallway. I sighed, straightening up. I turned around to find Mabel’sbraid-infested head poking out the side of the doorway, the purple scruff ofher turtleneck only slightly visible.

Nothing has really changed much with her. She lovedputting unnaturally colored things into her hair, braiding them even, and stillwore matching headbands and sweaters. She kept her cheery aura and brightsmile, minus her old braces though.

Hah. We’d spent so many summers in this very place,all her smiles here with those braces, and now she seemed incomplete to lookat. It was like a re-doing of an art piece, almost the same but… something wasmissing. As though something changed, had been forgotten…

…or left behind.

I gave alittle smile as she walked into the room. She stood silent for a minute,sparkling eyes watching me in the dim light. Her gaze lingered on the collapsedvending machine for a moment, before shifting back towards me.

“You know, Melody’s going to be pretty upset if youleave that vending machine there with that exposed black hole for all thecustomers walk through tomorrow.” Mabel chided, giving me a cheeky smile.

“Haha,” I shot back with a smile of my own. “I’llclean it up, don’t worry.”

Another pause, neither of us saying anything, simplystaring at one another. Then Mabel’s eyes slipped to the doorway, her mouthparting apprehensively for a question.

“I…” she faltered. Then she coughed, regaining hercomposure. “So… they kept all the stuff down there, huh?”

“Not all of it,” I defended. “Just… most of it.”

Mabel turned her chin up, smiling triumphantly asshe stalked forward. “Well, dear brother, would you like me to help you out? Imean, come on Bro. You can’t rifle through all that stuff alone.” She set herelbow on my shoulder, now a tad bit hard for her to accomplish, seeing as I wasthree inches taller now.

Heh. Puberty had its perks.

“Fine. Whatever, Short-stuff,” I teased, fishing aflashlight out from my pocket.

Mabel huffed in return, setting her hands on herhips in a ridiculously sassy pose. She rose a fist level with my throat, andfor a second I thought she was going to punch me. “Mystery Twins?” she said,holding out for a fist-bump.

Sure, childish, but you can never take childishnessaway from Mabel. And, admittedly,neither can you take any away from me. We may have been pre-teens that firstsummer, but every fiasco-filled day we spent growing up together in this veryShack still filled me with that rush of adventure and freedom, something Mabelwould see as childishness. And, over the years, learning the horrible truth ofhow it was to be an adult, I supposed that ‘childishness’ would always besomething I came back to. The both of us.

I raised my fist to hers. “Mystery Twins.”

————————————————————————————-

I coughed—and might have gagged a bit—at the amountof dust that filled my nostrils. I could hear Mabel’s equally intense coughingas her fingers fumbled the wall for a light switch. Eventually, a resounding click! Echoed through the room as dimfluorescent lights flickered to life overhead.

“Ford’s old lounge,” Mabel declared through wateringeyes, not from the nostalgia so much as the dust. “We should’ve bought masks orsomething.”

“Or at least a hanky,” I offered, waiting for a bitas the dust settled. This was far toomuch dust for such a short amount of time.

It’s only been a year! Everything here seemed tohave spent eternity under their covers, within their bags, on their places onthe shelves and tables, to be covered in this intense an amount of dust. It wasnearly unbelievable. But then again, the Mystery Shack itself had a good numberof unbelievable secrets.

I looked toward the walls, noting the rusted hooksstill embedded above from which about a dozen portraits of a certainthree-sided demonic corn chip hung several years ago. Now there were onlyboxes, shelves, and unruly stacks of random item after random item. There werealso a few old and tattered maps and posters clinging forgotten on some spaces.

“So,” Mabel chirped, walking further into the room.“How much you wanna bet this is mostly Grunkle Stan’s stuff?”

“Well duh it’sall Stan’s stuff,” I said, picking up an old wooden baseball bat. “Ford wouldhave someone’s head if any of his stuff were crushed with the weight of allthese.” I set down the bat in favor of an old, black suitcase as Mabel swungopen a large wooden chest next to me.

“This is all Stan’s, alright….” Mabel muttered,shuffling thoroughly through her newfound treasure trove. “So, DipDop,” shegrunted, heaving something out of the way. “What’re we looking for anyway?”

“Good stuff,” I told her, peaking into a cardboard boxstacked on top of three more. “Melody thought the living spaces could use somemore…. hominess. I just thought Stan’s and Ford’s old stuff might do the trick.”

Mabel snorted, looking up at me from her woodenchest. “Really? You want to display their old stuff in the living room just‘cause you thought they’d look pretty?”

I shrugged, not saying a word more.

I let myself get carried away in rifling through Stan’sold belongings. Some of them were random knick-knacks I’d seen him steal fromplaces we’d visit on a road trip. A gold-painted figurine—now caked with grime,a glove box he’d stacked some coins into, an old trucker’s hat he “found” andkept just because he said it matched with mine, and others of the like.

Stan wasn’t… the bestperson in the world, confronted with the usual standards, anyway. But hewas… well, he did sacrifice himselffor his family in more ways than one. The whole memory-losing stunt he’d pulledwas only one thing—he’d jumped from an explosion several feet high, riskedgetting eaten by zombies, and facedoff against several thugs all to save me and my sister.

“Hey, remember this?” Mabel chuckled, tossing me anold, worn-out suit. It was Stan’s Mister Mystery outfit.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, feeling the smooth cloth. It wasseverely worn out, smelling ofmothballs and dust. Otherwise, it seemed perfectly fine. “Can’t believe hestopped wearing it though.”

“He only stopped wearing it last year when…” Mabel’stone grew heavy, her smile faltering.

I tried to flash her a smile of my own as I foldedthe suit up neatly. I wanted to take this back.

“Oh!” she jumped, watery eyes immediately filledwith a gleeful sparkle. “Check this out!” Out of her wooden chest she drew aset of brass knuckles, now slightly rusted and dulled in color. “Stan’s oldbrass knuckles! I thought he’d thrown these away.”

“Now those areworth taking back,” I smiled, reaching for them. “Oh man, remember that timewith the zombies?”

Mabel snorted, smiling coyly. “How could I forget?Man, Stan was pretty badass.”

“Extremely,” Ideclared as we shared a laugh. Our chuckles quieted quickly, however, andMabel’s smile drooped almost instantly. I hated seeing her that way. As much ashated to admit it, it’s been happening a lot recently. To the both of us.  

“Hey, come on,” I nudged her. “Let’s see what othertreasure we can find.”’

I was thankful for her little, lighthearted smiledespite how forced it was. “Okay,” she said, getting up from her wooden chest.“I’m going to check over there. I’ve gone through everything in this chest.”

Another silence filled the room. I shuffled aroundthe box I’d been checking until I reached the bottom, finding nothing ofparticular interest. I looked up and let myself scan the room once more. I tookin every item on the shelves and tables, and scrutinized the writings on someof the boxes. Something wasn’t quite right with those on the far side…

I got closer, shuffling around all the items. No, theseweren’t all Stan’s. Some of Ford’s items were in the rooms in the attic, andthe others…

“Hey, Mabel, I think some of these are Ford’s.”

“Well, see if there’s anything worthy ofdecoration,” Mabel dismissed me playfully, giving me another cheeky smile. Itried not to roll my eyes this time.

These things weren’t his inventions, that much wasobvious. The old contraptions were neatly organized in the lab below.  These were some of his old belongings—hiscoats, scarves, sketchbooks and toolboxes. I spotted his old belt, the thickleather one he’d worn when he came out of the portal and on hikes and fieldmissions. I spotted his old frame of glasses as well. The glass was gone now,shattered from a hunting trip during out third summer. He got new ones, butinsisted on keeping his old set.

I pocketed the frame.

———————————————————————————-

“Please don’t tell me you’re using those asdecorations.”

“Why not? I mean, come on, where else are we goingto put them? They’d end up only buried away somewhere again. Besides, don’t youthink we need a little bit of direct symbolism in this place?”

“What the heck does that even mean? I think thepictures are direct symbolism enough.”

Mabel tutted, insistently shoving the snow globesand picture frames to either side of the mantle top, which made a perfectcenter stage for her intentions. She placed Great Uncle Ford’s glasslesseyeglass frame and Grunkle Stan’s set of brass knuckles side-by-side.

“Seriously,” I groaned, reclining on the couch. “Wecould’ve used the fez or something.”

“Soos uses the fez, remember?” she retorted,standing next to the couch, hands on her hips as she admired her work. “Itthink they fit. Don’t you think so, Melody?”

“I think they look nice and different,” replied theolder woman, still in her nightgown. The fireplace glowed brightly, the onlylighting in the living room, giving the place a warm and content feeling.

Melody set herself down on the sofa opposite mine,gazing at Mabel’s handy work. “They look awesome there. I think your Grunkleswould’ve approved.” She sighed heavily, stretching her neck stiffly. “Oh man,we’re going to have an intense rush of customers this summer. I’m glad you guyscame out to help even though-“

“Hey, we come here every summer, remember?” Mabellaughed. “And we’re happy to help out. My shop back in Piedmont’s doing prettyawesome actually, and Pacifica’s keeping a good eye on it, don’t worry.”

“Yeah,” I nodded along. “The research facility’sdoing well enough too. And summer’s always an opportunity for some self-researching.” I let out a littlechuckle. “Besides, it’s always fun to help out with you guys here.”

Melody smiled sadly, expression seeming more solemnin the flickering light. “Ah, but you both know that wasn’t what I was talkingabout.”

Silence settled over us. The fire’s quiet crackleand my own steady breathing filled my ears. For a moment, no one seemed tomove.  

We’d known exactly what Melody was talking about.

“It does hurt,” Mabel began, voice soft andtentative. “Seeing all of this, getting filled with nostalgia and all that.But… this is still home. The Mystery Shack is still home. Being able to feel at home in this place, despite howdepressing the memories can be, is proof enough.” She paused, letting go ofthat breath she’d been holding in. “It isn’t really all that depressing,anyway. The only depressing thing really is the fact that… they’re gone… and,well, it happens, I guess. We’ll still go here, each and every summer, everyday-off we get. You should know that by now, Melody.” She let out a littlelaugh, her sniffle not going by unnoticed.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “In fact, I feel like staying hereup until New Year. Besides, the research I could get done in this place countsas work, right?” I nudged my sister playfully and was rewarded with a thankfulsmile. “What do you think, Mabel?”

“Why not?” she laughed, turning to Melody who satsmiling on the sofa. “Pacifica can handle the shop to her liking for the restof the year. She has things under control.”

“You two are adorable, you know?” Melody let out alittle chuckle of her own. “Why don’t I make us some tea, hm? I’ll be rightback.” She chirped, getting up.

“So…. Until New Year’s, huh?” Mabel said afterMelody had disappeared into the kitchen.

“Why not?�� I shrugged, mocking her earlierstatement. She nudged me with another chuckle.

“Stan was always happy the longer we got to stay,anyway,” she reminded me. “So yeah, why not? The two grumps would’ve wantedit.”

“Yeah…” I trailed off, gaze shifting to the mantletop where Mabel had the brass knuckles and the glasses sitting side by side.Picture frames dotted around several snow globes and statuettes, spanning from ourfirst summer in Gravity Falls to Soos and Melody’s wedding picture. That oneshowcased every attendee covered in cake and icing after Waddles had,uncannily, started an epic food-fight. A perfect wedding in Melody’s opinion.

“You know… those decorationsaren’t so bad,” I admitted, earning a smug smile from Mable which I choseto ignore.

“D’aww!” she cooed. “You know you love me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered in response, trying to hidea smile of my own. In some weird way, the glass-frames and the brass knucklesmade me feel that, no matter what happened, things don’t ever really change inthe Mystery Shack. It was still home, after all.  

-end-

Okay, so I’m sorry for not putting this up earlier! To everyone else who requested, don’t worry y’all are getting those fics! 

I also put this up on FanFiction.net!

[howardlinkedin]

Group Project: Part 3

Running Title: Group Project. Part 3 Part 2: Here Part 4: Here Sequel to Shelter Summary: Timothy goes on a wild clown case, Neah may as well be the family security system, and we get to witness the day and the life of a barista. 

Here is what Chaoji learned:

Alma Karma was slowly, but surely, taking on the fashion world by storm. Their name had appeared in magazines, and benefactors had started looking, interested in what they had to offer in that brilliant, creative mind of theirs. (The fact that a certain famous friend of theirs continued to sport their designs on stage helped, immensely.)

They liked large, caramel-vanilla blended coffees with whipped cream and chocolate chips, and Mahoja’s lemon cupcakes.

They had married Kanda Yuu mere months after graduating high school.

The same Kanda who hates anything sweet, and only ever drinks herbal teas (preference: white tea), and always scowls at Alma’s frou frou drinks when picking up their order, but diligently delivers it anyway.

Kanda was also working his way through his college degree online, as the man would often hole himself up in the cafe corner, typing away at his laptop. Anita seemed to adore him, and always made a point to keep that particular corner reserved for when she knew his study days were.

He also wore glasses when on the computer, and apparently had a side job as a dog walker, which Chaoji was honored to witness one early morning. The long haired man toting an armful of leashes and happy canines from across the street. A smiling corgi harnessed at his front.

To see people he thought he knew from his past in a different light was somewhat exhilarating.

---

Chaoji had tried college.

He honest to God, really did try.

The dream was to head off right after graduation, and make a way himself. He wanted to make Anita proud. Proud that she even bothered to take in his lonesome and arrogant self. He wanted the world to see him successful and know that he was raised by someone worth knowing.

That she hadn’t wasted her time on him.

He lasted until his second year away, and he felt himself slipping.

I can’t do this. He thought, troubled. But don’t I have to? What a waste! His mind argued.

He couldn’t just waste Anita’s money like this! College was important, wasn’t it?

But he couldn’t keep up. It felt as though he was trapped by dark gray, looming walls and lost in the open sea at the same time. His feet were heavy but his nerves told him to run!

He can’t run! He’s an adult now! He was supposed to be a man!

Unconsciously, he dialed his aunt’s number, and cried. “Can I come home?”

Faster than flipping a light switch, Anita was there holding his sad, sad face and wiping away the salt water. “Come help me run the cafe.” She said.

His aunt truly was a superhero.

---

Komui’s phone chimed and he instantly recognised the ring tone. “Ah! It’s Lenalee!” He cheered and ran to connect the phone to the lab’s bluetooth.

On the overhead, the facetime was projected and Lenalee appeared. “Hello!”

The entire forensics team chorused their own greetings, enthusiastic and rambunctious.

She was smiling and safe and sound and beautiful and Komui suddenly felt blessed.

“My dear, darling, little sister how are you?” He gushed.

Lenalee watched as her brother seemed to lose control of his limbs, as he often did when excited, a mixture of exasperation and joy on her face. “I’m fine brother. I just wanted to check in like I promised. We just landed in Bar- is that a dead body?!”

Komui, and the rest of the forensics team looked in unison, like a hive mind, at the cadaver on the table.  “Yes.” He said, because. Well, it was.

There was a young and persistent voice over the connection where no one on their end could see. “A body?! I wanna see!”

“Tim no.” Lenalee held down a blue head of hair that was trying to hop into the camera’s view.

---

There were probably at least eleven codes of conduct and rules broken that day, because Lenalee was pretty sure that facetiming someone in the middle of a biopsy wasn’t on the list of “Okay Things To Do In A Forensics Lab.”

---

After Timothy, came Lala.

The first night of Allen’s concert in Barcelona, little Timothy learned that his father was kind of amazing. On stage at least.

Usually, Allen was about as mature as he was, which Timothy though was weird, because last he checked, he was the ten year old and Allen was the old man. The singer had white hair even!

It was obvious that Papa was the man in charge, even if Allen were the famous one. Papa was also cool, like Aunt Lenalee, because he helped make sure everything was safe and good. Papa also was wicked fantastic at baking, and Timothy was all about being a taste tester.

The boy decided that his new parents were great. Even though they liked to hold hands and cuddle in Timothy’s line of sight, and kiss and do other gross parent-couple things he only thought were in movies. But whatever.

Currently, it was the middle of the day, and Allen was at his scheduled practice in the new concert hall he was to perform his second concert at. Later, he was to also have an interview. Leaving his husband in the care of the family security, Link took Timothy out to the streets. Barcelona was preparing for its Carnival, and the populace had begun decorating.

Link observed the line of food stands with a keen eye, while his son marveled at the bright colors that were cascading the city walls.

The blue haired boy spotted bags of gummy candy at one vendor and tugged his father’s arm. “I want that.”

“Which one?” Inquired the young father. “All of them?”

“No.”

At this moment, the moment when the father went about buying his son a sweet treat, Timothy spotted a vibrant red ball fly overhead. It was rather large, and probably used as a prop of some sort for one of the entertainers.

“Oh my!” Startled a voice. Timothy glanced and saw a clown waving their arms in the air. “Young man, do you think you can fetch that for me?”

The boy shrugged. “Okay!” and went after the ball.

“Timothy!” Link called after his son and followed. He quickly looked behind them, trying to find who on earth the boy had spoken to.

He saw no one.

---

Working as a barista at a popular city cafe allowed one to become privy to very interesting individuals.

Chaoji had already catalogued the regulars and their times.

Every morning, no earlier than seven or later than eight, the tall red haired Colonel would saunter in for a large black coffee. Anita also had a soft spot for this customer, as there was always a to-go mug by the coffee press, with his name scrawled along the side. She also liked adding little designs around the rim. (Obviously, his aunt was more than a little fond of this man.) He would usually have his ear to his phone, mumbling and griping at someone he often called “Brat.”

Lately, it seemed that the Colonel had someone else to talk to, as he also began calling someone a “Little Goblin.”

(“I should just start calling you and that idiot father of yours Thing One and Thing Two.” snarked the Colonel. “Which one am I?” Demanded the boy.

“Thing One, obviously.” “Yeah, because I’m the best one!”

“Sure, let’s go with that.” )

The officer would set exact change on the counter, grab his cup and salute with it over his wide-brimmed hat and leave without a word to Chaoji, or a tip. The barista wondered what his aunt saw in this rude man.

---

Timothy chased after the bouncing and rolling ball, until he couldn’t anymore. Because it had disappeared. Somehow, with all the bouncing and twisting around the streets, the ten year old found himself lost, standing in front of an old church.

Turning in a quick circle, hoping he could spot anywhere he recognized, Timothy began to panic.

He had just gotten parents and now he’s lost them?!

“Hello!” There was a pat to his head.

“AH!” The boy yelled swung a wild punch at the strange voice.

There was an OOF and the sound of someone falling. Looking over his shoulder, Timothy saw it was the clown. “Ah! Clown!” He announced.

Said clown was grinning (Or was it the face paint?) and patted his belly. “Goodness, you have a strong arm on you!”

“How did you get here?!” Demanded Timothy, immediately suspicious. He didn’t notice anyone following him, did he?

“I knew you would be here.” Chirruped the Clown, standing and dusting off his balloon pants.

The blue haired boy squinted. “How?” The Clown posed, trying to look serious and regal. “I’m a detective.” Timothy looked unimpressed. (He never did like clowns.)

---

At ten o’clock, on the dot, the handywoman from across the street would enter the cafe and order a small mocha. Sometimes, when her mood seemed to be anxious, she would get three chocolate chip cookies along with her drink.

Chaoji found it interesting that whenever Kanda was there, the woman would go over and greet him, and that his past peer (the prickliest man he knew!) would acknowledge her. Sometimes she would even sit at his table in companionable silence until her drink was done.

Every Monday, just before the cafe opened, the florist in the same venue as them would deliver a fresh bouquet to replace the wilting ones in the window. Chaoji at first thought he was a vampire, with his pointed teeth and pale skin. The florist never ordered drinks, but boy did he like the donuts.

Once or twice, the eccentric looking florist would come in with a serious blonde officer, and order lunch.

Then there came a rather memorable incident, when a man with a computer and overcoat ordered a caffe latte, and answered his ringing phone with a hard “What?”

Startled, Chaoji almost dropped the customer’s change. “What am I, your personal satellite?” He hissed into the receiver.

The man then proceeded to crowd his way to a table and began typing furiously, and fast, cursing up a storm. Chaoji tried not to be nosey and pretended not to notice anything, especially when the man slapped his cell phone not five minutes later and announced that he had “found the kid, now stop losing my nephew you just got him!” There was also the threat of eye gouging, but again.

Chaoji was definitely not listening.

---

Before Timothy could question the Clown more, or even begin yelling, because stranger danger - The said stranger put his big goofy, gloved clown hands behind his ears and said, “Listen.”

Unwittingly, Timothy listened and he heard singing. It was a a very pretty voice, and it was coming from inside the church. Being ten years old and curious, Timothy momentarily forgot about the weird clown and made his way to the entrance and slowly pop open the door.

Inside was a girl, older than himself, with tanned skin, and tangled bright hair.

La, la, la she sang. The boy couldn’t make out any words, only the sound of her voice which was something right out of a fairy tale. Entranced, Timothy leaned a little too much on the door, and it creaked, disrupting the girl’s song, and startling her to stop.  

“Sorry!” the boy pronounced, looking embarrassed at having been caught staring. “I got lost and I-”

Remembering the Clown, Timothy looked back. Only to find that they were nowhere to be seen.

Now that’s plain creepy, he thought.

---

Every afternoon, at two-fifteen, an intimidating young officer would take a table near the entrance, without ordering. Precisely three minutes after, another redhead would enter the cafe, this one loud and boisterous.

“Madds!” He would bellow, pleased to see the officer, and then flounce to the counter to order. Chaoji had learned early on this one was named Lavi, if only because the other man had introduced himself right away and proceeded to order one of the most complicated drinks the barista ever had to make.

Lavi never did order the same thing twice, which gave Chaoji a little enjoyable challenge every day. The officer though, “Madds,” himself would never order himself anything, and would only ever sit at the table and wait for his apparent friend.

After getting his complicated drink of the day, Lavi would sit with the other man and Chaoji swore the redhead never stopped talking.

Once the coffee was finished, both would always leave together.

Chaoji thought they made an odd match.

---

Link shoved his cellphone back into his pocket and rounded the last set of corners to where his son seemed to have ended up. The moment he lost sight of the boy, the father contacted the one person he knew would be able to find the boy in seconds.

“What am I, your personal satellite?” Neah had hissed.

Unbothered by the threats to his life, Link listened to the map of directions given to him. (Link had learned that ignoring Neah’s nonsense was the best course of action than to ever outright believe him. The blonde knew very well, were he not married to the man’s nephew, the risk of actually getting his eyes gouged out and shoved down his throat would have been real.

As it stood, Link knew that all Allen had to do was frown and Neah would backpedal so fast, the uncle would fall off a cliff and land in the lost city of Atlantis.)

Opening the church doors, Link ran into the foyer and called out his son’s name. “Timothy!”

“Papa!” The boy jumped from a pew, and waved. “I knew you’d find me!”

Before the father could scold his son for running away, and drag the boy into his arms, Link noticed the other presence in the room.

“Ah.”

His dark eyes made contact with a pair of weary, equally dark ones, and he swore he heard a piano in the air.

“This is Lala!” Timothy introduced, waving his arms with flare. “She likes to sing like Allen.”

“...Hello.” Remembering himself, Link stood straight and held out his hand. “I am Howard Link. Thank you for keeping my son company.”

The girl, who couldn’t be older than thirteen, only stared at the hand and huffed. “Next time, keep him from running off. The Carnival can get dangerous when it starts.” She warned, her voice was clear and sounded much older than she should.

Right, Link thought. He was the one being scolded instead.

By a child.

Timothy tugged his father’s arm. “Papa. She wants to meet Allen.” Of course she does.

---

Setting his sheet music down, Allen answered his phone. “Hello Mister Papa!”

He heard his husband clear his throat. “Are you still at the studio?”

“Yup!”

Allen could hear Timothy chattering away as giddy background noise.

“I’m bringing over a guest.”

Grey eyes blinked, surprised. “Oh?” ---

Three o’clock seemed to be when the last handful of interesting fellows entered the cafe.

First, a duo of more young officers would chime in. The young man (who looked an awful like the previous young officer with Lavi) would order a large Cafe Americano, with three shots of hazelnut, medium caramel latte and a medium regular coffee with a shot of mocha - rapid fire as though he had this order long memorized before Chaoji even started working the counter.

The other besides him would stare at the barista with her hawk like gaze that made Chaoji nervous. After ordering, the officer would give his friend’s long hair a tug and leave to wait at the pick up counter. The female officer would huff, flick her hair, give Chaoji one last meaningful look and follow.

On this particular evening, after setting the ordered drinks on the counter, and handing his female friend her latte, the officer says, “Her name is Tewaku and she stares because she thinks you’re cute.”

Silence.

Then, “Tokusa, I will obliterate you.” the woman says, clear as day as though she were mentioning the weather, and left the cafe.

Chaoji, too stunned to say anything, gaped like a fish.

The other, Tokusa, cackled and followed after.

After the duo, in came Mister Marie, who Chaoji learned was a high school music teacher. He was also Kanda’s brother.

He would order a green tea, and if Kanda was still tucked away in the corner, a tea for him as well and coerce his brother into human interaction. Sometimes another man would join them, with sarcasm rolling off him in waves and pester the other two.

(Chaoji would later learn this was Kanda’s other brother, and the barista wondered just how much family did he have?)

---

The girl hesitated at the door, which Link announced lead to where Allen was currently waiting on them. Judging by the sound in the air, he was on the piano the hall had provided for him.

Lala made a motion to open the door, only to stop short and shrink back on herself, and toyed with her tangled hair.

Deciding that he could just barge the door open for her, Timothy almost did just that when his father sighed and stepped forward. Taking out his braid and stretched the freed hair band in his hand, Link said, “Hold still.” 

Lala scowled, not liking being given orders from a stranger. “What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Helping.”

---

The door opened, and Allen greeted the young girl, whose hair had just been detangled and braided, and looked for all the world nervous.

“Hello Miss Lala! Come have a seat.”  

The young teen stiffly sat at the piano bench beside the singer. “Th-thank you. I’m a. Fan.” She mumbled, face red and hands clutched.

Allen grinned, pleased. “Want to hear a song?”

The girl, wide eyed, nodded.

---

“Me too, me too!” Timothy ran in, and clambered up into his father’s lap, refusing to be left out.

Link blew an errant strand of hair from his face and figured he’d better go and find a fax machine.

---

After closing, his aunt would ask, “How was business?”

Chaoji would smile, proud, because he could say, “Good!”

[dine-on-nervine]

just a guy trying to get it right

Do you listen to music while you fill out surveys? Sometimes. This is not one of them.

In the past week, what song have you listened to the most often? While a couple songs have come up in the playlist more than once (due to having hit the end of the list and restarting) I haven’t listened to them the second time, I’ve pressed > within a few seconds.

What was the last thing you shared with someone else? Photos of typewriters.

While playing video games, do you prefer being first or second player? Doesn’t matter, unless the other person is so good I have to wait forever for my turn. :)

What is the most difficult word for you to pronounce? I sometimes struggle with Cheburashka.

What did you have to do for the last homework you were assigned? I don’t have an answer for this; school it’s been a really long time and other work to do at home I’m not really sure.

You’ve planned a roadtrip. Where are you going, and who’s coming too? We’re going to Yakima and beyond... I don’t have a copilot at the moment.

Do you have an overactive imagination? This would be why I am awake at this hour. Actually, my reason is valid but thinking/dreaming about the results woke me up.

What was the last important thing that you thought about? The above statement. I made a blunder, not knowing how something worked, and needed to contact someone about it because the Interbutts is forever.

Generally, do you call people, or wait for them to call you? With my cell phone I prefer to call them since half the time calls go to voicemail without ever ringing.

On average, how many texts do you send out each day? Between four and twelve.

Has anyone ever questioned your sanity? Mostly me. A bunch lately. Other people have had other mental fitness questions, some plausible and others simply offensive that they’d ask.

How many people do you depend on? I like to say zero other than myself but it’s never that simple. Two certainly come to mind, my boss for giving me hours and my landlady for allowing me to live here, but I have no one of greater importance than those basics.

How many people do you think depend on you? I can’t prove anyone is dependant upon me. I don’t have kids, I don’t have a partner, and my work manages to go on without my being there.

What is the worst color combination? I don’t really know since there are so many.

Have you ever injured yourself walking around in the dark? Absolutely. I have a couple toes I’ve broken repeatedly.

When you get a papercut, how do you react? If it hurts, I react. If I’m bleeding, I take care of it. And internally, I am miffed because papercuts take like a week before they heal sufficiently. Can you type without looking down at the keyboard? Yeah, happy to say that I don’t have to watch my hands anymore. :)

At what age did you develop an interest in the opposite [or same] sex? Man, I was so young... chased a girl when I was in 1st grade. (And she had older sibs/relatives who picked her up by the arms and ran with her. That was NOT in the rules!!)

Are you or members of your family religious? At one time I was probably the most religious. Then I changed spiritualities.

What’s so scary about clowns, anyway? They run for public office.

When was the last time you acted like someone you’re not? The last time I needed something that was denied to me for me being me.

When was the last time that you cleaned your room? I know this one! Uh, it was a few weeks ago because I couldn’t walk through my room without tripping over things.

How many hats do you own/wear? Own a lot of them. Wear none of them unless it gets cold out. On that note, yesterday was a beautiful don’t-need-a-coat day and it fucking snowed overnight. Talk about plot twist! And now it’s coming down HARD.

What was the last thing that you printed? A map or directions, something related to a roadtrip.

Did the last song you listened to hold any special meaning? The last one? “Action” by Sweet? Not particularly, other than it’s the rare song I’ve tweaked with audio tools to improve the sound successfully.

Are you experiencing problems within a current relationship? Yes, actually. I lack a current relationship, that’s the problem. Yesterday I was waiting for someone to come online and when she did she only said “after yesterday’s conversation we’re not a good match.” I can’t argue, because I think she was showing signs of being a bit off her rocker. I couldn’t understand what she was talking about the day before and she apparently couldn’t understand what I was giving back, but the bigger question I had was *why* she was talking about this totally internal thing in such great detail as though this mental pursuit is a lot bigger than it really is. I replied wishing her good luck in finding love, holding back the “you are going to need it” part.

When you’re upset, who do you turn to? Depending upon what’s upsetting me, I have four friends I can lean on. Does winter weather depress you? Autumn depresses me. Winter either invigorates me or is so quiet that I can find some respite.

Who was the last person that you called? Hmm, I think it was a friend I was trying to nail down plans with.

What product was being advertised on the last commercial you saw? Radio and television repair. (I was scanning a 1954 electronics magazine.) As for on TV or the web... Grammarly?

Do you ever wonder who sings the catchy commercial jingles? I am geared like that. Just yesterday I was thinking, who is the guy who does the voiceovers for Wendy’s ads? Joe Sirola -- who just died a month ago!

When you think about your last relationship, what song comes to mind? Melanie “Brand New Key” reminds me of her personally, but thinking about the relationship itself the song would be Henry Rollins “Liar”.

Are there any lyrics to describe your current crush/relationship? It’s a question of lust, it’s a question of trust, it’s a question of not letting what we’ve built up crumble to dust; it is all of these things and more that keep us together...

Who in your life makes you the most uncomfortable? Myself, mostly. Do you ever receive comments on your weight? Never negative. People seem to think it’s less than what it is.

Is there anything that you do just to make other people happy? Well, I am in customer service, so a lot. Also, when told to fuck off I do so with a smile most of the time.

When you need a temporary escape, what do you do? Quick, to the park! Bring headphones if it gets really bad!

What was the last lie that you believed in? “I want to see where things go.”

How long did your last feelings of heartbreak last? I’d say a week or two.

Is there any sport that you would want to learn to play? No.

What band would you most like to meet? Depeche Mode.

Do you ever have difficulty opening pill-bottle caps? Not usually.

Do you gain weight around the holidays? I have been known to lose weight over holidays. But let’s say yes, because I really do love Christmas snackies.

Are you related to anyone famous, or to any historical figure? Not that I know of.

If it was an option, would you take a trip into outerspace? Maybe as a break from the bullshit but space is large and takes a lot of time to get to places so maybe to the moon which isn’t really outer space.

What was the last thing that you wrote down [with a pen/pencil]? My hours.

Has anyone told you that you have a nice smile? I can’t recall.

Are you uncomfortable with being photographed? No one wants to do that, unless they think they’ve caught me doing something wrong and then yes I am uncomfortable with them whipping out their cell phones for pictures.

What’s the earliest you’ve woken up in the past week? 4am.

How many people have you talked to today? Today? Just you all.

What was the last reason behind why you went to the hospital? To have lunch with a girlfriend who worked there.

When journaling, are you honest when documenting your feelings? Yes.

If you have a journal, do you ever worry others might find it? They would have a hard time deciphering it. :)

When you go camping, do you sleep in a tent or an RV? I don’t go camping. The last time I was supposed to, it was in a tent but since we didn’t have reservations at the park and pitching a tent where there wasn’t an outlet wasn’t an option to my companion we went to a motel room. The two things I learned were to make reservations at state parks ahead of time, and don’t get involved with anyone so fat they require a CPAP.

What’s one ridiculous thing that you do? Tinder. I do a lot of other ridiculous things also but that’s probably the most.

Do you feel that you must wear make up to be attractive? Straight male here. Makeup has the opposite effect.

What was the last thing [other than the keyboard] that you touched? My ziplock bag of Dark Chocolate Mint Almond Roca. Breakfast!

Ever done anything dangerous while driving with someone else in the car? Absolutely.

Name someone you wish you could be closer with? A nice lady. One who isn’t fucking other people. That’d be a change.

Have you ever played the license plate game on long car-trips? Nope.

Are you a secretive person, or are you open with your thoughts? I have things that are wide open and I have things that are private. I have learned from others how to be more clear about when things don’t suit me.

What is the worst question that someone could ask you? Nah, I’d really rather not expose myself like that.

Do you talk to your pets? My cats talked back so yes.

Do you have a least favorite day of the year? It tends toward my birthday. I am sure there are worse things.

What traits do you look for in a potential BF/GF? Fidelity. Sanity. And other myths.

Right now, what’s in your bookbag/backpack? Not sure right now since I don’t have anything in my messenger bag.

What’s unique about your city or town? It was founded by a guy who grew hops, hop growing was the local economy a century ago, and yet the town no longer grows hops.

If you could say something to the world, what would you say? If you look at a guy’s phone, you will find a record of conversations and pictures. If you look at a girl’s phone, you will find a whole other life going on.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

A Chronicle of All the Fashion Shows I Saw, Missed and Loved

http://fashion-trendin.com/a-chronicle-of-all-the-fashion-shows-i-saw-missed-and-loved/

A Chronicle of All the Fashion Shows I Saw, Missed and Loved

I’ve tempted fate one too many times during past fashion weeks and skinned a few too many of my teeth in the almost-late process. It finally caught up with me. On the rainy morning of Monday, September 10th, late to Wes Gordon’s debut at Carolina Herrera and got locked out of the show.

I was pissed. The show was at the New York Historical Society, which I wanted to see the inside of. On top of that, I’d planned to cover Carolina Herrera, and not being there in person to experience the lights and the sound and the general ambiance made me nervous I’d have no real feelings about it.

Turns out I am the rainbow cake girl from Mean Girls this week, because I had plenty of feelings about it, and about a few other shows I didn’t actually attend…and I managed to save some for the shows I did sit at! Details below.

Monday, 10 a.m.

Carolina Herrera Spring 2019

I look at fashion shows the way I read magazines: back to front. So when I got to the office after my commute of shame and opened Vogue.com, my first impression of Wes Gordon’s Carolina Herrera really started with look #43: a four-tone stripe tent (compliment) with an off-the-shoulder ruffle and a flower exploding its own petals in a fit of “loves me, loves me not.” Then came look #40, with a curved arc up toward the clavicle and molten sunshine satin fabric melting below. As the collection subdued, ever so slightly, toward the technical front, I imagined a Carolina fan in the audience’s excitement growing as she liked what she saw — especially, unexpectedly, the knee-high boots with embroidered flowers — but had no idea what to expect next. We’d meet somewhere in the middle, around look #24, perhaps, lock eyes at the marigold gown covered in a leopard-spot-print of red flowers, simultaneously register our appreciating for the menswear-esque top’s silhouette (a nod, maybe, to her classic white shirt-plus-ball-skirt combination) and proclaim together, “Yes!”

Wes’s version of Carolina no doubt leans a just a little bit younger (the blazer-coats, the shorts, the mini skirts) but if youthfulness is a state of mind and the numbers are just for candle-adorning purposes, than these clothes are for his customers of all ages. I think they’re going to be very excited.

11 a.m. – 3 p.m.

I’m at the office. I write some emails, eat a kale-bowl thingy with sweet potato hash and a poached egg, drink half an ice coffee, attend a short meeting, do some work-work, and then OFF I DASH, en foot, to 3.1 Phillip Lim, located in a high school about a 15-minute walk from our office.

3 p.m.

3.1 Phillip Lim Spring 2019

We’re on the roof of a high school, which is giving me flashbacks, and reminding me that everyone, including another Philip (Philip Ellis), has been telling me to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. It’s my main plan for this evening.

And now, a two-sentence review of Phillip Lim: The slight drizzle that steadied during Phillip Lim’s Spring 2019 collection was weirdly perfect given that he’s going one step past the bucket hat and full-on into fisherman headgear. As for the clothes, they’re perfect for a summer city staycation, but they wouldn’t mind if you brought them (the silver coat in particular) to Burning Man.

4 – 7 p.m., back to the office

Hello! Here I am, back in the saddle. I picked up a weird salad on my way back from Lim. It was weird because it was more bacon than lettuce, so also kind of a blessing. I can’t focus on work yet, so I use this time to catch up on Rodarte and Chromat online.

Set in a graveyard on a rainy Sunday, Rodarte’s Spring collection show looks like it would have given me goosebumps had I been there in person. There was a beautiful, romantic melancholia to the whole production that carried over into the photos (either everyone who posted on Instagram caught the hazy effect of light and water just so, or there’s a new Huji in town), but pulled away from the wonderful drama, I could see any of these pieces worn by the happiest of person, like a bride, on the happiest of days, like a wedding — or an attention-grabbing attendee! Or someone very excited to pick up their unicorn’s groceries. Either way, it was a lesson in pure candy fantasy. And a really nice work break.

Out of the woods and into the water: Chromat. In addition to her fantastic casting that, season after season, proves to the industry there are 8 million ways to be beautiful and make clothes look aspirational, she turned the self-conscious coverup beach tee on its head, then soaked it in water, confidence and sex appeal. She told Vogue it was a reimagining of “throwing a ginormous shirt over your swimsuit at the pool because you’re too embarrassed to be seen … to take that moment of vulnerability and make it something to be proud of.” If you’ve ever wondered what the “point” of a runway show is, I’d say Becca’s makes the case for the importance of a stage.

7 – 11 p.m.

Home to watch To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before and eat pizza from this gluten-free pizza place called Wild. The pizza is AN HOUR AND A HALF LATE (way worse than my timing to Carolina, okay) and I’m starving so I eat an entire bag of full-gluten everything bagel chips. The movie is perfect. I, like every other person on this planet apparently, am in love with Noah Centineo.

Tuesday, 6:30 a.m.

Oh look, it’s morning! Nothing to see here folks, other than my Artist’s Way morning pages, 15 minutes of not very good meditation, teeth brushing, varied attempts at writing a few stories I have do (writer’s block has been at an all-time high this week, bad timing) and other general boring morning stuff.

At 9:55 I haul ass to the 1 train, stand too close to the platform because I’m impatient and can’t get it out of my body that leaning into the dark abyss won’t make the train come, when a woman I don’t know gently scolds me (lovingly, or as much as a stranger can muster) for doing so. She’s right, though! I vow to be a changed woman.

10 a.m.

Oscar de la Renta Spring 2019

Time for Oscar de la Renta, which was partially a lesson in How to Look Really Chic While You Travel (with a blanket and socks in your carryon if you get cold), but largely a reminder that glamour is alive and well — or it could be if we all stopped wearing workout clothes to dinner and spent more time inside the heads of Laura Kim and Fernando Garcia. Their take on Oscar de la Renta this round isn’t 100% what I associate the house with, and from watching Monse a few days earlier, it’s clear they’re two designers who are growing and changing. But that’s what fashion is about, right? And how boring would it be if all they did was the same old thing?

Some of the dresses were so dramatic that I almost felt redeemed for missing Carolina yesterday (I’m not going to Paris, so this is just in case there’s a glamour quota I was supposed to be hitting during fashion week). Also alive and well, I am so happy to say, are little straw hats for your little square handbags, and flat sandals with raffia fringe all around, like that of a deconstructed straw hat brim. Shuffle, shuffle.

Now off I go, to the 1 train, back home.

11:30 a.m.

I’m eating last night’s leftover pizza and chugging water while working. Get lost in an email black hole. And then, like it’s groundhog day, I leave my apartment, get back on the 1 train, get off at the same stop, and head to the same studio that Oscar was in, this time for Tome.

1 p.m.

To quote our one-sentence review (which, don’t forget, has its own Highlight on our Instagram!) of Tome: “Dip-dyed and faded sherbert-colored happy sunny sweet breeze clothes to combat a rainy mood, or, to dream about for next summer.” Okay I’ll take it.

2 – 3 p.m.

I have traveled far and wide to reach these parts by subway and my feet hurt. These old boots are not (here comes a joke you’ve never heard before) made for walking. I’m sitting at Coach and thrilled that the bench is a little too high, so my feet are dangling. It feels like sweet relief and makes me think of T. Wise’s bit about dangling feet:

“This obviously makes me think that it doesn’t matter how big or grown or serious a person might be: If they sit in a place where their feet don’t touch the floor, they look absolutely adorable. There are no exceptions to this rule: Football players, supermodels, soldiers, reverends, rappers, I don’t care. Adorable.”

I couldn’t see so well from my seat, but upon close online review, I’d call the collection a cross between West World meets your favorite childhood cartoons that says “PrairieCore isn’t going anywhere, but it might get a lot less sweet and a little more everyday-vampire.”

4 p.m.

They gave us popsicles after the show. I eat mine on the subway ride home, change into sweatpants upon arrival, clean up my apartment that got weirdly messy out of nowhere, and start writing all of this.

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Feature image by Slaven Vlasic/Getty Images for NYFW: The Shows. Photos via Amelia Diamond.