#id go through all the troubles and burn bridges if it means i get to exist as a man

[miguel-owhora]

sorta vent but not rlly bc im not sad about it so it's just me rambling i guess:

Even though I've transitioned for the most part—getting on T, working on my body, presenting and passing as a masc—sometimes I still think about detransitioning and going back to pretending being a girl. I won't be happy, I won't feel comfortable in my skin, but it'll make life easier, my familial relationships won't be as damaged.

But this is my life. It's my struggles and my life, I get to pick what happens, I get to decide how it all plays out. I'm happier and more comfortable living and presenting as a man, and I know that if it came down to it, I'd rather die a young life as a man than live a longer one as a woman.

[whisker-biscuit]

The Birds, The Bees, and The Bottles

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: T for mild language and discussions of underage drinking

Summary: Two teens are caught trying to sneak into a bar. Bob finally has a conversation he’s held off for far too long.

Because herbaphony is not the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family.

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

Bob’s phone rang at two in the morning. Judging by the jolly ringtone of Helmut singing Strawberry Fields Forever, it was his personal phone instead of his work one, and that was the real tip off to things being very, very wrong.

He woke up and groggily pulled out of his still-slumbering-husband’s arms to answer the little thing going off on his nightstand.

“H’lo?”

“Bob!” Truman’s voice came out far too loud for the time of night, and far too stressed. “Bob, I’m so sorry to wake you, but something happened with Lili. I need you to pick her up for me, please.”

The older man sat up, much more awake as worry and fear immediately rolled in his gut. Helmut finally began to stir beside him, sensing his partner’s agitation.

“Truman, what’s going on? Pick Lili up from where?”

“The city’s police precinct on Abbey Avenue. She – she called me, but I’m out of state and I wouldn’t get there for hours at least even if I left this instant. She’s not in danger!” He added hastily, hearing the concern before Bob could even voice it mentally. “She didn’t get hurt! She’s just…”

The way he tapered off, the way he hesitated, said more than words could.

“She just got herself into some trouble, and she needs someone to go get her.”

Helmut was sitting up now, and Bob felt the question cross their mental link.

 What happened?

 Truman needs me to pick Lili up from the police station.

“I’m up, I’m on my way right now,” He responded to his nephew verbally, heaving himself out of bed. His husband followed suit despite still looking extremely puzzled, bless him.

“Thank you so much, Bob. I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about it.” The older man waved a dismissive hand even though Truman wasn’t there to see it. “Family is s’pposed to do that for each other anyway.”

“Did I hear that right? Our peppy petunia had a run-in with the law?” Helmut asked as soon as his partner hung up. He paused, and in a lower tone – “she didn’t kill anyone, did she?”

“I don’t think it’s that serious,” Bob said, pulling a coat on over his sleep shirt. “But something tells me we still have a few things to worry about. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Ohohoh, no, don’t even think about hoofin’ it without me. We both know I’m the better driver.”

“Neither of us are very good drivers, Helmut.”

“Exactly! That little bit makes all the difference!”

The herbophanist sighed, charmed despite himself and the situation. “Alright, alright. Let’s not keep her waiting.”

The police precinct was nearly dead at this time of night. While it would’ve felt eerie to anyone else, Bob was grateful for the lack of people, and not just because he was still an introvert of the highest degree.

Two teenagers awaited them in the lobby, sitting on a bench together. One was hunched over and burning a hole in the ground with his downcast eyes. The other sat straight up, defiant, holding a glaring contest with the officer standing over them. When Bob entered the room first and met his great-niece’s eyes, her self-assuredness wavered for a brief moment. She hid the slip-up behind a wall of indifference.

“Lili,” he said softly. Then, just as softly but with a gruff tinge of surprise; “Razputin.”

There was no accusation in his voice, but the former scowled harder and the latter looked like he wanted to employ his invisibility. Bob studied them both a moment before his husband appeared and broke the tension with his mere presence.

“We’re here to bust you out, kiddos!” He announced with spread arms, cheerfully ignoring the looks he received from every person in the room.

“Are you Truman Zanotto?” Asked the officer who finally broke his gaze away from Lili to give them a disapproving once-over.

“No, I’m uh, I’m Bob Zanotto, and this is Helmut,” came the awkward reply. “Truman called me to pick Lili up. She’s my great-niece.”

A few seconds of silence passed as the officer made no move to do anything with that information. Bob cleared his throat.

“We’re, uh, listed in her emergency contacts for school?”

“I see. If you can just fill out some paperwork first, we can release her into your custody.”

The herbophanist watched the way Raz seemed to sink further in his seat at the mention of family contacts. The Aquatos were also out of state right now too, if he remembered correctly. Perfect timing for two minors getting up to mischief.

Well, up until they were actually caught.

“And…Razputin, too?” He asked, catching the teen’s startled gaze and giving him the mental equivalent of a thumbs-up.

The officer raised a brow. “Is he related to you, too?”

“Well, uh –”

“Yep!” Helmut interrupted, strolling right up to Raz and giving him a merry clap on the back. The teen had a physique comparable to most adult Olympic athletes, but even he nearly toppled forward from the force of such a big man. “He’s my third cousin, twice removed. Big family. Very close. Holidays are an experience, lemme tell ya!”

“Fine,” the officer pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine, okay, I’ll make sure he gets cleared for release too. I’ll be right back.”

He stalked off, muttering something about it ‘being too damn early for this’, and the older couple turned to face Raz and Lili. Helmut steepled his fingers together to rest against his mustache.

“So! Now that Officer Spoil-Sport is gone, are we allowed to know what heinous crime has been committed in the night by my favorite pair of mischief-makers?”

The two glanced at each other. Raz was the one to break their silence.

“We, uh…got caught sneaking into a bar.”

Cold heat rushed through Bob’s core. Helmut blinked once, twice, then let out a boisterous chuckle.

“That’s it? Jesus! From the way you two were acting I thought you’d robbed the First National Bank.”

“…Helmut.” His husband murmured. The psi-king lost his mirth as he caught Bob’s eye.

“Ah…w-well, y’know, while I’m certainly glad we won’t hear about a righteous homicide in the news tomorrow, forgery ain’t exactly a humble hobby either.”

“It was just two IDs,” Lili muttered under her breath. “Not a big deal.”

The ice in her great-uncle’s heart turned frigid, but before he or Helmut could say anything to that, the officer was back. He shoved a handful of forms under Bob’s nose and the herbophanist fumbled to grab them before they all tumbled to the floor.

“Uh, uh, thank you.”

“Alright, we’re putting the pause on this conversation to make you free citizens again, but don’t think that means we’re done with it.” The Psi-King gave the teens the sternest look he could manage. “As soon as we get in the car, you two will have a lot of explaining to do.”

“O-Okay.”

“Uh-huh.”

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

No one spoke a word as they got in the car and started the drive back.

Raz seemed content to continue his efforts to blend in with the background of his seat, still not meeting anyone’s eyes, and Lili stared out the window with her chin in her hand, leaning against the car’s backdoor and letting the lights of the city bathe her in neon sickness.

Helmut, bless his soul, dutifully kept the radio going while he drove, changing the station to something more mellow whenever a song started getting a little too upbeat for the collective mood of the vehicle. Bob sat in the passenger side with his arms folded awkwardly. His brain was buzzing, dreading the inevitable conversation he needed to have with his great-niece and trying to figure out how he was going to go about it.

It surprised them all when Raz spoke over the music.

“It was my idea.”

The two adults glanced at each other, then through the rearview mirror at the fidgeting teen.

“Your idea to go looking for a drink? Or to sneak into a bar to do it?” Helmut asked, turning off the radio.

“Both.”

He still wasn’t meeting their eyes. Bob sighed through his nose.

“I don’t believe you.”

Razputin’s head finally snapped up to stare at him in shock for the fast call on his bluff. “I’m telling the truth!”

“I think you’re only telling part of it, kid.”

“No! I’m telling all of it.��

“Razpu-”

“Oh, come off it, Raz,” Lili snapped a little too loud, making the whole car jump. “Quit trying to take the fall for me. It was my idea to try the stupid fake ID thing, okay? Happy now?”

“Wh – uh, who said anything about being happy about it?” Helmut asked, legitimately confused.

“Look. Neither of us had anything to do tonight, and we were bored, so Raz suggested getting a drink somewhere, but Adam and Lizzie are out of town so we couldn’t ask them.” She crossed her arms and spoke without any inflection. “So, we went out but no one would let us do anything cause we’re minors. I thought that was stupid, because we’re agents same as any of you, so I came up with the sneaking-in part. We only got caught cause one of the bartenders recognized Raz from a show.”

There were a lot of loaded things to parse through from that explanation, but Bob’s mind stalled on one particular detail.

“Adam and Lizzie give you two alcohol?”

“Not…often,” Raz admitted. “Just once or twice, when we asked.”

“Do you mean like, a literal once or twice, or a…an estimated once or twice?”

“Did Dad put you up to this?” Lili shot back. “It was just a few times, like he said. What’s with the inquisition?”

“…Lili –”

 “Raz.”

“Okay!” Helmut proclaimed as he slapped his hand against the steering wheel in boisterous aggression. “Who wants some ice cream?”

Everyone stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Cause I’m really feeling some chocolate-vanilla swirl right now. Basic bitch style. Right? Who’s with me?”

Silence.

“Great! Look at that, open Dairy King right there, better take advantage of this opportunity before it slips through our fingers like the melting ice cream we’re all gonna have in about five minutes!”

The psi-king swung into the parking lot in a frenzy and herded the car crew inside before any of them could come out of their shock long enough to protest. It was only as Bob was staring up at fifteen flavors of oversaturated sugary goodness that he realized what had just happened.

He couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief over his husband’s diversion. The tension that had been boiling over was cooled significantly by the sudden non-sequitur, and while the teens were rather half-hearted about picking out their sweet treats, there was no longer a risk of an explosion happening.

Metaphorically and literally.

Helmut caught his spouse’s eye with a meaningful look at Lili the moment all of them had their orders in hand, then slung his arm around Razputin’s shoulders and steered him away. “C’mon my lad! Nothing like the cool night air of three in the morning to keep your Hurricane ™ properly chilled!”

The poor boy had no choice but to let himself be pulled outside, leaving the two Zanottos standing awkwardly in the dingy restaurant. Bob gave a nervous scratch at his chin under his beard.

“How about we, uh, find a seat somewhere?”

Lili couldn’t fully cross her arms while holding ice cream, but she did a good job of making it work anyway. “Sure.”

They sat in a booth in the farthest corner from the front counter. Both great-niece and great-uncle stared at their respective sweet treats as if they could teleport them out of this situation. Bob glanced out the window and saw Helmut and Raz standing outside of the car. The former was on one knee with his hand on the teen’s shoulder, speaking earnestly but inaudibly, and the latter was scuffing the toe of his sneaker against the asphalt.

“Are you going to lecture me?” Lili finally cut through the silence.

Bob turned back to her. “No. Not really.”

“No?” She broke her gaze away from her ice cream just a little bit, eyeing him with surprise. “Then why did Helmut take Raz and leave us alone?”

She was so perceptive, so smart. And yet, still so young.

“Well, I… I still want to talk to you about what happened. I’m just not very, good, at this kind of thing.” He took his spoon and absentmindedly began drawing a flower in his soft-serve. “You already know what you did wasn’t a good idea, right? So I don’t think a lecture would help things any on that front.”

She didn’t respond. He continued.

“It’s less about the fake ID and more…the reasons you made the fake ID. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so, but I know what I’m doing, Uncle Bob. I’m not going to drink irresponsibly.”

The herbophanist shook his head. “But you’ll do irresponsible things to be able to drink in the first place.”

“That’s not –” Lili didn’t have a good rebuttal. She folded her arms and grumpily started eating her cherry chocolate delight. “Whatever. It’s two different things, anyway.”

Against his better judgement, Bob began picking at his own food as he thought about how best to bring the subject back up without making the teen defensive again. Spoons clicking against teeth was the only sound between them for a solid minute.

Finally, an epiphany.

“Did Truman ever…tell you anything, about your great-grandma?”

The girl paused with a bite halfway up to her mouth. She frowned, confused. “Grandma Tia? Not much. Just that she died when he was a baby.”

“Yeah. Yeah, she did.” He ran a tired hand over his face. The ache in his heart might have long-since healed into a scar, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt when pressed. “She passed away when I was nineteen. The doctors told me it was liver failure.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. Lili’s mouth thinned and she put her spoon down, uncomfortable.

“When I…found out the reason behind her death, I was horrified by it. It didn’t make sense to me why she would willingly do something that hurt her so badly, especially when I was right there to love her and help her. It felt like a betrayal that she never got help or made herself stop. I was…disgusted by the mere thought of doing anything like that.”

Bob took a moment to breathe and wipe his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but better safe than sorry.

“It sounds pretty hypocritical when I say it now, doesn’t it?”

His great-niece only gave him a hesitant look.

“Anyway, uh, where was I…” He worried his lip. “Oh, right. I told myself that I’d never touch the stuff after that. I was angry at what she’d done, and I was determined not to have the same ‘weakness’, so to speak. As you know, it, uh, it didn’t last long. I was at a college party barely a year later when I was invited by some friends to drink with them. I didn’t make human friends very easily back then – actually, I still don’t – so I was a little desperate to keep them. It turned out to be pretty hard whiskey, so I got hammered.”

The man leaned back in his seat, staring at the patterns in the booth table.

“Back then, no one really knew how alcoholism could run in a family. Everyone thought it was a personal choice to keep drinking. It wasn’t even classified as an addiction yet. So I didn’t know how susceptible I was, or how careful I had to be. I’d spend months not having a single drink, thinking I was fine and could handle myself, and then I’d get plastered for a week at parties and bars and God knows what else, and it would take me even longer to get myself to stop again. It was like that even when I was with Ford and his gang. It wasn’t until I started dating Helmut that I started trying to change those habits. I’d never met anyone who loved me so unconditionally that I wanted to be a better person for them, until him. And it worked for a while.

“Well, barring our wedding, of course. I got shitfaced at the reception. It was embarrassing afterwards, but Helmut told me it made our cake-eating ceremony a hell of a great time.”

Lili snorted, and it was accompanied by a tiny upturn of her lips. Then it dropped as her expression became solemn. “And then…everything with Maligula happened, right?”

“Yeah. I think you know the rest of that story.”

“Uh-huh.”

Great-niece and great-uncle sat together for a while, just thinking about it all.

“I know I have to be more careful drinking than a lot of people, Uncle Bob,” Lili finally said at length. “My dad warned me about it when I was old enough to ask.”

“Truman is a good dad,” he murmured in response.

“The best dad.”

“Definitely the best dad.”

More silence.

“I didn’t mean to worry you and him,” she continued. “Or scare you. I know it was dumb to do what we did tonight.”

Bob looked at her, and she gave a conceding sigh.

“Okay, it was dumb to do a lot of what we’ve been doing with this stuff. That doesn’t mean I’m not being careful.”

“Kid, it’s not always just a matter of being careful. I thought I was being careful. I thought that for years and years, and when I finally realized I wasn’t, I convinced myself I could stop any time I wanted to, and kept up the same patterns anyway. That’s what I’m trying to get you to understand. I just don’t want you to make the same mistakes I did. I’m just worried about you.”

Lili closed her eyes with a grimace. “I know. I’m sorry, Uncle Bob.”

“Hey, kiddo, look at me.” He waited until she did so. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not disappointed, either. That’s your dad’s job. I get it, is what I’m saying. It gives you a buzz, and it’s fun and exciting, and you just wanted to have a good time with your, uh…”

Bob leaned in a bit, and dropped his voice to a stage whisper.

“Is Raz still your boyfriend?”

“Wha –” her cheeks went red. “Yes, he is!”

“Alright, sorry, I’m just always out of the loop. No one ever tells me when these things change or not. Anyway,” he continued before she could get brighter than the cherries in her ice cream. “I’m just saying that you gotta be more than careful with this kind of thing. Everyone should be, really, but especially people like us. Plants aren’t the only thing that runs in the Zanotto family, unfortunately, so we just have to be aware of it and act accordingly.”

The teen turned this over in her mind. He could practically see the gears moving. When she looked at him again, it was with a slow, contemplative nod.

“No more late-night bar-hopping?” Her great-uncle asked.

“No more late-night bar-hopping.” She answered, sincere.

“Good.” He looked outside. Helmut and Raz were both lying on the front of the car, pointing out stars to each other. The sight made him smile. “Come on, we’ll work on that whole thing about Adam and Lizzie giving you alcohol another time, when it’s not three in the morning. For now, let’s rejoin our boys again and go get some rest, okay?”

“Okay.” Lili slid out of the booth and tentatively took her family member’s hand. His fingers squeezed hers in reassurance. “And...thanks, Uncle Bob.”

“Well, what can I say. Us weird Zanotto plant people hafta look out for each other, right?”

“Right.”

They walked out together, hand-in-hand.

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

A/N: I knew from promotional material that we'd be going into the mind of someone struggling with alcoholism, but Bob's Bottles punched me hard in the gut. It's probably my favorite mind in the game, both because it's visually gorgeous and because it hit a little close to home with some of the themes, like generational alcoholism and how the addiction can make someone a shell of themselves.

I wrote half of this three weeks ago and then found myself really struggling to finish it because it brought up a lot of old feelings I thought I'd sorted through a long time ago.

Psychonauts, man.

[elivanto]

thank you so much for the audio clip of eli! really love his accent hes so cute ;_; one more question: if its not too much trouble, you've mentioned before making a case for eli being queercoded and id love to hear more of your thoughts on that!

queercoded eli??? [cracks knuckles] [rubs hands] yes. yes. i can do that.

it's really just my interpretation and projecting onto a character i identify with - as always - but i'm gonna find a few nice quotes for you >:)

here we go!

honestly a lotttt of it is based on that as readers, we perceive him to be very aware of himself and his role in the empire, and that a lot of the time his point of view deals with that he knows exactly what to do or not do to be accepted or scoffed at or whatnot (notwithstanding that he’s somewhat of an unreliable narrator sometimes but that’s a whole different post fhkshfs)... that was uneloquent but you probably get what i’m trying to say.

also him being incredibly uncomfortable with everything core-world/imperial command-adjacent. this is just general stuff, but the way he reacts to things has me thinking boy, that feels so familiar it hurts.

“Scarecrow,” Eli murmured. Parck sent him a sharp look. “Is this something you people do out here?” “Some farmers still use scarecrows to keep birds out of their crops,” Eli said, his face warming. You people. Parck was letting his Core World prejudices peek out. (thrawn, chapter 1)

and

“Maybe he lobbed the blaster packs in with a catapult or something.” Wyan raised his eyebrows. “Through the weather canopy?” Eli winced as he looked over at the still-smoldering mass of burned grass. No, of course not—a lobbed-in explosive would have bounced off the canopy and never made it to the table. Stupid of him. “I guess not, sir.” “You guess not, sir,” Wyan echoed sarcastically. (thrawn, chapter 1)

the way he reacts to thrawn is... interesting, too. (this isn’t me being a slut for thranto i swear) (but granted, almost every character reacts to thrawn this way, it’s unavoidable lmao)

His skin was blue, his eyes a glowing red, and his hair a shimmering blue-black. Eli stiffened. Back home on Lysatra, there were myths about beings like that. Proud, deadly warriors that the stories named Chiss. With an effort, he tore his eyes away from the face and his mind away from the old myths. The prisoner was dressed in what appeared to be skins and furs, apparently sewn together from the indigenous animals of the forest where he’d been living. Even marching in the center of a rectangle of armed stormtroopers, he had an air of almost regal confidence about him. (thrawn, chapter 1 - yes, again)

and like the experienced literary analyst i am (/s), i deduced from these few lines that smol eli had a huge ass crush on the very brave and handsome jedi knight anakin skywalker:

“I can hardly wait,” [Eli] said. “Change of subject. Did you really meet General Skywalker?” “I did,” Thrawn said, his voice going distant. “It was an interesting time.” “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me? That it was interesting?” (thrawn chapter 3)

ANYWAY. this here is probably my favorite part of the entire thrawn novel:

“It is a word I have not heard before,” Thrawn said. “Ensign Vanto?” “I don’t know it, either,” Vanto said. His tone is cautious, but interested. “Some slang thing, I’d guess. Probably means ‘idiot.’ ” Angel takes a step toward Vanto. His expression is suddenly furious. His hands form into fists. “Listen, pretty boy—” (thrawn, chapter 8)

pretty boy. pretty boy. PRETTY BOY. if that ain’t queercoding i don’t know what is.

let’s jump over to thrawn: treason - just thinking of it makes me giggle but. first, this passage:

Eli took a careful breath. “Death troopers,” he echoed, just to make sure he’d heard Thrawn correctly. “Is there a problem?” Thrawn asked. Eli looked away from him at the preparations going on all around the bridge. What could he say? That death troopers were the elite of the elite, in both competence and fanaticism? That they hated traitors and renegades even more than Ronan did? Or that Eli himself was exactly the kind of person that men like that would normally shoot on sight without a second thought? (thrawn: treason, chapter 9)

i honestly couldn’t breathe for a second when i read that last line for the first time. i know that narrative-wise it’s meant to refer to the ~traitor~ thing but. you feel me. queer person having to work closely with elite enforcers of a fascist empire? panic.

and now the funny part that i’ve posted about far too many times made me giggle thinking of it because - god - i just-

Eli had long noted the stormtrooper aversion to showing their faces in public. Especially when they were faces like these. It wasn’t that Pik and Waffle were ugly or disfigured in any way. On the contrary. There was a symmetry and chiseled dignity about their faces that Eli had rarely seen in other human beings. Add to that their bigger-than-average size, their lean but well-defined musculature, and an unusual sheen to their neatly trimmed hair and they would be ideal candidates for Imperial recruitment displays. (thrawn: treason, chapter 11)

what the fuck, eli. what the fuck. what are you doing ogling death troopers like that. lmao

aaaand on a final note, please look at his lil face in the thrawn comic:

...that’s a twink, sir.

[theangiediary]

SPN rewatch 1x01: Pilot

notes and thoughts

Can't get over how ridiculously americana they made the Lawrence house 😭 literally Sam's baby mobile is baseball themed it's almost comical. "Sammy's ready to toss around a football yet?" 😞

I'm still confused by JDM playing the YED standing over Sam's crib? Because then John is immediately downstairs asleep in front of the TV? (which also. Lol, "not perfect until she was dead" indeed).

"It's okay, Sam." Besides the fact that this is heartbreaking, I also think it's interesting that John and Mary call him Sammy, while kid!Dean says Sam, only later switching to Sammy.

"You know how I feel about Halloween". No she doesn't! Or, she thinks she does, but he didn't give her the real reason!! False intimacy, babygirl you deserved so much better </3

Both of them turning down more shots. Sam honey you really found the most gorgeous, supportive, boring, healthy girl you could, huh?

"Crash and burn". I don't even have to say it... "Woah easy tiger" same same.

Dean's whole introduction to Jessica. There's a really good analysis about it (the subtle put down, the not so subtle objectification, the possessiveness over Sammy)... So much going on in like 2 minutes.

"He's always missing, and he's always fine". And yet "No, not normal. Safe." Two sentences later!! Sam is so full of contractions (x).

Dean calling it running away, Dad saying leaving, Sam saying "just going to college". Woof.

"Dad's in real trouble [...] I can feel it" 🥴 literally hear this all the time in action/adventure media, but about siblings/children, not parents??? It's not supposed to go in that direction hello?

"In almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.." & Dean seems surprised that Sam is interviewing at a law school. -> I think they originally did talk/call/etc, but it fell off around Sam's junior year.

"Miller shift"/"he's deer hunting, probably got Jim, Jack, and Jose with him" -> I go back and forth on whether John would have been a drunk, partly from the first one and Dean's reaction to it, but by the second Sam knows there's something wrong but he still uses drunk excuse, which makes me think maybe not, maybe that's just what Sam tells people to avoid talking about the supernatural and Dean knows he does this?

The way Sam smiles/laughs through the credit card scam convo... but then just stares open mouth at Dean riffling through the fake IDs.... The things he chooses to be indignant about are very interesting.

"Well that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys." Dean disrespect of the law is something that can be so personal 🤌 Sam's "yes they're dumb but why you gotta talk to them like that?" Perfect balance.

Dean's arm. Behind Sam. In the diner. & Synchronized "What do they talk about?" Again, it's been two years........ the things they share and the things they see differently are just. J2 I have questions.

Dean asking Sam to tell him why Constance did it even though they are both looking at the article. & "That bridge look familiar to you?" -> Probably not that deep, but if you'd like to dig I'd say Dean is trying to make Sam feel useful; I do actually think Sam is the better/enjoys research more, but I see these moments as a little bit of (potentially unconscious) manipulation on Dean's part.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? Does she know about the things you've done?" So accusatory. I mean for a guy that's all "it's saving people! We're heroes!" this comes off very "Sammy did evil" here.

"Even if we do find the thing that killed her, mom's gone, and she isn't coming back." 😮‍💨 Annnd that's how you make a show people!!! The hook of this change at the end of the episode is 💯💯💯

Sam laughing at Dean diving off the bridge into the mud. What the fuck is wrong with you? (lovingly)

Points for the pro dirty!dean discourse, it takes him an. Odd amount of time to get "cleaned up".

He really did. He really did just grab that leather jacket off a bookshelf. Iconic. Legendary. Also John is a fucking slob 😭. I love him but that room...

"So come home soon okay? I love you" Jessica's voicemail being 1. so sweet 2. interrupted by Dean getting arrested 3. impossible, she dies the moment he relaxes in their bed. He never gets to say it back. He can never go hooooommeeeee.

"I know you got partners, one of them's an older guy. Maybe he started the whole thing. [...] (re: journal) This is none kinds of crazy." THIS IS WHY DEAN DOESNT LIKE POLICE oh my goddd that's his dad! His hero!! Obviously the Victor thing is yet to come but how often do you think this happened, police implying they're murderers together, maybe some bad touching/"the old man's using you..."

Sam's fake 911 call so that Dean could break out of the station. Again, the theme of him being Dean's little accomplice while being all "ooh I have to get back the Stanford for my law school interview" is so funny like he could have chosen any other "normal" life why the hypocrisy!!

"I'm not unfaithful. I've never been." "You will be." 🥲Kripke really said I'm going to make a character with so many bodily autonomy violations. From birth to death.

Also "I'm taking you home"/immediately following that up with him driving the Impala into the house like. No to get all Criminal Minds, but one could argue that is symbolic penetration.

Photo/prop parallels: Sam has the one of John and Mary, John had the one of John, Sam, and Dean, and Constance has the one of her and her kids. Dean has none.

"What were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" -> points for rock salt guns being a later thing John/Dean figured out.

"I'll take you home." Screaming. Again.

"Maybe I can meet up with you later huh?" Sam was the one to ask. Sam doesn't really give false platitudes, so did he really mean it? Was he planning to get back in regular contact with Dean, more than just check in calls?

The fire parallels. "Home". Attitude shift. John showing up at the beginning, only to "disappear" the rest of the episode, seen only in photos/what he leaves behind so it's like we're experiencing his loss with the brothers. Etc etc. Banger of a pilot, okay, I try not to be salty but anyone that says spn is bad television just like. Did not watch the same show. Yes, there's issues re:lack of female characters etc but come on. The story is solid.

---

Bonus: total SamDean physical altercations: 1 fight, 1 footstomp, 2 slaps, 1 wall slam, 1 very aggressive manhandling

[collabwithmyself]

1-3: Turnabout Transfix (1/2)

Ray and Maya both teased him about his "old man phone," but in Miles's opinion, it worked perfectly well, so he saw no point in replacing it. It was simple, it was solid, and most importantly, he could still customize a ringtone with it.

This meant that waking up abruptly to a tinny rendition of the Steel Samurai theme song had him in a marginally better mood than if it were a normal, repetitive ringing dragging him out of slumber an hour earlier than usual. He fumbled blindly for the cell phone chiming away on his nightstand and dragged it over to him, squinting futilely at the caller ID before answering.

"Mlejerth," he managed.

"My!" screeched a voice, shouting directly into his ear and startling him into sitting up. "It's a disaster!"

"Wh-- Maya? What happened? Are you in danger?"

"It's the Steel Samurai!" Maya wailed. "He killed the Evil Magistrate!"

"Well, that seems largely out of character for him," Miles mused, rubbing his eyes. "...Wait, hold on, where did you get this information? Why are you giving me spoilers?"

"I mean in real life! Turn on the TV, or whatever it is you old men do to get news!"

"In real--" Miles's sleep-addled brain struggled to comprehend what Maya was trying to tell him. "You... do you mean their actors?"

"Yes! Duh!"

He fell back against the headboard in shock. "You're telling me Will Powers killed Jack Hammer?" Why didn't she say that in the first place?!

"That's what the police are saying! You're a defense attorney, My, do something! There's no way the Steel Samurai would kill anybody!"

"Wh-- Maya, you can't expect me to be able to catch the attention of a celebrity, let alone be picked by him to defend him in court! I've only acted as an attorney in two trials!"

"Yeah, and you beat Sascha von Karma! That's better than a whole resume of cases or whatever! Come on, My, you gotta!"

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose. "You won't stop pestering me until I agree to this, will you?"

"Nnnnope!" Maya popped the P emphatically. "Meet you at the detention center!"

"Yes, I'll see you--"

Click.

"...there..."

What had he just gotten himself into?

⁂

"So this is Global Studios?" Maya asked, hands on her hips as she peered around. "I kinda expected it to be... I dunno, bigger."

"Bigger isn't always better, you know," Miles replied, pushing up his glasses. "They make do excellently with what they have, wouldn't you agree?"

"You can say that again!"

Maya strolled closer to the gate, standing on her tiptoes. "Geez, where's the handle for this thing? You think we might have to climb it?"

Miles gave her a look that he hoped conveyed his lack of amusement properly. "We are not breaking into the studio. I highly doubt they'd let just anyone in, especially after a murder just took place. We might need to go back and get, well, a permission slip from Mr. Powers."

Maya smirked at him. "You just wanna get his autograph."

Miles's ears burned. "It's important to the case--"

A horrible screech startled them both, and Maya sprang back from the gate, reflexively snagging Miles by the sleeve and making him flinch a second time. It took him a moment to recognize the piercing cry as a human voice instead of some furious animal.

"Hey! You there! You wanna get in, you're gonna have to go through me! Honestly, all day I've had to deal with nothing but gawkers and sightseers, it seems like nobody in this city knows how to keep their nose out of things, they've all got another thing coming if they think they can get past me--"

He turned to find a person in blue storming out of the nearby security station and towards them both. Intimidated, but knowing better than to let that show, he straightened up, and beside him, Maya did the same.

"Er, pardon me. I'm a defense attorney, and this is my," Miles hesitated, "paralegal. We're here on behalf of--"

The elderly woman squinted at him, then brightened like a light being turned on. "Oh! What a lovely young man you are, aren't you just a sweetheart?"

Miles blinked at the praise. Beside him, Maya made a sudden retching noise, though he couldn't fathom why. "Er, I'm representing Will Powers," he continued, gesturing to the badge on his lapel, "and I was hoping you could let us in to conduct an investigation? You are the security guard, aren't you?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Wendy Oldbag, Global Studios security, but you can just call me grandma!" The old woman waved a hand at him. (Miles was... not going to do that.) "Why, you're so polite, not at all like most people these days, so pushy and impatient, looking to sightsee just because something horrible happened! No, I can tell you're an honest young man, you wouldn't dream of causing trouble, would you?"

Miles shook his head. Oldbag continued to ramble, so his gaze slipped away from her and towards Maya, who looked positively mortified.

"My, I think she likes you," she stage-whispered.

"Is that not a good thing?" Miles was puzzled. "She'll be more likely to let us in."

"Ohh, boy..."

It took a lot of convincing to assure this woman that they didn't need a personally guided tour, thank you, and it was Maya being her blunt self that eventually got her to take the hint and leave in a huff.

"That was..." Miles searched for the right word as he gazed about the studio grounds.

"Yikes," Maya finished.

"Maya, she was a perfectly agreeable woman--"

"Are you that oblivious, My? She was totally into you!" She threw her hands into the air. "You get such a bad crush you practically block out your memory when Mr. Powers talks to you, but this lady flirting with you doesn't set off any alarm bells?"

Miles spluttered. "She was not flirting!"

"She was totally making kissy eyes at you!"

"This is an entirely irrelevant discussion topic anyways, we should be investigating."

Maya puffed her cheeks out, balling her fists. "You can't just stand there and let weird old ladies creep on you, My!"

"Believe me," he huffed with finality, "I would never let any weird old person get into my head."

They didn't get far before a figure standing under the archway leading to the studios spotted them. The already large detective puffed up in anger when they approached.

"Hey! Aren't you that murderer from the other day?!"

Maya squeaked, bravado evaporating. "Yikes! It's that himbo detective...!"

"I-- I beg your pardon, Maya, what--"

The detective - Gumshoe, was it? - stomped a foot in frustration, chest heaving. "Prosecutor von Karma's real upset because of you! All frustrated and can't focus on work, staring out the window and muttering..."

Maya seemed to regain her resolve. "How is it our fault she's a sore loser, huh? And besides, if anyone's at fault, it's you for doing sloppy detective work!"

This only served to agitate Gumshoe further. "Don't you insult my boss!" he exploded. But then, all at once, he deflated, brows knitting together guiltily. "...I did my best..."

Maya looked thrown. "Um... s-sorry," she stammered. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings..."

The detective shook his head. "Nah, you got a point, pal... I shouldn't be blaming other people like that..."

Miles refrained from pointing out that it was pretty much his job to be blaming other people, along with his boss's. "Well, I suppose there's always the next case."

"Yeah... hey! Speaking of which! What the heck are you two doing here?!"

Maya put her hands on her hips and tried to make herself look bigger. "Well, we're on this case too, pal!"

Gumshoe's mouth fell open in offense. "Hey! You can't just go around calling people pal! That's my endearing character trait, pal!"

"Well, what are you gonna do about it, pal?!"

"Pal, I'm gonna--"

"Are you here," Miles interrupted loudly, "on behalf of Miss von Karma?"

It was the wrong thing to say, evidently, as Gumshoe set his jaw again. "I told you to address Prosecutor von Karma by the proper title! Don't let me catch you saying that around my boss, or you're in for it!"

What an odd thing to insist on, Miles thought, but he nodded along nonetheless. "Well? Are you?"

"Am I what...?" Gumshoe took a moment, most likely replaying the conversation in his head. "Oh! Yeah! Prosecutor von Karma's on this case, and this time, we've definitely got it in the bag!"

Miles remembered the strange, uneasy feeling he'd gotten when staring down that woman in court. How her eyes burned with a disgust and hatred Miles couldn't hope to decipher. How her cold composure had dissolved into furious outbursts and frantic bluffs in an effort to save face as Miles took her case apart. How angry, humiliated tears had pricked at the corners of her eyes, and she'd clung anxiously to her right side like she was preventing a wound from bleeding out.

"I'd be worried about her punching you, My," Maya had said to him, "but I think she might just break her hand trying."

How the scrawny brunette managed to be so imposing, Miles had no idea. Everything about her made his stomach twist, like something was inherently incorrect about her. He almost felt sorry for her, having to be raised by a man like Manfred von Karma, but she had been molded into his likeness - a ruthless prosecutor who sought no less than a perfect win record - which made her his enemy.

Some part of him wondered if they could have been friends in another life - a life where they'd crossed paths earlier.

But Miles had far more important things to worry about than that.

[apiratewhopines]

Thanks to @teamhook for the the eye candy :)

In the Offing

Chapter 16 — Heart of Darkness

Summary: In which our heroine buries multiple hatchets

Notes: This one gets a little gruesome!

Chapter 16 on AO3

“Some mistakes get made

That’s alright, that’s okay

In the end it’s better for me

That’s the moral of the story babe”

-Moral of the Story, Ashe

In the dead of night, her phone started ringing. Looking at the clock, she tried to shake off the fog that threatened to pull her back under. Reaching blindly for her cell and seeing the ID, she groggily answered, “What do you want, Killian?”

“Bloody hell, Swan! If I had known you would get in trouble the second I walked out, I never would have left,” he swore, words breaking with stress. She imagined his hair looked wild at this point if his voice was any indication. “Are you alright?”

“Finally got around to reading the paper, I see,” she replied without emotion as she shifted to sit up in bed. Unable to keep an accusation from seeping into her tone, she continued, “Yes, I’ve had a day to get used to the idea that I’m the most hated person in town but it’s nice of you to join the party. Better late than never I suppose.”

“Liam and I went out on the sailboat, we didn’t get back until a couple of minutes ago. Surely you don’t think I would have left you to fend for yourself if I had known,” he rebuked. When she didn’t say anything, he said grimly, “Or maybe that’s exactly what you thought. Love, you’ll not get rid of me that easily. Can I come over? As a friend.”

She hated that he felt like he had to clarify his intentions. Hated even more that she craved his presence. “No, I’m okay. I need to sleep. I...I’m glad you called though,” she confessed, too tired to maintain the facade that she didn’t care.

“Emma, please—”

“I’ll talk to you later,” she cut him off and hung up before she could change her mind. As much as it hurt, the lines between them were blurred enough without him holding her while she slept which is exactly what would happen if he showed up in the middle of the night. She was beginning to realize that a platonic friendship with him would be impossible. For them it would be all or nothing.

She drifted back to sleep and dreamed of the cottage. The sunshine softly illuminating the porch in the early morning, tiny feet running barefoot across the wood floors, laughter filling every corner of the home. She awoke hours later with a deep sense of peace that was foreign to her.

—

The seagulls squawked longingly as they flew back and forth across the marina docks in search of food left behind by visitors. Emma sat on the bench looking out at the ocean, the heat of the day warming the metal in a pleasant way. While she didn’t want to admit it, she knew she had come to this place in search of Killian.

Instead someone found her.

“I was hoping I would run into you soon,” Liam greeted her as he settled on the bench. As was his norm, he didn’t crowd or even look in her direction. His gaze was fixed out on the distant waves. The stony countenance that always graced his face, the one that used to irritate her so, had somehow changed into a soothing kind of companionship that she had missed.

“Well, you did and here we are. Two grumpy Bostonians stuck in a picturesque nightmare,” she commented, only half joking. She realized that even before their fight, she hadn’t really spent time with him in weeks. Sneaking a look out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the gash on his head was healing nicely, only a thin red line marking the place where the injury occurred. His arm was still in a sling and probably would be for a couple more weeks but he wasn’t as stiff as he had been. Still stiff of course, this was Liam Jones after all, but pompously so instead of painfully.

“Too right,” he agreed. “Although I think you might have gotten the worst of it.”

“Trip’s not over yet. Don’t jinx yourself,” Emma pointed out with a grimace. “Thank you for the transfer. I wasn’t sure you’d come through.”

“Have I ever not lived up to my end of the bargain, Emma? You did what you said you would, you found half the missing persons on our list, doing it admirably and with your normal tenaciousness. If I ever made you think I doubted your abilities or didn’t count you as important, I regret it. I didn’t bring you along as a...what did you call it? A pretty blonde distraction.”

“I haven’t given up, you know. I still want to help you. It’s only that my priorities have to shift for a while,” she told him. Saying that she needed to save her own skin first would have been too melodramatic but she trusted he understood what she meant. He usually did.

“What they printed in the paper was out of line,” he said heatedly. “It was a smear job and it means nothing. You aren’t alone, Emma. You have friends and we will sort this out. It is a fine tangle though.”

“I’m sure it was a shock to read about my past in the Storybrooke Daily Mirror. At least it was for me. There is a reason I like keeping to myself.”

“I knew about your past the second time I talked with Henry, lass,” he laughed. “I think he was feeling me out as a potential suitor. The hope of youth is vast and diabolical.”

Chuckling because that sounded exactly like something Henry would do, she reached out and lightly slapped his shoulder. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m too good for the likes of you, even with a criminal history and fresh charges pending.”

“Aye, you’ll get no argument from me,” he agreed. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he muttered, “Speaking of women who are too good for me, Elsa and I are getting married this Saturday.”

Eyes wide, she gaped at him in surprise. The tips of his ears were a faint pink and his lips had softened into a satisfied grin. “I don’t know what to say. Congratulations! That’s really fast.”

“Or really slow depending on how you look at it,” he responded. “I’ve loved her for years and I don’t want to wait another minute. Her sister will be in town on a short break for the holiday so we decided it was the perfect time. We want you to be there. After all if it weren’t for you, I’d still have my head stuck up my ass.”

Snorting, she nodded. “That’s probably true. Honestly, I thought you were an incurable case so I guess you deserve some credit too. But Liam, I’m not sure it’s a good idea. I have this shooting hanging over my head and people will talk. I don’t want to detract from your day.”

“Hang them. Have I ever cared what people thought? The whole town will be there whether they are invited or not so what better way to show our solidarity.”

Forcing herself to be truthful, she added, “Things between me and Killian are...unsettled. He might be uncomfortable if I show up.”

Looking at her for the first time, his eyes crinkled in a way that was reminiscent of his brother. “No kidding. His moping around the house and general state of sullenness were my first clues. Trust me, he won’t mind.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s smitten with you. Has been since the moment we stepped foot in town,” he said in a voice that made it clear he thought it was obvious. Smiling out at the horizon, he explained, “Killian has taken to you in a way I’ve never seen before. In the interest of fulfilling my role of wing man, I have to confess that he was on me to tell you about the map and treasure from the minute we made it back to the cottage after the accident, long before you had formed an attachment. I’m sure he’ll give you plenty of reasons to be angry with him in the future but place the blame for this one where it belongs. Squarely on me.”

“I think I may have already burned that bridge,” Emma declared, her smile a sad answer to his.

“Good that my little brother is an excellent swimmer then,” Liam countered, standing up and facing her. “Come to the wedding. Then we’ll get back to work.”

—

Emma walked into the loft several hours later discouraged and annoyed. Having spent a good part of the afternoon at the docks, she decided to stop off at the hospital on the way home to check on August. It was there that the full import of her situation hit her. The ICU staff followed her every move, never leaving her alone with her friend as if they were afraid she would rip out his heart with her bare hands as soon as their backs were turned.

So much for innocent until proven guilty.

Mary Margaret’s sunny smile welcomed her as she stepped across the threshold. “Emma, you just missed Killian. He’d been waiting for you for hours.”

“Hmm” was her only reply. As much as she might want to see him, after her chat with Liam she wasn’t sure she was ready to. There were things she needed to settle in her own mind before she interacted with him again. It wasn’t fair to keep jerking him around. She was going to have to pick a path and stick to it. The problem was her mind was set on one direction and her heart was urging her in another.

“Uh oh, I know that look,” Mary Margaret commented. “You’re reverting.”

Amused in spite of the dark turn of her thoughts, Emma asked, “Reverting? What do you mean?”

“You’re pulling on that armor of yours and you’re readying for battle. Am I right?”

“I’m tired. That’s all. The hospital staff clearly believes everything they read,” she explained while moving into the kitchen to get something to drink. “It’s one thing to think someone capable of murder but it’s another to think they would be stupid enough to do it in broad daylight in a well monitored hospital room.”

“Most people are too wrapped up in their own lives to question the things that people present to them as facts,” she observed sagely. “Regardless, I know what you need to get out of this funk.”

“Do you? And what would that be?”

“We’re going out for a girl’s night. I’ll call Elsa and Ruby. We’ll get dressed up and we’ll show the town that they are wrong about you.”

“I’m not sure there is enough makeup in the world to change their opinions now,” Emma joked, not completely averse to proposal. “I’m also not sure I’m ready to see another story in the paper about how I callously partied my way through Storybrooke while August is on his deathbed.”

“It’s Storybrooke, Emma. How much trouble do you think we could get into? I’m not suggesting an orgy. It’s dinner with people who care about you. Maybe a few drinks.”

Nearly spitting out her orange juice when the word orgy slipped from Mary Margaret’s mouth, Emma shook her head in disbelief and teased, “What in the world has David been doing these last couple of days? You know when I met you, I would have sworn that you didn’t know any four-letter words.”

“Well now I know all of them,” she joked back, her cheeks flushing and eyes dancing with the deep emotion that only comes from being in love and being loved thoroughly and repeatedly. “Get changed. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

Hours later, Emma had to admit she was glad she didn’t put up too much of a fight. Elsa and Ruby rounded out their merry little band quite nicely, the cool elegance of the former a stark contrast to the vivid earthiness of the latter. Overall they were a nice blend of independent, intelligent women who, for whatever reason, seemed to have her back.

She also appreciated that they were giving the topic of her brief arrest a wide berth. There was no better way to kill a buzz than to give into harsh realities. They kept the conversation light, discussing Elsa’s imminent wedding and Mary Margaret’s newfound saltiness. Ruby sighed and said, “Everyone is pairing up. It’s about to be nothing but babies and boringness. Then Emma will leave and nothing exciting will ever happen again.”

“That’s me, the bringer of excitement,” Emma commented dryly as her phone vibrated. Seeing that Henry was calling, she excused herself and went to stand outside so she could hear him. She watched a steady stream of people make their way into the bar as Henry begged to fly into town for Liam’s wedding. Figuring her son’s well-informed status must have come from the man himself, she laughed at his logical arguments for the last minute trip. Starting with the ability to celebrate the holiday with her and ending with meeting her new friends, he laid out his reasons as if he were forty instead of ten.

She hadn’t realized the individuals she had met since her arrival had trickled into their conversations so much but the casual way he referred to half a dozen people he had never met drove the point home. Tempted as she was to give in to his earnest and well-thought out pleas, she did not think it was a good time for a visit. She needed to clear her name first. Explaining that there would be time to meet everyone later and promising to send pictures of the ceremony, which effectively made the decision for her about attending, she ended the call and leaned back against the outer wall.

She heard gravel crunching under footsteps before she heard his voice. “Fancy meeting you here,” Graham said as he approached her.

“This is where all the cool kids hang out apparently,” she remarked, turning toward him. “How are you doing, Sheriff?”

“I’ve been better,” he admitted, stopping a couple of feet away and taking up a similar position against the wall. They stood there in silence for several minutes, neither one sure what to say now that they were alone and not interrogating each other. “The forensics came back. The gun was wiped clean. No prints.”

“Dead end then,” she observed, not particularly surprised. If it had been that easy, the guy would have already been caught.

“Not quite. You’d be surprised at the number of criminals who wipe the weapon and completely forget about the bullets. We pulled a partial off one. No hits yet but it definitely doesn’t match Liam’s or yours. They are also analyzing an unusual substance they found on the rags. We may still get lucky.”

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means you are no longer my prime suspect, Emma,” Graham explained with a small smile. “You can go back to hating me with a clear conscience.”

“I never hated you,” Emma argued, sheepishly looking at him from under her lashes. “I just didn’t trust you.”

Laughing softly, his lilting voice carried to her with a hint of delight. “I do love how direct you are.” Gazing into her eyes searchingly, he asked with a quirked brow, “Why is that? What did I do within minutes of meeting you to put you off me so completely?”

“You lied,” she said simply. Returning his searching glance, she took in his handsome face and lean body. In another time or place, if things had been different, she wondered if there would have been something between them. The odd tension stretched around them, forming a little bubble where the outside world didn’t exist. Deciding she had nothing to lose, she asked, “What were you really doing in the woods the night of our accident?”

“Clever girl,” he complimented her with a wink that showed he was teasing rather than patronizing her. With a shrewd look, he asked her, “Do you trust me now?”

“I think you’ve earned a little faith from me,” she replied, curious about the sudden shift in his demeanor. “Why?”

“It might be better if I show you,” he said mysteriously. A second later, her hand was clasped in his and he was pulling her toward his cruiser. “Let’s go.”

Sending a text to her friends to let them know something had come up and she wouldn’t be rejoining them, she buckled herself into the passenger seat and questioned humorously, “Are you taking me to the wolf’s den?”

“There really have been complaints about wolves,” he defended. “Although they are more likely to be coyotes in this area. But you’re right. I wasn’t being honest because I wasn’t sure what I had found. This town has a violent history and this particular investigation I’ve been keeping under wraps. I haven’t even told Nolan about it.”

“So why me? Why now?”

“I don’t know, Emma,” Graham responded truthfully. “There’s something about you. I’ve always been on your side, you just didn’t want to see it. I have a feeling you’re going to be the one to solve everything.”

“Everything is a tall order,” she groused. “I’d settle for finding who shot August.”

They fell into silence as the buildings gave way to trees. In no time, they were approaching the to town line. They emerged from the cruiser at nearly the exact point Liam’s SUV had left the road. With a dubious look at her sandals, he said, “You going to be okay for a walk?”

Mimicking his doubtful glance, she countered, “Are you offering to carry me the whole time?” Before he could say anything, she stepped off the pavement and ordered, “Lead the way.”

Even with the high-powered police flashlights, it was slow going in the inky darkness of the night with the overgrown forest floor threatening to trip them with every footfall. They had probably been hiking arm-in-arm for about thirty minutes, Emma having given up the pretense of making it on her own shortly after they started. “Are you taking me to our crash site?”

“I’m taking you to a crash site,” he corrected. Huffing a bit and wishing she had gone with jeans rather than a dress, she nodded. Then, there was a break in the trees and she could barely make out the charred remains of a sedan.

Pulling away, she carefully circled the burned out car. The light bounced eerily off the blackened metal and with only a slight hesitation, she flooded the front seat with the beam. Letting go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, she was relieved that it was empty. She really hadn’t been looking forward to finding any more skeletons in Storybrooke. “Who do you think it belonged to?”

“I don’t have to think, I know,” he assured her. “The car was registered to the city. It was reported stolen about twenty-eight years ago.”

“Someone stole city property, took it for a joyride, crashed it, and burned the car to hide the evidence?”

“Perhaps.”

“There’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there?”

“You do have a knack for ferreting out the truth, Emma,” he respectfully observed. “It would be nice to have you around to help out the department from time to time.”

“Don’t get attached,” she warned seriously. “I’m merely passing through. What else have you found?”

“Follow me,” he directed, taking her arm lightly in his grasp to steady her as they moved deeper into the woods. Less than a quarter mile away from the car, they came upon an abandoned cabin. Flashing her light through the grimy windows, she detected no sign of movement.

Graham entered the one room cabin first and flicked on the light switch. A couple of the bulbs were still working and a dingy, yellow glow filled the room. It was then that she saw the blood stains on the small bed pushed against one wall. Her flashlight continued to trail around the room, illuminating several more bloody rags strewn on the floor. “What the hell happened here?”

“I can’t be sure,” he answered, steadying her again as her knees buckled a little at the overwhelming sight. “If it’s too much, we can go outside. You’ve seen everything there is to see now.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” she told him, taking slow breaths in through her nose. “What do you think happened?”

“I think someone had a baby.” He watched her reaction as if concerned she might pass out. Honestly, his fears weren’t totally unfounded. “I’ll spare you from reviewing the evidence that led me to that conclusion since you’re white as a sheet and look like you could double over at any moment.”

“Why haven’t you processed the scene?”

“I’m waiting for the state lab to come. Emma, something happened in Storybrooke decades ago, something that is having a ripple effect to this day. I don’t trust that we’ll find answers locally. I’ve been doing what I can to comb through records regarding pregnancies around that time but it’s slow going with the privacy laws and the fact that I doubt there was a birth announcement for this particular baby.”

“I think I can help you there.” Exhaling shakily, she hurried outside. She heard him come up behind her and didn’t resist when he wrapped his arm around her shoulders as if to funnel some of his strength to her. “I’m positive that Eva Blanchard had her baby in that cabin, Graham. I’m also sure that if we continue searching, we’ll find her and Leo’s body somewhere around here. Maybe the baby’s as well.”

Feeling sick, she didn’t protest as he pulled her closer and began the trek out of this grisly corner of the forest. He didn’t question how she knew the things she knew and didn’t pressure her to talk, merely nodding at her in thanks when he dropped her off outside the loft.

That night, her dreams were anything but peaceful.

[allisonesays]

Hi! I'm currently going through a rough patch with my parents, especially my mom being more overbearing and just putting my mental health at risk. I'm taking the chance with moving into my friends house with her mom to give myself peace of mind and away from my moms energy after getting what I assumed was multiple signs from the universe, Greek Theoi, and my ancestors (even tho I doubted everything ever step of the way and had 0 self confidence). Am I reading the signs correctly? What can I expect after this move I'm making this week? Thank you for your time!

normally I have trouble bringing myself around to doing readings quickly after I get asked. depression and my living circumstances make it doubly hard. but this ask hit close to home and when I read it I instantly gained the conviction to do what I could for you. these are the insights my cards have for you.

right off the bat I see the factors in your life being dictated by the people around you. major figures drawn together by partnership and alliances. I find you to be a mind of curiosity and gregariousness, that seems to be what found you in this present situation. the situation itself seems to revolve around resources and the profound connection vulnerability brings between people.

the person you are getting away from would be either a person of emotional command, perhaps a bulldozer of sorts; or the being you could become in the circumstances you are escaping from. someone who overcomes all obstacles by sheer force of will. I'm certain staying in the situation would've hardened you and sculpted such a resilient person. but the oracle cards don't tell me that is necessarily the right path.

a path of insecurity beckons though. I can speak from experience that such happens when you're at the mercy of others. but this can also be a chance to blossom in overcoming that. I see the potential of someone determined and again gregarious coming into being. but this will take moving on from the circumstances you're leaving and will eventually have to leave on your own.

your higher self calls to break with the patterns that have led you to this point. maybe you've been thinking of going no contact. certainly if the situation warrants such a response as you've chosen then it would make much sense to choose such a path. your shadow fears living beyond your means. financial independence gone wry. I reccomend careful management of resources in the near future.

internal factors that relate to you happen to be the sharing of joy and the fulfillment of wishes that are soon to be coming. but be wary of growing complacent. the trauma inflicted upon you can take root and take hold and lead to stagnation and the burning of bridges that may need to be retraversed after moving on.

you see plainly that disaster is avoided but you also worry about the change of circumstances. these things are natural in escaping abusive situations and the outcome will be found in the difficult and profound transformation of the gregarious page of swords into the profound page of cups.

the oracle deck in the top right tells me that these potentials of the pages are deep seeded in you and are waiting for the possibility of blooming. again a profound revolution of self is coming out of this event and the careful guidance of those teeming characters around you will necessarily bring this about. but only if you remain mindful of the power of the 8 of cups reversed and the many reversals as lessons in your coming of age.

more tangibly I rly do reccomend you get in contact with your nearest homeless shelter. even if you don't think of yourself in those terms the state might and would be more than willing to help you with resources and programs that can help you get a leg up in this world. this is the advice from someone who wishes they pursued this option much earlier in life.

this really hit close to home with me and I can't do anything but pray and wish you the best in your endeavors. if you ever wanna talk you're welcome to reach out, id be a blessing to be able to help in any way I can

[owl-noire]

Say Your Prayers: A Reservoir Dogs Fic (1/3)

Fandom: Reservoir Dogs Pairing: None? But like, some. Honestly, this fic isn’t about romance. Summary: It's a few days after their latest heist, and Freddy never showed at the rendezvous. Larry doesn't think much of it--delays happen--until somebody leaves a photograph at the hotel room door. The kid's in trouble. And in their line of work, "trouble" can lead to "dead" very, very fast.

Ao3

They made a narrow escape, but all escapes are narrow when bullets start flying, and considering none of them found their mark, Larry decides it might have been a good day after all. Whatever made Joe decide ripping off a drug lord was worthwhile, he'll never know. Must've been some bad blood between them. And if the blood is sour enough to piss off Joe Cabot, then it's sour enough to piss off the rest of the boys. But hey: job's done, nobody died, and now Larry, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Pink are safely at the rendezvous.

It's an old hotel. Mr. Brown was--and still is--ecstatic about the old-timey elevator with the cage and crank. There's an operator, too. Larry doesn't like thinking about the margin of human error, about how it would take one easy mistake for the cage to plummet, but he pushes it aside. He's calm. Has to be. Next to him, Mr. Pink is a nervous wreck.

"Fuck man," Pink says. "I fuckin' hate elevators. Couldn't we have just taken the stairs?"

Larry gives him a look. "We're on the tenth floor."

"Your point?"

"Hey," Mr. Brown points out. "Look down. You can't even see the floor anymore."

Pink groans and shuts his eyes. "I'm gonna die."

"No you're not," Larry tells him, a little exasperated. Still, the words remind him of a similar time, a while ago now, but with Mr. Orange--Freddy. Larry tries not to think about that day too often. Kid nearly bled to death in his arms, and that sort of thing messes with the head.

The elevator finally pulls up to the tenth floor. Mr. Pink is the first one out as soon as the gate opens, followed by Brown, then Larry. He tips the operator and lingers back a second.

"We're waiting on one more," he says. "He's a scrawny little shit and probably wearing a jacket that's way too big for him." Larry hands the operator another five. "Can't miss him. Make sure he knows where we are."

The operator, some guy in his thirties who looks like he hates his job, nods. "Sure thing."

Larry starts after Mr. Pink and Mr. Brown. He never bothered learning their real names, and they never bothered telling him. They know his, but that's mostly because Larry hates that anonymous crap. But he played along for Joe and they all walked away happy. Better than things usually go.

"I can't believe I have to share a room," Mr. Pink is muttering to himself. He sees Larry walking down the hall and gestures at him. "How come you get one to yourself and I'm stuck with this sack of shit?"

"Oh excuse me, are you the one paying the bill?" Larry shoves past Pink toward his door. "No? Alright then. Quit complaining."

He's already into the room when he hears Pink mumble something under his breath. Larry doesn't really care what he says. He shuts the door behind him and sits on the bed with a groan. He's absolutely exhausted, now that the adrenaline from the job's worn off. And, to make things worse, there's a small knot forming in his stomach. Call it instinct, but he only gets it when something isn't right. Joe would call him paranoid. Freddy, too. But considering neither one of them are here, Larry's left to his own thoughts.

Freddy hadn't shown at the rendezvous. Mr. Brown and Mr. Pink had, both within five minutes of each other. Larry hopes the kid is just late. After all, it was the first job he'd pulled since... well, since the diamonds.

Talk about shock. Larry could still remember how his goddamn heart nearly stopped when Freddy told him the truth, that he was a cop and was supposed to tip off others to the heist, but hadn't. And then he'd taken a bullet meant for Larry, shot by some good samaritan trying to play cowboy.

Larry would be lying if he said he hadn't considered leaving Freddy behind. He'd betrayed him--and that stung. But hell, the kid had saved his life and was bleeding out and goddammit, Larry couldn't. He just couldn't.

But that was months ago. Water under the bridge, though convincing Joe of that had taken every ounce of persuasion Larry could summon. But he had. Somehow, he had, and here they all are. Safe. Happy. Alive.

He sighs and leans back on the bed. He'll give Freddy another couple hours, then see if Joe heard anything. Any luck, the kid's already on his way.

.

.

.

Wherever he is, it's dark. Dark, wet, and cold. All the worst things anybody can imagine after they've just been hit.

Freddy groans and tries to shift into a more comfortable position. He can't see anything, but he can feel. Oh God, he can feel... and it's like somebody's dragged him through a meat grinder. He can hear something dripping. Dimly, he hopes it's water and not blood from... from... well, wherever it is he's bleeding. Because he's definitely bleeding; he just can't figure out why.

It takes him a moment, but he eventually realizes he's sitting. Okay, that's a bit of a nicer statement than reality. Reality is, he's tied to a chair. Ropes dig into his wrists and ankles, and he can already feel the beginnings of burns. He tries to flex his fingers, but the moment he moves them, pain flares and he cries out. The sound is muffled by the gag stuffed in his mouth, but it's there nonetheless. Something's broken. He doesn't know if it's his fingers, hands, or all of the above, but whatever it is, it hurts like a bitch.

"You're awake."

He hears the voice, deep and slow and way too close to his ear. Without much thought, he shies away from it--and only then does he realize he's been blindfolded. His chest constricts.

Blind. Can't move. Can't talk. This isn't good.

"I was wondering when that'd happen," the voice continues. "Thought maybe my boys roughed you up a little too much."

Freddy takes a deep breath, in and out. He needs to stay calm. Staying calm will help him. Staying calm will keep him alive. Staying calm is what Larry would do.

"Me and Joe Cabot go back a long time." The voice is circling him now, vulture-like. "Never thought he'd have the guts to make a move on me. After all..."

Something nudges Freddy's injured hands, and he can't help his scream as white hot agony flares beneath his skin.

"... I always move back."

Once the pain fades, Freddy tries to think. This must be the drug lord he and the guys had ripped off. This must be Big Frank Muller.

Panic threatens to overwhelm him for a moment. He'd heard about Big Frank from his time in the force--and the guy's nothing if not ruthless. Twisted. Tortures and kills for pleasure. Nobody's caught him because none of his victims survive long enough to get an ID. And Freddy's absolutely powerless, completely at his mercy... or lack thereof.

"Let's get down to business," Big Frank says casually, and Freddy's head snaps sideways as a big, meaty fist slams into his jaw. "Gotta make you look pretty for the camera."

Camera? Freddy thinks dizzily, then feels the skin on his cheek split with another punch. What the hell is this guy going on about?

When he can focus again, having lost count of how many hits he took, his face is throbbing and undoubtedly swollen. He hears the click, then winding of a disposable camera, and has maybe two seconds to breathe before Big Frank starts talking.

"Cabot's going to love this," he murmurs. There's a pause, during which Freddy can feel his heart racing, and then: "Dimmick, too."

Freddy's blood goes cold for a split second before he starts struggling. Now? Now he understands. He shouts against the gag, choice words and insults that would make his mother roll over in her grave. But they're useless. The next thing he knows, something hits the back of his head and he begins to lose consciousness again.

Larry, he thinks before he goes under. Stay safe. Please stay safe.

.

.

.

It's roughly around eight pm when Larry wakes up to a knock on his door. He groans and wipes the sleep from his eyes, then checks the phone. There aren't any messages. He frowns and sits up, the knot in his stomach coming back with a vengeance. The front desk is supposed to call him when Freddy shows--and they haven't yet. He doesn't know what that means, if it means anything at all, but he can't help but think something's wrong.

"Goddammit, White, open up!" Mr. Pink's voice sounds muffled through the door as he pounds on it again. There's also something lacing his tone that Larry doesn't like. It sounds too much like raw panic.

That's enough for Larry to fumble into motion. He stands and makes his way over to the door, undoing the deadbolt and wrenching it open in time for Pink to walk through uninvited. His shoulders are bunched with worry, and he's followed quickly by Mr. Brown.

"What the hell's going on?" Larry demands as he shuts the door and refastens the lock.

"Did you hear anybody out in the hall?" Pink asks, nervously wringing his hands together. "Because we didn't, but somebody was definitely there, man. Somebody was definitely fucking there and they left that fucking picture and shit shit shit!"

Larry holds his hands up and grabs Pink's arm to stop him from pacing. "Slow down. What in fuck's name are you talking about?"

Mr. Pink gives him a look that Larry doesn't like, but says nothing. Instead, it's Mr. Brown who speaks as he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a photograph.

"He's talking about this," Brown says distantly.

He hands Larry the picture--slow, as if Larry will chop his hand off if he's not careful. At first, Larry isn't sure what he's seeing--it's dark and his mind doesn't want to believe anything anymore. But then the clouds clear, and his breath hitches painfully.

Freddy. Tied to a chair. Beaten and bloody. Blindfolded and gagged. And the look on his face... the pain on his face...

His hands move on their own accord, and Larry flips the photo over. Scrawled on the back, written in cheap ink and even cheaper handwriting, is today's date, followed by a crude drawing of a clock. It doesn't take him long to get the message, and he feels himself going cold all over.

"This is fucked up, man," Mr. Pink hisses as he starts pacing again. "This is so fucked up." He turns to Mr. Brown. "It's fucked up."

Brown nods in silent agreement. Then he turns toward Larry, who's flipped the picture over again. He can't stop looking at it. He feels Brown's eyes on him, followed by Pink's, and the scrutiny and quiet fear threaten to overwhelm him.

But he regains control. And when he speaks, he's suddenly not Larry Dimmick anymore. He's Mr. White--and his boy's just been stolen.

"Get Joe on the phone. Now."

Listen: I have no self-control. 

[fanfic-corner]

Under 10,000 Words

16/12/20 - I can never figure out what my favourite length of fic is, but I think it depends on my mood. Sometimes I want a huge, 200,000 word journey, and sometimes I just want a quick drabble. Anyway, here are some fics which are all between 2,000 and 10,000 words, organised by the word count.

Sleep Deprivation by Honey_Honey on AO3. (2,313 words).

Tags: Cute, First Kiss.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: The one where killing monsters leaves Dean without a week of sleep, and Cas has to deal with the consequences.

Notes: This was so fluffy and cute and I can totally imagine Dean overthinking everything while Sam just finds the whole situation hilarious.

That One Time Sam Winchester Googled Something Weird and It Had Pretty Awesome Results by quitepossiblyjanuary on AO3. (2,587 words).

Tags: Romantic Fluff, First Kiss, Stars, Humor, Courtship, Short & Sweet.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: In which Sam Googles something and his curiosity doesn’t kill the cat. Or him. Or anyone. It’s a pretty awesome feeling.

Notes: This was so adorable! Gabe was so sweet, and his mind reading skills made me laugh.

What Can’t Be Seen by destieldrabblesdaily on AO3. (2,639 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, author!Cas, Strangers to Lovers, First Kiss.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Written for this prompt: Soulmate AU where you first see color after eye contact: Cas is a famous best selling author and he’s promoting his book, so he’s talking to a crowd of people and suddenly his world is in color, and a lot of his fans pretend to be his soulmate. A Cinderella type situation ensues.

Notes: This was really cute and such a sweet and funny idea.

The Tea is Decaf by mnwood on AO3. (3,673 words).

Tags: POV Castiel, Fluff, Sign Language, Castiel in the Bunker, Canon Compliant, Sharing Clothes, Asexual Castiel, Gentle Dean, Non-Explicit Sex, Domestic, Established Relationship.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Based on this text post from thebloggerbloggerfun: “Listen, imagine Eileen sneaking out of Sam’s room at night to go to the bathroom or something and steps out into the hallway in one of Sam’s shirts only to see Cas trying to quietly leave Dean’s room while wearing one of Dean’s shirts and they both just stare at each other awkwardly for a few seconds before trying to muffle quiet laughter and now they have a late night club where they talk about life and gossip about the Winchesters in sign language"And this anon I received: "what if Eileen and Cas discover there are some things Sam and Dean both do in bed because Dean jokingly gave Sam pointers when they were younger and Sam took the advice”.

Notes: This has to be one of my favourite fics of all time, even though the first time I read it I hadn’t even met Eileen yet! I’m still so pissed off that she wasn’t in the finale (unless we’re counting Blurry Wife?).

surely heaven wants for you by cenotaphy on AO3. (3,782 words). 

Tags: Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Heaven, Coda, Post-Finale, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Dean, Outdoor Sex.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Cas doesn't come to him. Dean can't really argue with that, given the circumstances. In all the history of balls in courts, he thinks there might never have been a ball as thoroughly in a court as this one is in his. He drives for what feels like a long time but might just be a single sunny afternoon, or maybe years (time's funny here, Bobby had said), just enjoying the music, the shifting landscape outside his window, the hum and creak of the engine. Finally the forest opens up and the road narrows down in a way that he's fairly certain wouldn't typically happen on any kind of earthly interstate, and he glides the car to a halt at the edge of a lake.

Notes: This was so beautiful and such a interesting exploration of Dean’s feelings!

a quick salt and burn by xylodemon on AO3. (4,609 words).

Tags: Episode Related, Cemeteries, Case Fic.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: "Fuck," Dean mutters, wincing as pain throbs in his shoulder and neck. After the ghost chucked him into the hedge, he hit the ground like ton of bricks and clipped an exposed tree root so old it was practically petrified. "So much for a quick salt and burn."

Notes: This is adorable and hilarious, so a double win.

Funny Bone by PallasPerilous on AO3. (4,933 words).

Tags: Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Skeletons, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Alternate Universe - No Angels, Canon Divergence, Mild Gore.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: It wasn’t even a particularly creepy skeleton; it was in kind of a “just chillin’” pose on the floor. One ankle was still locked up in a heavy iron cuff, at the end of a short chain leading back to the wall. Snoresville, as dead stuff goes; Dean’s seen worse at Disneyland. It was the skeleton’s comment about Dean’s ass that really livened things up.

Notes: This has to have been one of the funniest fics I have ever read, but oh boy did I feel bad for poor Cas.

Grace by july_19th_club on AO3. (5,164 words).

Tags: Fix-It, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Resurrection, Reciprocated Confession.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: A man dies. What happens next will shock you. [script]

Notes: This was written beautifully, and now I really want to see this filmed! So much better than the ending we got.

(un)conventional by imogenbynight on AO3. (6,100 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, mechanic!Dean, Writer!Castiel, Conventions, Fluff.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Spec Lit Con--Speckly Con, to it’s regular attendees--is an annual weekend-long event held in Chicago, dedicated to science fiction, fantasy and otherwise speculative literature. This year Dean's favorite author, C.J. Novak, is appearing as a panelist. Naturally, he shells out the cash for an all access pass.

Notes: This was so adorable that I nearly screamed in the corridor outside my computer science lesson. Plus, the writing was absolutely gorgeous! I miss conventions :(

La Vie A Plus by K_K_TiBal on AO3. (6,260 words)

Tags: Punk Castiel, Asexual Castiel, College/Uni AU, Roommates, oh my god they were roommates, College Student Dean, College Student Castiel, Pining, First Kiss, Misunderstandings, Art Student Castiel, Love Confessions, Gabriel is a Little Shit, Tattooed Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester is hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with his best friend and roommate, Castiel. Castiel - with his blue hair, and his tattoos, and his artwork, and his perfect everything. Dean never stood a chance, really. It only sucks because, as far as Dean can tell, Castiel is definitely not interested. But love, much like art, has a way of being unpredictable. Even if you think you know where you’re going with it.

Notes: The angst is strong in this one! Again, I feel like many aces have had this conversation or that fear that people (allos, especially) may not want to be with them.

Event Horizon by Winglesss on AO3. (6,442 words).

Tags: Suicidal Thoughts, Suicidal Dean, Depression, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Past Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Texting, Sharing a Bed, Happy Ending, Veteran Dean, Doctor Dean, Writer Castiel, Strangers.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Castiel couldn't have helped his sister. That's why being offered a chance to help somebody else dealing with suicidal thoughts he took it without hesitation. When he gets the first text from someone who needs his help, nothing goes as he expected.

Notes: I don’t know if that kind of suicide prevention scheme exists, but this fic is very sweet.

I Think That’s Mine by palominopup on AO3. (6,804 words).

Tags: Fluff, AU, Reporter!Dean, Writer!Cas.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: A mix up at the Atlanta Airport places Dean Winchester's laptop in someone else's possession. A series of calls and texts bring two men together.

Notes: This was so cute, Cas was so sweet, and Dean was an icon.

Nothing Equals the Splendor by RurouniHime on AO3. (7,865 words).

Tags: Fix-It, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Angst with a Happy Ending, Grief, Explicit Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Declarations of Love, Canon Compliant, Minor Injuries.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Maybe it’s the cynic in him. The hunter, always under the surface of any quietude he ever found. Or maybe it’s just that he has always had trouble with blind faith. But after a while (a blink? A decade? A century?), Dean raises his eyebrows, looks around, and says—

“Uh. No.”

It’s so close. Just so slightly imperfect. And maybe, he analyzes, maybe that’s the final knell of this bell called contentment. Dean’s experience with happiness has always been that last rise in the road, right before it turns. Right before fate comes barreling around the corner head on. He turns in his spot on the bridge, and suddenly Sam is like a cellophane film through which he can see the light streaming, and the taste of cheap beer on his tongue is much, much older a memory than it should be.

“Oh, you’re good,” he says, and means it.

Notes: What a great idea, and written so well! I always thought the show could have done so much more with djinns, but never mind.

In the House of the Rising Bun by imissmaeberry on AO3. (9,046 words).

Tags: Bakery and Coffee Shop, Baker Dean, Barista Sam, College Campus, Poet Castiel, Mutual Pining, Daddy Issues, Background Sam/Jess, Past Balthazar/Castiel.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: Dean Winchester only has three rules concerning the cafe he and his brother Sam own, “House of the Rising Bun”.

1. Any and all opportunities to make a pun will be taken. 2. Free regular coffee with your student ID (If you want some of that fancy nonsense you gotta pay, sorry kids). 3. Anyone and everyone is always welcome.

Between Dean running the shop full-time and Sam helping out whenever he isn’t in class, there really isn’t a whole lot of time for romance for either of them. But that all changes when they gain a new regular - some writer from London - who may or may not have the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen.

Notes: First of all, the puns were amazing and I am willing to fight people on that. Secondly, that was so sweet and funny I am afraid I might have to disappear under mysterious circumstances and open my own cafe…

I hope you enjoy these! I haven’t read any new fics for this list and even then there were way too many to put on one list, so expect a sequel at some point in the future!

[itsuki-minamy]

“K - THE FIRST STORY”

CHAPTER 4: BLACK OR WHITE (Part 4)

* K - The First Story (List of Chapters) * Projects & Chapters

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

"Isana Shiro-kun has an image that is not strange wherever he is, so he doesn't leave much of an impression no matter where he is. It feels like he's not there, even though he's there..."

"That's..."

Inaba put her finger to her lips and tried to remember for a while, but finally shook her head.

"No. I can't remember. After the horse ran away, I couldn't even look around."

"I see. Yes… thank you…"

He couldn't hide his disappointment, but with a slight smile, the boy raised his hand to Inaba and thanked her. Inaba watches the boy's face closely.

"By the way, Kukuri said, "Shiro-kun looks like he's going to disappear somewhere when you take your eyes off." When I heard that, I didn't understand at all, but he was there. I felt like I couldn't remember what he was doing and I felt like I could understand what Kukuri said."

Inaba is a good friend of Kukuri. The boy hesitates a bit, wondering what they were talking about.

"Eh...? Am I that overshadowed?"

"That's all. He is a popular person who is loved by everyone. Somehow... well, I can't trust his existence... I can't express it well..."

Inaba turned her head several times, but quickly stopped giving an answer and returned her gaze and interest to Neko sitting on a bench and dangling by her legs in her spare time.

"By the way, are you Neko? It's an interesting nickname. It looks cute on you, doesn't it? The costume looks great. I'll give you a candy."

"Hurrah!"

When Inaba took out the candy wrapper from her pocket, Neko who was bored jumped up with a bright expression. Neko, whose head is caressed with candy in her mouth, looks like a little girl with a full forehead.

"Good girl, Neko-chan. Should I buy a delicious Daifuku later?"

"Really? Food!"

Seeing Neko loved like a younger sister is fun, but it's not the case when the boy smiles at her. He already felt at a dead end when searching. Feel the spicy skin next to her, with a haunting aura.

She wishes she could remember who the boy spoke to that night, but sadly she doesn't have such a clear memory.

"You…"

"Ah, wait! Oh, look! Asama-san said that a lot of people in the journalism club were taking pictures that night, right? I'm sure if you ask him…"

Upon detecting Kuro's signal that he is about to draw the sword, the boy asked Inaba who was with Neko, quickly.

"I am also a journalism club. Do I ask the director?"

Inaba simply takes the PDA out of her pocket and calls the manager.

The director of the journalism department appeared to be taking pictures of the school festival preparations and came with a beautiful single-lens reflex camera hanging from his neck.

Upon hearing from Inaba, the director took the tablet from the PDA and searched for a photo from the night of the incident.

"It's a photo from December 7th, within an hour from 11:45 PM. Right after Mishina made the confession until the fire was extinguished and the wild horse was captured. At that time, there were many incidents at the same time, so several people took pictures at random."

"Wow, help!"

Looking like a god of salvation, the boy jumped on the offered tablet. Kuro also looks seriously.

While looking for the reflection of himself in a large number of photographs, Inaba went away saying: "See you later. I'm going to the classroom.", And the director of the journalism club began to photograph the traces of burned objects in front of clock tower. Neko who seems to be free begins to play with the cleaning robot, type Tsukumo 99, which was passing by.

In the idyllic afternoon sun, the boy and Kuro kept looking at the images on the tablet one by one.

Fireworks strewn across the night sky. The horse looking at them. The student council president who arrived in a hurry. A student association officer who opens the door of the clock tower. An object that begins to burn.

Dismay, come and go, run away, fire extinguisher.

Students who run with them. A horse that begins to raze and run. Those who run away from the horse, those who pursue it. Mishina is captured and taken out of the clock tower. The student council president who sees the noise outside and quickly begins to give directions. A student association officer who brings down students desperately trying to put out the fire with a fire extinguisher and pulls a hose from the fire extinguisher. Discharge of water that starts strongly. A member of the riding club runs in. A member that stops chasing the horse and keeps them away. A horse that moves through the school grounds. Students who coordinate and monitor. A flame extinguished by discharge of water. Guys who are full of soot and rejoice in putting out the fire safely. People around her clapping. A boy who starts crying. The student council president scolds him. However, after that, the vision of putting her hand on his shoulder as if he was happy he wasn't hurt. In a calm and warm mood, a horse that has run and calmed down slowly returns, and a member of the riding club and Inaba gently catch him. Robots that appear to "clean up the mess."

There were so many photos. The boy kept rushing to see the images appearing one after the other, but gradually the movement of the fingers when swiping the images weakened.

"No..."

Involuntarily a helpless sound leaked out. Many of the photos show a large number of other students who are not the protagonists of the case, but the boy who should have been there is nowhere reflected.

"I think I was wandering around here."

When he lowered his eyebrows, the director of the journalism club, who was pointing the camera around him, looked back with a look of surprise.

"Ah, really? There are so many photos from that day, so if you were there, you could find them somewhere, right?"

"No..."

Family views and rushed friends appear one after another, but he can't find the essential boy.

Kuro made his badass look even sharper and turned to the boy.

"You, after all, weren't there!"

"What happened? Is it important that you were there?"

The boy smiled a warm smile, suppressing the director of the journalism club, who bit a strange place and said: "No, it's nothing."

After all, unable to find a photo where it appeared, the boy returned the tablet containing the photos to the director of the journalism club and thanked him.

The boy, who had been unconcerned by the memory and the confidence that he was there that day, began to feel a gradual impatience.

"Hmm, I'm in trouble. I'm sure of it."

Although he made an effort to have a carefree voice, he painfully feels the disturbing signals emitted by Kuro getting louder and louder. Look sideways. Kuro with his eyes on his sword, seemed to have come to the realm of murder out of suspicion and anger, and looked at the boy with cold air. Partly due to the disguise he was wearing, he had the feeling that he was a samurai trying to behead the enemy. It can seriously cut it.

When the boy was in a cold sweat and faced Kuro, a bright and refreshing voice broke through the tense atmosphere.

"Oh, Shiro-kun!"

Kukuri, holding a luggage in his arms, was puffing out his cheeks when he saw the boy.

"Everyone is busy, but what are you doing?"

Before the boy made an excuse, he withdrew the murderous signal from the sword that had leaked just now, walked over, and scooped up the heavy luggage stuck in the cardboard box from Kukuri's arm. When asked, "Where are you going to take him?", Kuro has grown into a young warrior who is kind to girls and children. In a short relationship, the boy knew enough to say that he was basically a very caring man.

Kukuri happily thanked her and smiled.

"So can you bring it to the staff room? I have to take this to the student council room."

"I get it."

The moment he heard the exchange between Kukuri and Kuro, an inspiration ran inside the boy.

"Oh, that's right... the staff room..."

The boy gently raised the edge of his mouth.

"The student's departure record? Daimon?"

"Yes."

The old teacher who is in charge of literature has a rough and very laid-back personality. He is the perfect person to make this request.

The literature teacher turns his head mysteriously.

"Good, but... why again..."

"No, it's not a big deal... just that I could die."

The boy turns to the literature teacher and tells him the situation in a whisper. The teacher said, "Oh, yeah." If it was troublesome even though it seemed like he didn't understand why.

"When?"

"December 7th."

Check-out for December 7th was provided by a former literature teacher. When the boy succeeded, he laughed at an angle that did not look like a fox.

The only entrance to Ashinaka High School, which is an island, is the gate in front of the connecting bridge that connects to the mainland, commonly known as Daimon. To pass, the door sensor must be made to read the school-designated PDA, which also serves as a student ID card. Basically, all the times of entry and exit of people are recorded.

As he left the staff room and walked down the street in front of the research building, the boy analyzed whether the student's check-in and check-out from December 7, which he had just received, is endorsed to prove his identity. Start going through the list.

"Torisawa, Ariyoshi, Iida, Ikuno... Next is Inoue! Look! Isana Yashiro is not here."

On the paper, the names of the students who passed through the door that day are listed in the order of Aiueo, and the transit time is recorded next to each name. Students who go to school are basically on schedule to get in and out of school, and students who do not live in the dorm are on time to leave and return to school.

There is no boy's name on the paper, which means that the boy who lives in the dorm has not left campus one step that day.

The boy killed the tension and listened to Kuro's reaction with a casual face.

Kuro doesn't look at the recording paper the boy is showing, and walks with his gaze down with a calm expression that makes it difficult to tell what he's thinking.

"Shiro, Shiro! Wagahai is hungry!"

Neko who was not interested in what they were doing, complained innocently.

The boy does not care about Neko's comment, and pushes the recording paper to force him to see Kuro, who is looking down.

"This cleared your suspicions, right?"

Still, Kuro doesn't move his expression or his gaze. While the boy gulped and waited for Kuro's behavior, Neko feeling ignored clenched her fist with both hands and screamed.

"I'm hungry!"

Both the boy and Kuro stop at the scream of Neko's angry girlish look.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm relieved, so let's have a snack slowly."

"Yahoo! Snack! Kukuri has delicious senbe! After that, Kukuri's friend should buy Daifuku! Oh, I'm thirsty! Buy something, Shiro. Let's go!"

Neko, who is excited about the snacks, moves in a good mood and romps.

However, in contrast to Neko's high enthusiasm, Kuro still looks at the boy coldly.

The boy sighed and said in a tone reminiscent of the confused.

"That's why everyone who enters and leaves this island is controlled by the automatic gate. It is a pip. The fact that it is not on this list means that I have been on this island the entire time and could not have gone to the crime scene. Right?"

Kuro still hasn't opened his mouth. The boy left him and turned to Neko who was waiting in front of the vending machine.

"Wagahai should have juice!"

"That? Not enough coins."

When the boy clenched his pockets in an attempt to respond to Neko's pleas, a beep was heard. So, there is a sound of the juice Neko wanted.

When he raised his face, Kukuri, who was holding the PDA over the vending machine, turned her dismayed face towards the boy.

"Don't you have the PDA again? It's a rule, so you have to have it correctly. I mean, it's a pass."

An eerie air fell over the place. It can be understood without looking. There is a sign of anger that crosses the skin of the person in charge.

"Kukuri. Are you saying this boy never carries a PDA?"

Kukuri is unaware of Kuro's disturbances. The boy raised his finger in front of his mouth and desperately sent a gesture that he wanted to keep a secret, but Kukuri didn't notice and took it easy.

"No matter how much you tell him, he will forget."

"You can't walk through the door without a PDA, right?"

"He always manages."

The boy covered his face with the palm of his hand. He thinks he did, and it was at the same time that Kuro touched his sword.

"Kukuri. From now on, something unpleasant will happen here. Leave us alone."

"Wait, wait! I'm serious! I'm seriously looking for evidence!"

"Okay, I know you are a dishonest man."

In response to Kuro's threat, Neko stood up with a threatening voice and stood in front of the boy. Kuro keeps Neko in a sharp line of sight.

"Go away, or are you still this guy's partner? Do you want to get cut off with your master?"

"Wagahai is a cat! I'm Shiro's cat! I won't give you Shiro, Kurosuke!"

Neko hugged the boy with a desperate face and tried to be the boy's shield. Neko is hideously self-taught, but like animal cats, she is sensitive to danger. She exposes herself to Kuro, who is about to draw his sword, and strongly appeals over misaligned issues.

"Shiro is a good person and we eat delicious rice and sandwiches together!"

"Easy, Neko. You're making things more complicated."

The boy calmed the watery-eyed Neko and pushed her behind him.

She is innocent about the murder case, but it is true that she tried to ridicule him. The only one he should be mad at is the boy, who cannot involve or hurt Neko.

As soon as the boy took a position to hold Neko on his back, he rolled his eyes as if confused. Kuro, with a sad look, loosens his hand from the sword's handle as if he had lost.

"Sorry, Kuro. I'll take it seriously from now on! There were still a lot of things that day! Sprinkler destruction incident, toilet flooding incident, gym ceiling penetration incident, etc. I must have been somewhere. That's it! "

As the boy said, Kukuri, who had been left vacant with a face that until then could not swallow the situation, responded to the case of penetrating the roof of the PE warehouse and said, "What?"

"I ran into Shiro-kun at the gym that day, right?"

The boy opened his eyes to Kukuri's words, which seemed casual.

--- Testimony of the classmate, Kukuri Yukizome.

That day, she had the incident with Mishina at the clock tower... She was shocked and embarrassed. She did not know what to do and ran away.

She felt sorry when she learned later that there were several difficult things after that...

When she escape to the school building, she could hear loud voices and sounds from the clock tower all the time, and the people in the school building also noticed the noise and looked at the situation towards the clock tower. "I ran towards, I... I mean... it's also the cause... I felt like I didn't have a place to hide..."

So when she walked through the school building and down the high street, she heard something loud in the gym. She went to see what happened.

"It really was a terrible noise..."

When she opened the gym door and looked inside, she found Shiro. She was surprised because she didn't think there were people.

("Isana-kun! What are you doing here? Hmm. You were skipping the preparations for the school festival, right?")

"Shiro-kun disappears and takes a nap somewhere. Oh, but it was time to get ready for the night, so maybe it was a nap. If it makes him sleepy, I wish he would at least rest in the bedroom."

When he was talking about it, she suddenly realized that the moonlight was coming from a strange angle into the gym, which should be dark, and when she looked up, there was a large hole in the ceiling of the warehouse.

"Shiro-kun, you were also surprised when the ceiling suddenly fell, weren't you? I'm so glad you didn't hurt yourself."

That's why she went to the staff room to report. After all, it seemed that the roof was quite damaged, and it seemed that something flying in the wind had fallen. It is an old warehouse and it looks like they are going to demolish and rebuild it.

"Hmm? Shiro-kun, why do you look so happy?"

The boy who moved to the gym with Kukuri, and they looked up at the hole in the ceiling. The hole was repaired by putting a wooden board in its shape, but sunlight shone through the gaps in the board.

This is the scene of the "PE Warehouse Roof Penetration Incident", which is a relatively small incident among the many incidents that occurred that night. The discoverers are Isana Yashiro and Kukuri Yukizome.

"Oh, that's right. Hey, do you remember exactly when it was?"

The boy looked at Kukuri with a face that couldn't hide expectations and joy.

Kukuri operated the PDA in her hand to display a single photo. She had to report the hole in the gym to her teacher. The image clearly shows the boy looking at the hole in the ceiling.

The date and time data in the photo are...

"It was at 12:30."

"Less than an hour from the time of the crime."

The boy sighed with deep relief.

Kuro muttered with a complicated expression that seemed unhappy, but somehow relieved.

"It is impossible to return from the scene of the crime at that time."

"This time, the alibi is established!"

The boy jumped for joy. Even though Neko doesn't seem to understand the meaning, she jumps out with a face that makes the boy happy.

"What? What are you talking about?"

Kukuri looked at the boy with a clean face.

"You are my lifeline!"

The girl who proved the boy's innocence blinked slowly.

++++++++++

He was confused by himself, that somewhere in his heart he was relieved that an alibi was found.

He may not have been a bad "King", but the boy is a dishonest man. He try to pray for Kuro with a sigh. However, in front of Kuro, who was about to draw his sword, the boy kept Neko behind his back. If he is a coward, he will escape with a woman as a shield, he can cut him off without worrying about it.

When he saw the boy hiding Neko, the memories of the old days returned to his mind.

It was a memory from when Kuro was ten years old. There was an incident where a man who was Kuro's brother and Miwa's disciple, requested a battle from Miwa and raised his sword. Kuro, who was still young, wanted to protect his beloved master while confused, and trembled while holding a stick.

That brother, he was terribly strong. That person was offensive to Miwa. That fact scared him and made him think that he had to keep Miwa safe even if he replaced him.

However, Miwa gently put his hand on his head and smiled gently, appearing in front of him with a very natural movement.

The Miwa of that time and his appearance overlapped with the boy and Neko who was hiding.

Kuro knows the horror of having a loved one threatened.

Kuro also knows the strength and goodness of his back, which stands up to threat and protects.

"Is he fake or not? What is he?"

Kukuri, who was next to him, raised her face at the leaked message inadvertently.

"Hmm? Kuro-kun, did you say something?"

"No, nothing, sorry."

"Hmm... that? By the way, Shiro-kun?"

After confirming the boy's alibi in the gym, Kuro and the others returned to the classroom with Kukuri. However, along the way, the boy seems to have gone somewhere alone. A man soft and restless as a balloon. Although an alibi was found, the murder video mystery stands strong, and although the situation has not been resolved, he is surprised that it is a person with a weak sense of crisis.

"Hey, Kukuri, sandwich!"

Neko always becomes attached to the boy, but now it seems that with Kukuri's words, "Let's give her a sandwich", she stays glued to Kukuri.

"Yes. Kukuri-san's rice patisserie is open! Wagahai-chan, roasted rice, Negi Miso, roasted shrimp mochi, roasted mochi, carrot shoyu, Zarame roasted mochi, super spicy roasted mochi."

Kukuri takes the rice cakes out of the paper bag one after another and orders them. Neko looked at the rice cake with bright eyes.

"Is it spicy? Super spicy?"

"Super spicy is a very spicy rice cake."

"You want?"

"That's right, it's going to be very hot!"

"Nyaaah! Then that!"

He looked at Kukuri and Neko happily playing with each other, and Kuro pondered.

If the boy is really innocent and someone puts him to sleep and dresses in the murderer's wet robe, then his life in this school cannot be destroyed. The boy is a careless man, but after working together all day today, he knew well that he was surrounded by many friends at this school and loved this peaceful life. If something happens to the boy, Kukuri and the others will be sad.

After seeing Kukuri parading around the room and handing out rice cakes to other friends for a moment, Kuro looked at Neko sideways.

"Hey, Neko."

To Neko who is happy to receive a spicy rice cake from Kukuri, Kuro bluntly throws words at her.

"I am still reluctant to your existence, but what are you really? Why are you with Isana?"

"Wagahai is a cat."

"That again... Are you a Strain?"

"Strain?"

"He is a talented and lonely person."

Neko puffed out her cheeks as if offended.

"I was alone, but now I have Shiro. Because this Shiro, I'm not alone anymore. Also being with Shiro, I received a snack from Kukuri."

"Isana the one who picked you up?"

"Shiro picked up Wagahai, and Wagahai picked up Shiro. So Neko is Shiro's cat, and Shiro is Neko's."

What Neko says is still irrational. However, even so, Kuro has deepened his sympathy for Neko.

Kuro is also a person who was alone until he was picked up by Miwa.

"Since when have you been with Isana?"

He felt a bit grumpy and made a softer voice than before, but Neko didn't answer this question. She turns to the side and holds the rice cake she received to her chest and walks away from Kuro.

Kuro sighed deeply and looked around.

In the classroom, students are on their feet and working to prepare for the school festival. Everyone was working hard, especially Kukuri seemed to be busy, and although she was still smiling, she was on her feet and working as she watched the progress here and there.

(Because it's nice to be able to do this and work hard at it. I think it's really nice.)

Remembering the boy's words, Kuro inwardly agreed. Everyone enjoys peace as a matter of course, so they can work hard to prepare for a festival like this. Is very precious.

It was supposed to be a distant vision for Kuro, who is destined to cut down the evil "King".

However, when he was looking at them, he feared they were uncomfortable.

According to the boy, the school festival was only three days away. Even so, he can still see a blank cloth in the hands of the students who are sewing the costumes, will they be okay? They are putting together an accessory, but if they stretch the board first, he thinks they won't be able to fit that part later. As for the group that does interior decoration, it seems they don't even know what they want to do, but maybe they can't get it done in time.

As he stared at them, something in Kuro began to sting him. It may be because the boy's search for a alibi has stabilized and relaxed him. Since Kuro is from a rural school with a single digit number of students, it is possible that he was not related to such a school festival and has stimulated something of a longing. Maybe the nice guys at this school he was involved with today couldn't just leave him alone, thinking he might get in trouble later.

"Hey! Then they won't be able to make it in time for the school festival! Lend me the tools! I'll help you!"

When he suddenly raised his voice, the students' eyes slyly met. Kukuri rounded her eyes, and the next moment she said with a happy voice, "Really? Help!"

++++++++++

The boy returned to the bedroom, rubbing around his tense shoulders.

He has not been able to take a nap in his daily routine because he was desperately moving while being watched by Kuro today. When he was relieved, he was suddenly tired and sleepy.

"Oh, I'm tired. I wonder if they want to kill me every day."

As he tried to dive into bed, he found he was still in his school festival costume and stopped. Sorry for the clothes his friend sewed with so much effort.

"Wow, I left my uniform in the classroom."

The boy opened the closet looking for a change of clothes. He should also pick up his uniform when his deliver the costume to the classroom later. He searches a poorly organized closet, trying to put on comfortable clothes.

As soon as he grabbed a replacement shirt from the bottom of the closet and lifted it, the boy's body froze.

There is blood.

As soon as he realized that, his body starts to shake.

Under the shirt he grabbed, there was another white shirt. Blood was attached to the front like splatter. It became rough and hard.

Does not know. He doesn’t know what that is.

The boy did not remember the bloodstained shirt. The only thing he inevitably remember is that murder movie.

(It's a beautiful night, right? I came to take a night view, but what are you doing in such a place? I'm Tatara Totsuka, and you?)

Someone with the boy's face turns around and shoots the photographer who speaks quietly.

When the image is blurry and the photographer collapses for a moment, and then the person who looks like the boy reappears, the shirt is stained with blood.

(I am the Seventh King, the Colorless King. I am waiting for someone. Is it a good, night? Oh, yes, it is a good night!)

The shot in the video echoes behind the boy's ears.

Is different. He can't be him. He doesn't remember that, and Kukuri proved he was in Gakuenjima 45 minutes after the crime. Thinking normally, there should be no way to get from the crime scene to Gakuenjima in 45 minutes.

But... no one proved his alibi at the time of the crime. It must have been in front of the clock tower at the time, but no one remembered if it was there and it wasn't in the photos.

"Wrong! It's not me! I'm not killing people! So... what is this damn shirt?"

Many thoughts swirled in the boy's head.

"Shiro!"

Neko's bright voice broke into the boy's disturbed thought.

The boy hurriedly shoved his shirt back and closed the closet door.

When he raised his face, innocent-faced Neko had just entered the room.

"What? What's wrong? Oh, is it a sandwich?"

"Kukuri gave me a super spicy rice sandwich! So, she said to call you, and after that she said she will give me an ultra-spicy sandwich!"

Neko moves happily and informs to express her mood with her whole body.

The boy returned an awkward smile.

"Okay, now I'm going."

Neko looks at the boy's face and clouds her happy face a bit.

"Shiro…? Does your stomach hurt?"

Eagerly walking towards Neko, the boy puts his hand on her head.

"Is nothing."

Suppressing the anxiety and fear that slowly spread throughout his body, the boy gently stroked Neko's head.

[normal-thoughts-official]

ok i see a lot of posts about raphael and magnus that are like "like father like son" and they show that they have similar fashion senses or show them both being sassy or making similar expressions or whatever, but i wanted to talk about the other things they have in common

listen, magnus and raphael's similarities run so deep it's kind of surprising magnus didn't, like, actually raise raphael in his formative years

for starters, they're both incredibly loyal and dedicated to those they love. raphael had no qualms about threatening anyone or sacrificing anything for his family (be it the clan, magnus, his sister...), just like magnus never hesitated to do anything for his (like when he finally yeeted camille, he did it for raphael, despite feeling awfully guilty about it, despite how it forced him to relive part of his abuse and face her again). loyalty, love and family (as well as, i feel, justice) are the things that drive both of their characters and i think thats indisputable (dont ever threaten my family again, id do anything for the downworlders i take under my wing, etc)

it's not just the people they love, though. like the both of them seem to have this sense of needing to take care of others (which i called justice above). theyre both natural born leaders, and they both seem to have an eye for people who need their help. magnus' prime example of this is raphael himself, of course, and raphael's is simon. he risked his own life for simon back when camille was still the leader and they didn't even know each other, he took his body back to clary despite having no reason to even trust her, he offered her emotional support, and he tried to keep helping simon, despite simon constantly fucking him over (even if not knowingly or on purpose). he also saved izzy's ass back when the whole yin fen thing started, despite having no reason to trust her, and ended up having his addiction purposefully triggered by her as compensation for his efforts. it's pretty clear to me that, like Magnus, Raphael also wants to help other downworlders, keep them from suffering, and just generally take care of the weak and helpless lmao. sure he's a lot less gentle about it, Magnus has this whole sorta dad vibe going on; Raphael is a lot rougher at the edges, but the sentiment is still the same, that almost selfless kind of caring, that instinctive need to reach out their hand even when it will get them in trouble. like the both of them were done so dirty by the mains (esp clace) but they still kept helping and reaching out, and i think that says a lot about who they are tbh

then of course you have their insecurities, this sense of monstrosity they both obviously carry, which granted could be argued to be a thing for every downworlder, esp considering all the fantastical racism, but two things catch my attention about it: 1- the sense of atonement they both seem to carry; 2- the way they deal with it

i mean Raphael is catholic and feels guilt and that kinda doesnt need elaboration, lmao. we know he's always talking about atoning for his sins and that he canonically self harms because of that, while simultaneously putting himself in the position to do the dirty work to protect others (for instance, when he tried to kill clary to save the downworlders, which obviously would hit him pretty hard, or you know, the whole thing about getting close to Camille so he could slowly sabotage her. etc). Magnus has a completely different approach to that, but the sentiment is similar. the way he blames himself for his mum, for killing his stepfather (despite that being One Hundred Percent valid lmao), i never wanted you to see this terrible, ugly side of me. he feels guilty, and wrong, and like a monster, and he has hallucinations about standing in what looks like a burning battlefield, and he constantly sacrifices himself and his wellbeing for the sake of others, much like Raphael compromises his physical and even spiritual health in his atonement

and then there's the way that they both clearly put up fronts to be able to handle all of that, like? Magnus created this whole devil-may-care, lothario persona, so he could distance himself from others after the trauma of camille; so he could at least attempt to keep himself from getting too close, and being used and hurt, anymore. and raphael went a route thats simultaneously the same and the opposite - the same, because by creating this sassy, uncaring, cold front that didnt care about anybody he also put his distance. the opposite, because magnus' front was all about being (superficially) open and surrounding himself with people, and Raphael opted to close off, hide in the shadows, look unapproachable and angry and keep people from even getting close to him. Magnus put up a wall of people to keep him away from himself, and Raphael put up a wall to keep people away from him

basically their stories run in such a clear parallel, from their motives to their angsts to their choices and paths, and even their history is similar - both immigrants who lost their family because of their downworld status, thrown to fend off for themselves and having to completely rebuild themselves in the process, yet still looking for ways to take others with them as they moved forward. they can understand each other from simple things like missing talking in their native tongues to the deeper, painful parts of themselves that feel too raw to even touch on without pain. they went through similar hardships, and coped in similar ways, and built an eternal bridge with each other from that, and isnt that what family is? this unspoken understanding of each other?

idk, i just think they have so much in common and that it truly makes their familial relationship to ring true, you know, all these things they share that run so deep there's no way to imitate it, and i really wished we talked more about those kinds of parallels between their characters, too

[ghostmartyr]

Pokémon FireRed Nuzlocke [Part 10]

Welcome back to the tenth part of me trying to beat Fire Red doing a Nuzlocke with no grinding! That’s right, no grinding! The only experience allowed is against other Trainers!

Where are we in this harrowing journey now?

Aheh.

To heck with it, I’m naming myself Blue this time.

Do you know why?

I’m blue, if I were green I would die (da ba dee da ba die).

Oh yes, we’re doing this.

My ID # this time is... 50685. Which means...?

Bulbapedia says 4-6 is Fire.

Uh.

You know what. It’s hard to tell because this is done through text posts that are not posted when they are done, but I just did everything up to Brock with a Charmander an hour ago.

But okay! We’ll do it again! But better this time!

I will name you... Left.

Cool.

Left is Rash, so we should get along great.

Fetch quest? Complete.

Pokedex? Get.

Route 1 Rattata? Get.

Her name is Down.

Route 2 Pidgey? Get. Sidey.

Viridian Forest Caterpie? Get. Nalley.

Viridian Forest? Get wrecked.

Route 22 level 2 Mankey? Get. I dub thee Weast.

Green, whose name should be Blue except our name is Blue?

Get. Wrecked.

Now Brock’s Gym, where we shall be punished for our arrogance.

First and only trainer? Done.

Brock?

Eeeeeeeh.

Geodude goes down to a few Metal Claws, one of which raises Left’s Attack. But Geodude wasn’t the issue last time. Accuracy concerns, using Ember, and Onix being Onix were the main problems in that very near past.

Metal Claw doesn’t really uh. What’s the word... help. So. uh. now we. hm.

Yeah, now we be horrible. Weast, you are sacrifice the first. Down, you next. And if you live long enough, maybe you can use Sand Attack!

Or you can die.

Left, you’ve had your Potion. Get back out there!

For future reference, Ember is useless, stop trying to make it happen. You are not going to get the burn. Suck it up and cry when Metal Claw misses.

Okay! So Left is down to 13 HP. But Rock Tomb hasn’t missed yet! So!

Hey, it missed.

Now it just needs to like. Do that again.

It did.

.

.

.

See, the problem here

is that now I have to live with actively killing Weast and Down.

Look.

Guys.

I’d say I’m sorry, but I don’t have to fight Brock again until something else goes horribly wrong, so we’re calling this a win for our team! Everybody cheer! You supplied your friend that you knew for like maybe ten minutes a serious victory with your deaths!

My brother called me a horrible person for what I did to Tarle in the round of this that made it to the Elite Four.

Gotta say.

I get that.

But more importantly, I get Running Shoes. Life is okay. Not that Weast or Down will ever know that again.

Then Left tries to die to a level 9 Pidgey that knows Sand-Attack. He doesn’t. But he really does try. Then hits level 16, and just like Heero before him, becomes a Charmeleon. Oh happy day.

.

I miss Heero.

I don’t think I went over it extensively, because the horror of doing exactly what I am now was setting in worse than grief, but Heero and Allenby and Sprinkle and Zaft and Po... they were a good team. Left has got some gigantic shoes to fill. He’s alive, and that’s a great start, but. Oh. The pain of not being able to say that it’s Heero time anymore?

That will endure.

Time to see if we’re catching something to throw into the rotation or not. Route 3 option, show me what you’ve got.

Gee. no. really.

My Pidgey’s actually still alive, even. Caught and not dead. Like a pro.

Okay, found a Spearow.

Now we find out if Left (level 19) can kill a level 6 Spearow with Scratch. Let’s watch.

Yes. Yes, he can.

Route 3 is as dead as that Spearow.

Compensation for killing the route is 49 exp.

I can’t remember if I’ve brought it up before, but for the purposes of this playthrough, accidentally killing things is fine. Losing the Pokedex slot is punishment enough. This is hard enough without going out of my way to be mean to myself.

Intentionally killing things for exp is very much not allowed, though. If I don’t want the thing, and can’t catch it, I run. Snorlax, looking at you, bud. I don’t have high hopes for you not killing my entire team when we reach you. Catching Po was my one miracle, I think.

I still really enjoy the art done for the different tourist traps across the map. v pretty.

Sigh.

And we lose out on catching Zubat.

...do I need things in my Pokedex to get Flash? I think I do.

Left, you’re way too strong for something that will die if Misty blinks in your direction. It’s a problem.

Add on 54 more exp to the illicit gains pile. I think after this if there’s not a level jump (I think there’s a small one before the next patch of grass), I have to start throwing a ball first thing. I probably should have done that with the Zubat, but. optimism.

Optimism has gotten the grindlocke into heaps of trouble, when you stop and think about it. It will continue, but oh dear yes, we see how this happens.

Hey, Ember finally burned something.

A Clefairy.

Thank goodness. Much danger. Such fear. Wow.

I still don’t really dispute this. Poor guy.

Grabbed the Helix this time. I don’t think there is a way for it to matter less, but there we go.

Made it out of Mt. Moon! Hark and rejoice!

Now we’re going to start breaking out speedrun strats. In slow motion, so obviously mine will work out better. You might recall, if not from this experiment then from others, that there are two Move Tutors outside Mt. Moon.

Mega Punch and Mega Kick.

Mega Punch does 80 Normal, with 85 accuracy.

Mega Kick does 120. 75 accuracy.

So the reason we’re doing this is that we’re about to come across the areas where I have a chance to get an Oddish. If I end up with an Oddish, all will be well with Misty (hopefully). If I don’t, my options become majorly limited. Left will be the One True Starter and Finisher. He needs to be able to down the Starmie in one hit.

It will come down to luck, so we’re going to maximize the possibilities of that luck.

Mega Kick. Welcome. Later, Scratch.

Okay. Bought some more poke balls in Cerulean, also bought some Repels to see if a thing works. If it doesn’t I will avoid further comment on it.

Route 4, SHOW ME AN ODDISH POR FAVOR.

A Mankey is not an Oddish. And we already killed one, so next.

Spearow. Well, we killed the last one, so sure.

If it could use Growl a few more times, Metal Claw would become an option... Yeah, it’s an option, let’s go for it.

Yay, Spearow’s not dead!

.........

I forgot I was playing a Nuzlocke. Did not nickname the Spearow.

Damn it, Spearow.

Invalid pokemon go in the box.

So with no Oddish, Left is going to have to tackle our rival and Nugget Bridge all alone. Yeehaw. Then we can hit grass that might possibly have an Oddish. We want to do that first after the bridge, because there are enough trainers to make the Oddish a real asset in the Misty fight if it’s allowed the exp.

Assuming we get an Oddish.

First thing’s first, though.

Tiny things continue to amuse me.

Left is level 23 now. Pidgeotto’s Sand-Attack is honestly the largest threat. ...Not that Water Gun isn’t making a show of it. Geez, I’m going to have to buy Potions after this. If there is an after this. I missed Mega Kick every time except the last time, and since Squirtle was busy Withdrawring all through that, not only did I miss the chance to do useful damage, when Mega Kick finally hit on the last shot, it did not help.

So now we’ve used Smokescreen a few times in an attempt to even things out.

...

I think I’m about to lose.

Crap.

Uh.

I have to be the worst again.

Left needs his accuracy back.

Um.

Nally... would you uh. mind uh.

Nally the Caterpie is now dead, continuing this run’s trend of being inexcusably awful.

WELL UNLESS OUR LEVEL 3 SIDEY (PIDGEY) CAN WIN, I’D SAY IT’S RESTARTING TIME AGAIN.

She can’t.

She dies.

Welp.

Our name is GM this time.

Our rival is NPC.

This time our ID number is............ 59916.

-looks up-

Bulbapedia says 4-6 is Fire.

OKAY THEN.

Maybe I’ll just lose against NPC. That would keep the restart time down.

For now and forever.

His name is Scyther.

Scyther gets to stay for a little while longer. He’s Sassy. Great.

Fetch quest done.

Ugh.

I almost universally dislike the beginnings of Pokemon games. Unless nostalgia is kicking in, or the game is completely brand new. Being back at the beginning is very much Not Great.

Though this time I learned that you can choose to leave home without talking to your mother. Wow.

First encounter is Rattata. Rattata’s name is Pidgey.

Route 1 done.

Route 2 gives us a Pidgey. Its name is Rattata.

Route 22 has a level 3 Mankey. Now named Machop.

I think. Sigh.

I think that no matter what starter I end up with, my strategy for this is going to be to have my starter handle the first Gym. If I keep getting Charmanders, that will mean a lot of fails before luck goes with me, because luck was the only way we made it through Left’s run.

...

Damn it, Scyther.

No Viridian Forest catch.

May the +30 exp somehow help.

Through Viridian Forest, which means it’s back to Rival-san.

Rival-san is defeated. That’s probably going to be his actual name next time.

We doing this?

Yeah. Sure.

Hey guess what. That +30 exp means Scyther is level 15 instead of 14! Yay! Does that mean anything?

Why did Onix use Bind.

(Better question, self. Why did you use Ember. Your optimism is killing all your pokemon.)

Rock Tomb. After lots of Binds.

Why is Onix killing the rest of my team in slow motion. Stop using Bind. stop stop stop. just kill them.

Thank you.

FUCK YOU, THAT’S MY NAME THIS TIME.

YOUR GRANSON’S NAME IS ALSO OAK.

ID NUMBER.

WHAT HAVE WE GOT.

26268.

HELLA.

BULBAPEDIA SAYS “7-9 is Water type” SO FUCK YALL WE’RE GETTING A SQUIRTLE.

HELL YEAH.

ITS NAME IS OAK.

GOOD JOB OAK.

GO CATCH A PIDGEY ON ROUTE 1.

ITS NAME IS OAK.

RATTATA ON ROUTE 22. ITS NAME IS OAK.

CATERPIE ON ROUTE 2. ITS NAME IS OAK.

o shit.

His name’s Acorn.

Squirtle learns Bubble at level 7. AKA the most useless Water move ever. I suppose I finally understand why Rival-san was using Tackle instead.

Hi! Oak!

Bulbasaur is going to be a pain. Oak learned Water Gun at 13, but. that doesn’t really help.

Bulbasaur is only using Tackle. That helps greatly, and we’re done.

So. ARE WE DOING THIS THIS TIME?

YAAAAAAAAAAAY.

YAY.

Oki doki.

Now I have to think.

Is Acorn a real teammate, or not?

Rival-san having a Bulbasaur means that he’s going to end up with a Gyarados. Electric moves are very, very useful against such horrors. Electric moves are also very useful for, say. Misty.

I think I’m going to give Acorn a shot. Maybe I’ll have to shove him out into a box in the end, but there are enough useful points in his favor to train him up a bit. All the Speed EV pokemon are going to Acorn. When safe.

!_!

!!_!!

My Route... 4? I think 4. Route 4 catch!

His name is Tree.

And he is actually from Route 3.

Here’s where things (already) get a bit sad, I think. I have limited resources. I do not want to devote time to training something I don’t think I can use. Nidoking is a fantastic pokemon, and in a normal Nuzlocke, I would be so happy to have one.

However, his move pool is not going to help me enough, I don’t think. Maybe my mind will change. Maybe I’ll be wrong. But each member of my team needs to have a specific relevance.

...Maybe that relevance will turn out the be the reminder that I can’t count on getting a Snorlax this time.

Uggggh.

Fine, I’m digging up the pokedex.

I already know that Lapras is out. The leveling process is too painful. Hitmonlee or Hitmonchan can be options, because I think by the time I have access to them, they’re at a level that I can make use of. Eevee is technically an option, but. Flareon isn’t the best. I have a Water pokemon. I have Acorn.

If I don’t take the Eevee, that leaves room for something else from Celadon. If I catch a Magikarp sometime before Celadon, I can guarantee having a Grimer, which has the kind of move pool I think I want for a run like this.

Brute force is my usual tactic, but brute force only works in a run like this if I’m working with things that excel in force.

Other Celadon pokemon include things from the Game Corner. Pinsir has zero naturally learned Bug moves in this gen, so no. ...Oh. It’s also only an option in LeafGreen. Dratini takes too much exp to train into usefulness. Clefairy and Abra are too underleveled. Porygon is too laughably expensive. Scyther is hypothetically very useful, but doesn’t learn a Bug move until level 46. The main benefit until then would be Typing aid. A damn good one, and if it lived long enough, I could certainly make some magic happen.

The one thing I know for sure I want right now.

is a Diglett.

So assuming everything magically works out the way I’m intending, our future team has a Blastoise, a Raichu, and a Dugtrio. The question is what, out of my limited options, best adds to that.

...Tree. I don’t think this is your run, friend.

We soldier on.

Our Mt. Moon is a Zubat again. Yay. ...Oh, whoops. Huh. I only have one Poke Ball. Hope it catches our new friend.

It does!

Zubat’s name is Oak.

Oooooh, Oak learned Bite.

The Squirtle Oak.

Now Wartortle Oak.

Bite at 19.

One arduous Mt. Moon later, Acorn is at level 13, and Oak is at level 21. Now before we do anything else, we’re running to the Pokemon Center for healing, and then the Mart for Poke Balls. We’re clean out of those, and I refuse to go through caves without Flash. I refuse, I tell you.

No Mega Kick of Punch this time. Oak and Acorn should be okay to handle Misty. ...I think.

Route 4 gives us an Ekans.

Its name is Oak.

LET’S TRY THIS AGAIN.

Acorn tries to deal with the level 17 Pidgeotto because we’re all about risk now. He gets it to orange and paralyzed. Hopefully that’s enough for Oak to clean up.

It is! yay.

He sends out his Bulbasaur next, and with any luck, Bite over and over will handle any and all problems.

Wow. Lots of luck. Poisonpowder misses, and Bulbasaur just keeps flinching. Sorry about your luck, Rival-san. I’m taking it all hostage.

I don’t think Abra has an offensive move, so it’s all Acorn’s.

Only a Rattata left, and...?

Thank fuck.

So since we finally hit one, let’s end this on that high note.

Next time, Nugget Bridge awaits.

[navpike]

Can’t Help DNA

The first time that Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams meet, Danny Williams is not holding a weapon. He has his hands in fists and Steve’s skin is singing in that way it does whenever he’s around someone else with the SuperGene. Steve, for his part, is pointing a gun at Danny’s chest and screaming at him which probably isn’t helping the situation, but he’s not going to admit that. He’s shouting, and then Williams is shouting and they eventually get their IDs out without Steve shooting anyone and without Danny’s Gene flaring up.

It’s a win in Steve’s book.

(hawaii five-0 mcdanno fic for @naikia because i love making starting new projects when i should be finishing old ones)

[on ao3]

The first time that Steve McGarrett and Danny Williams meet, Danny Williams is not holding a weapon. He has his hands in fists and Steve’s skin is singing in that way it does whenever he’s around someone else with the SuperGene. Steve, for his part, is pointing a gun at Danny’s chest and screaming at him which probably isn’t helping the situation, but he’s not going to admit that. He’s shouting, and then Williams is shouting and they eventually get their IDs out without Steve shooting anyone and without Danny’s Gene flaring up.

It’s a win in Steve’s book.

There’s a shining ‘G’ on Danny’s badge, and an iridescent one watermarked on his photo ID, the Gene identifier. Looks like Steve’s instincts were right.

Plus neither of them are dead.

Score.

There’s more yelling and a phone call to the governor, and lots of angry staring, and at the end of it all, Steve’s got a task force and his father’s toolbox and a new partner and a brand new extreme stressor in his life.

None of those things get any better.

In fact, there is only more yelling, over the course of his relationship with Danny, there are more phone calls to the governor, and more angry staring, and the Five-0 task force only becomes more work and the toolbox turns into a mountain of issues that does not resolve itself easily, and Danny really does nothing but stress him out.

He still kinda loves the guy though.

It’s unfortunate.

It’s… really, really unfortunate.

It only causes Steve more stress.

What also causes Steve an undo amount of stress is the apparent issues that Danny’s Gene causes him.

Danny Williams is more tight-lipped about his Gene than anyone Steve has ever met in his life. Steve has known him for a while and he still doesn’t know the specifics of Danny’s Gene. He knows that Danny is listed as a Class 1U Gene, Class 1 for the fact that he’s powerful as all hell, Class U for the fact that he’s apparently unpredictable and he’d possibly be dangerous if he didn’t have a proper handle on it. It’s a distinct opposite to Steve’s 3B classification, for his generally benign and lower power ability to detect other Genes.

Steve’s got a sneaking suspicion that when he calls Danny a hothead, he’s pretty close to hitting the nail on the head. Danny has a tendency to smoke when he gets angry or stressed, and not cigarettes either. He quite literally smokes, tendrils of it creeping out from his collar and shirt sleeves, seeping out of his skin like his body simply can’t contain it anymore.

He never once loses complete control of his Gene, but he sure looks like he struggles a lot, especially when the case pertains to children. Steve’s skin crawls, it feels like he’s going to shake right out of it, like there’s electricity itching through his veins every time Danny’s control is tested like that.  No one activates Steve’s Gene quite like Danny does.

Steve worries, when Danny starts steaming like that, because he does not want to have to put his best-friend-maybe-crush down. Steve worries, but Danny never loses it all the way. He smokes and rages and shouts, but Danny never, never loses his control.

Criminals don’t tend to know that, though, so when Danny starts letting off smoke and rumbling out questions, the guy they’ve got in the interrogation room starts talking, pretty quick.

It’s how they end up getting a name out of him in less than five minutes. Their murder suspect who turns out to not really be a suspect gives them the name Luke Nakoa and they’re off to Halawa Correctional to follow up on a new lead.

The ride to Halawa is tense. Danny’s on edge because their victim had a little kid, and Steve’s on edge because Danny’s pouring smoke into the car and Steve’s Gene is flaring up like nobody’s business. It’s too much. Steve has to take Danny aside when they pull up.

“You need to cool it down, Danno. Take a breath, man,” Steve says, clapping a hand on Danny’s shoulder.

Danny takes a deep, shuddering breath and presses his lips into a thin line, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m fine. I’m fine, you hear me? Get your hands off a me, Steven. I’m fine,” Danny grumbles, and as he speaks, the smoke dissipates. He’s still burning hot under Steve’s, hand, but Steve’s Gene settles a bit. Steve takes a breath himself, and they follow Chin and Kono into Halawa.

Guards inside ask for IDs and as he’s getting his out, Steve realizes that for all of the time that they’ve been working together, he’s never actually paid a visit like this to Halawa with Danny. He’s gone a couple of times with Chin, and with Joe White, once with Kono, but never with Danny. He doesn’t think Danny’s ever gone into Halawa with any of them before, actually. He dwells on the thought for a moment, and then it falls to the back of his mind when a guard nudges him.

He’s expecting it, when they hand over Gene-dampening cuffs to him and Kono, he knows that all Genes have to be dampened to enter the facility. Chin smiles at Kono as she manifests a little water orb over her hand, only for it to dissipate as the cuff snaps shut around her wrist. Steve’s Gene finally shuts up as his own cuff locks into place. He sighs in relief, he doesn’t get this sort of respite when Danny’s around him, ever. But the feeling of relief goes away the second he turns and catches sight of Danny’s face.

Danny’s expression is pinched, almost like he’s in pain, as he looks to the rest of them. It hits Steve then that he has no idea why Danny has never made a trip to Halawa with any of them before. He gets it, finally, when Danny reaches out his hand and takes his dampener from the guard.

The dampener they give to Danny isn’t a cuff like Steve’s or Kono’s. Danny’s is a collar, the kind they give to the inmates.

Danny sighs, and clamps the collar shut around his neck without a question.

Kono opens her mouth to question, and Danny cuts her off.

“They don’t keep cuffs around that are strong enough to keep my Gene down. Only the inmate collars are. Law enforcement aren’t usually ramped up like me. Can’t get in without a dampener, so…” Danny trails off with a half-hearted gesture at his neck

Something protective flares in Steve’s chest. It feels a lot like his Gene, something surging and powerful and rippling from his center and under his skin. He shoves it back down with a vengeance and focuses on the case at hand. They’ve got a dead woman whose killer they need to find, it is not the time to be having a crisis about Danny Williams.

They go onward, into the prison.

Luke Nakoa doesn’t squeal like their not-suspect-suspect did, but a few rattled chairs and well placed threats gets him to talk soon enough.

Nakoa very reluctantly gives up the location of a man who could be their murderer after over half an hour of questioning. He spends a lot of time making cutting remarks about the collar around Danny’s neck. Steve’s been tortured and it’s hurt less than watching Danny’s face after each comment. Danny doesn’t say a word though. He’s stoic and silent through the entire interrogation, aside from the occasional question. When they go to leave, and the guard unlocks Danny’s collar, Danny rips it off of his neck like it’s burned him, shrugs his collar up to hide his neck, and storms out of the facility.

Steve’s chest aches.

Danny doesn’t say a word as they head towards the cars, but he does start smoking as he stalks away from the building.

“Chin, Kono, see what you can find on this guy, Mahoe. See if Nakoa’s information is reliable,” Steve directs, and Chin and Kono break off, get into Kono’s Prius and speed away. Steve turns to Danny and opens his mouth, and Danny snaps at him.

“No, no. Quit looking at me like that. With that wounded puppy-dog look. I’m fine,” Danny grumbles, gesturing emphatically at the air around him.

Steve shakes his head. “Danny, they just collared you like some common criminal. You ran outta there like a bat outta hell, pulling your collar up to cover up-- this, what is this?” He reaches out and tugs at Danny’s collar, trying to tug it down so he can see what Danny was trying to hide. Danny tries to pull away from Steve’s touch, but Steve holds firm. He doesn’t like what he sees. Where the collar had sat around Danny’s throat, the skin is red and irritated. Steve throws his hands up. “Jesus, Danny! What the hell is this? This isn’t okay!”

Danny smacks at Steve’s hands as he pulls them away and makes an irritated noise in the back of his throat. “Steve, I said it’s fine, okay! It wasn’t the collar, it’s me, it’s my Gene. It’s too unstable to be contained properly, and with what it is, it’s just bad, it’s a bad combo, the dampener and me getting angry. It’s all me, it’s me, not anybody else, let it go, for the love of god.”

Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just worried about you. I mean this isn’t a one time thing with the Gene, and with the you having trouble controlling it, and with the you hurting yourself trying to keep a lid on it. We’ve known each other how long and you haven’t even told me what you can actually do! I’m concerned! I feel like my skin’s crawling every time I get within a hundred feet of you, you’re so powerful, and you never let it out. You know that suppressing your Gene like that isn’t good for you, especially one so strong, and you still do it all the ti--”

“It is none of your business, Steven, how I handle my own abilities, thank you very much,” Danny cuts him off.

And doesn’t that make something ache deep in Steve’s gut. Because it really isn’t Steve’s business, he has no right to be telling Danny what to do, but he worries. He worries, because he cares about Danny more than he’s ever allowed himself to care for anyone else before.

It’s one of the only things Steve’s ever been scared of.

“Get in the car,” Danny says, throwing the keys at Steve’s head. “Get in the car, let’s go. Come on. We’ve got a raid to plan. Let’s get outta here.”

Steve gets in the car and they drive silently back to headquarters.

They plan their raid.

They go on the raid.

The information they got from Luke Nakoa leads them directly into a trap. The man waiting for them is not Mahoe, like Luke had said. He’s James Nakoa, Luke’s brother, and he’s got backup, and Five-0 is not prepared.

The raid goes sideways in a truly spectacular fashion, and in the end, Chin’s got a graze from a bullet and someone has made off with Danny in the back of an unmarked van.

They get a ransom call an hour later, from a James Nakoa. James demands that his brother be released from prison and that they be provided a helicopter for escape.

Chin only just keeps Steve from punching a wall. Steve only just keeps Kono from sucking all the moisture out of everything around them.

Steve takes a moment to breathe, he calms himself down, he focuses on the feeling that Kono’s Gene sets under his skin, and he checks his watch. They have three hours and forty two minutes left to meet James Nakoa’s demands to release Luke from prison.

Grace got out of school three minutes ago.

Rachel’s on the mainland.

Shit.

Steve scrambles out of the office with barely a word of explanation and speeds to Grace’s school with the truck’s lights on.

“Uncle Steve?” Grace asks as Steve comes all but stumbling out of his truck. “Uncle Steve are you okay?”

Steve forces a smile to his face, and crouches down to Grace’s level. His skin sings when she nears him, a quieter version of the way his Gene reacts to Danny. It’s almost soothing, in a way.

“I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m okay,” he assures her, and her face twists unhappily.

“Where’s Danno?”

Steve’s forced smile falters. “Gracie, a bad man got his hands on your dad today, and he took him away from us, but we’re working on getting him back right now. I promise you, we’re gonna bring him home safe, I swear. But right now, I’m here to bring you to the office with me so that I can make sure you’re safe too, okay?”

Grace’s expression crumbles, and Steve sweeps her into a hug, She wraps her arms around his neck and her entire body trembles as she heaves a breath. Steve’s skin crawls, and itch sets deep in his bones and alarm bells start ringing in the back of his mind, because that’s the feeling he gets when he’s around Danny, or when he’s around someone who’s actively using their Gene.

He only has a moment to worry before he has to release Grace because she’s burning hot enough that he can’t hold her anymore. He’s careful not to let her stumble back but he can’t even hold on to her hands once he’s got her steady on her feet.

Grace’s skin has gone red all over, and not like it’s irritated. She’s glowing, a mess of reds, oranges and yellows, and her hands are white hot, tears escaping her eyes only to turn to steam the second they hit her skin. She’s not smoking like Danny does, but she’s radiating heat like a goddamn furnace, so much that Steve’s having trouble staying close to her.

He reaches out, gets near as he can. His Gene is setting off warning bells like crazy and he’s ignoring them all, because Grace looks despondent and he wants nothing more than to hold her close, but he can’t touch her.

“Gracie, look at me kiddo. Hey, hey, I’m going to get your dad back, okay? I promise you that. I promise. Look at me,” he repeats, when her gaze darts away, at the couple of people who have stopped to stare at the slight scene they’re making. “I need you to take a deep breath for me, okay? You gotta calm down, get your control back. You control your Gene, it doesn’t control you, okay, sweetheart? I know you’ve got it in you. You’re strong, just like Danno, right?”

Grace nods and sniffles miserably. She tries to take a deep breath and it hitches in her chest.

Steve gives her an encouraging smile and nods. “Come on kid. Try again. Let’s go, you’ve got it.” She heaves a breath again, and this time it’s deeper, less shaky. “Good. Again,” Steve encourages. She does it again.

Steve smiles at her. Her hands go from white hot to yellow, orange, red. A couple more minutes and she’s gotten her control back, she’s not radiating heat anymore, her skin is slowly losing it’s dangerous looking glow. She takes another breath and the glow fades completely.

“Atta girl, Gracie. See? What’d I tell you? You had this. You’re so strong, kiddo,” he says, and tugs her into a hug again, and she sags against him. “You’re good, you’re okay, you’re okay. Let’s go back to the Palace and see what Uncle Chin and Auntie Kono have found out about where your dad is. How about that?”

Grace nods where she’s got her face tucked into the crook of Steve’s neck, and Steve scoops her up in his arms and gets her into the backseat of the car and they speed back to headquarters.

As they drive, Steve can’t help but glance over at Grace every few minutes.

“Gracie, is your Gene the exact same as your dad’s?” he asks, finally, even though it’s invasive and absolutely not his place to be asking this of Danny’s daughter, but he finds he can’t stop himself from asking.

Grace shakes her head, makes a face, twists her fingers together in her lap. “No. Danno can do the same as me, just more. He does like me but then he catches on fire. He can throw fire too, but he doesn’t like me to see that so he never does it.”

Steve thinks, then, that it’s a very good thing that Rachel has no Gene. Rachel’s human DNA must have diluted Danny’s Gene DNA, making Grace’s Gene something much more manageable than Danny’s unstable one. He knows that Grace is still classed as a 2U type Gene, knows she’s still powerful and unpredictable, but at least it’s more controllable than Danny’s. Small mercies.

Grace is quiet the rest of the ride to headquarters.

Steve doesn’t really know what else to say either, so he’s quiet, and he gets them back as quickly as possible.

If Grace’s hands glow red a couple times during the ride, Steve doesn’t comment on it. He doesn’t have to work to control his Gene. It just does it’s thing all the time. For people like Danny and Grace and Kono, he knows that they have to put an immense amount of effort into keeping their Genes under control. He has respect for it, especially such a little girl working to contain such a serious amount of power.

Kono wraps Grace up in a hug the second that they step into the Palace, and the air between them sizzles, they’re both so on edge.

Steve’s skin is alight, it feels just like when Danny’s around, only they’re all on edge and everything’s ramped up to eleven, and he needs to take a break. He has Kono take Grace, and he locks himself in the interrogation room, and he screams, and throws a chair at the wall and goes back upstairs a much calmer man.

Grace is glowing again, but Kono seems to have that situation under control, she’s got a gentle hand on Grace’s shoulder, there’s steam coming from between them, from the mix of Grace’s ember and Kono’s water. It’s looking like quite the spectacle, but it’s under control and Kono can actually provide some physical comfort like Steve can’t, so it’s the best they can do for now. As much as he wants to stay and sit with Grace until this resolves itself easily on its own, he has to go fix this. He has to find his partner.

He and Chin go back to the computer table and they do just that.

A unit tells them that a sweep of Luke Nakoa’s cell had turned up a phone that he’d been using to talk to his brother, so James Nakoa knows that Danny’s a high-classed Gene. So, if James Nakoa knows that Danny’s a Gene, and Danny hasn’t been able to free himself yet, then James has gotten ahold of a dampener.

Steve sees red for a second, and has to remind himself that the table is a very expensive computer and that he can’t put his fist through it.

But then Chin says, “All dampeners give off a certain frequency. Especially one that can control Danny’s Gene? We can track that. Steve we can find him,” and he does exactly that. Steve could kiss him.

He takes the first full breath he’s taken since Danny was abducted.

“Alright. Get HPD on the line. I want every available unit. James Nakoa is not getting away with this, We are getting Danny back, and James is joining his brother in Halawa,” Steve barks out.

They have fifty six minutes until James Nakoa’s timer runs out.

They get Kamekona to watch Grace and Steve presses a kiss to her forehead as he goes to leave, even though it almost burns to touch her.

And he promises, again, that he’ll bring Danny home okay.

He gets in his truck with Chin and Kono and he drives like a crazed man on the way to the abandoned warehouse where they’ve tracked a lone dampener signal. He can barely stand to wait for the signal to move on the building, the anticipation burning in his gut only made worse by the hum under his skin from the Gene cops, the hum that tells him that Danny is definitely here.

Steve’s breath catches on his next inhales and punches out of his chest when the go ahead spreads through the ranks holding position outside the warehouse.

It doesn’t take long for Chin to lay eyes on James Nakoa, and as soon as Kono takes him down with some truly spectacular waterworks, Steve holsters his gun and goes tearing through the rest of the building, with no regard for the fact that there might be more people they haven’t gotten into custody yet.

He follows the tug under his skin, deep into the heart of the warehouse, to a tiny office with a locked door. He kicks the door open and almost stops breathing all together at the sight that greets him once he does.

Danny’s on the floor of the office, his hands bound above his head, blood running down his forehead, and a thick metal collar fastened around his neck. He’s coated in a thin layer of sweat, his shirt hanging open to reveal an horrifying array of bruises on his chest.

Despite the dampener, Danny’s actually still smoking, his face twisted in pain as the smoke pours out from him, from underneath the collar. Steve very narrowly avoids pulling his gun and going to find the man who did this.

When the door smacks against the wall, Danny flinches. Steve drops to his knees in front of him, and does a very, incredibly, impressively stupid thing.

He grabs Danny’s face and kisses him.

Danny punches Steve in the gut.

Steve stumbles away from him, and tries to ignore the hurt in his chest. Danny swings towards him wildly again, his eyes going from half lidded to wide open in a split second.

“What do you-- what--” Danny mutters, his gaze finally settling on Steve. “Steve, Steve, what are you--?”

Steve holds up his hands in surrender and creeps slowly back towards Danny, carefully taking out his knife and slicing through the bonds tying Danny to an old metal desk.

Steve wants to apologize, he wants to find some way to make the last few minutes go away, wishes he could erase this stupid, stupid, stupidmistake.

Instead, he goes to work on the dampening collar on Danny’s neck and tries desperately to ignore the pained, panicked look on Danny’s face.

“Steve, hey, hey, you can’t--” Danny says, trying to smack Steve’s hands away from the collar.

“Danny,” Steve says, quiet in a way he nearly never is. “I’ve gotta get this off. It’s hurting you. Come on. I’ll get it off and get you out of here, and Grace will meet us at the hospital. We’ve got Nakoa in custody. He’s gonna pay for this. It’s gonna be fine. I’ve almost got it off.”

Danny swats at him again. “No, no, Steve, you gotta go, you can’t-- you can’t--”

Steve has a split second to wonder what he can’t do, and then the collar clicks softly open and Danny goes up in flames.

The fireball that engulfs Danny’s whole body is enough to throw Steve backwards into the desk Steve’s head cracks into the desk and all of the air leaves his lungs in a rush. He barely has the presence of mind to pat out the place where his vest and the shirt under it have caught fire, and when he radios for paramedics, he’s certain he’s nearly incoherent.

The last thing he sees before he passes out is Danny, completely enveloped in flames, staring back at him in horror.

Steve wakes up in the back of the ambulance, stays awake for long enough for Kono to tell him that Chin is with Danny, and Kamekona is bringing Grace to meet them at the hospital, and Duke’s got HPD processing the warehouse and Nakoa in custody, and then he promptly passes out again.

He wakes up again in the hospital just as a nurse is entering his room. She calls a doctor and Steve tolerates the exam with only mild complaint.

He’s got a second degree burn spanning from the left front of his chest up to his neck, and some impressive bruising on his back, and a bump on the back of his head, but none of his ribs are broken, and by some miracle he doesn’t have a concussion, so he’ll count this as a win. Especially when he asks how Danny’s doing and the nurse says he’s perfectly alright, and in a room just down the hall with Grace and Kono.

Steve immediately asks if he can go see him.

The nurse gives him a sad sort of smile and nods, and helps him into a wheelchair and down the hall. There’s a uniformed officer stationed outside the door, which sets off an alarm in the back of Steve’s mind,

“Commander McGarrett. Good to see you’re awake,” the officer says, and Steve narrows his eyes.

“What are you doing outside Danny’s room?” Steve asks, without acknowledging the officer’s pleasantries. “What, did Nakoa escape custody? Is there some concern for his safety that I should be aware of?”

The officer shakes his head. “No, sir. There was concern about what occurred after you recovered Detective Williams at the warehouse. They sent me down here just in case there was another incident, or if you wanted to press charges because of Detective Williams’ actions.”

Steve’s upper lip curls in disgust.

“Absolutely not. Detective Williams was under an extreme amount of stress, in a less than ideal situation. There was no way he could have controlled his Gene fully in those circumstances. He told me to get away, and I didn’t listen. Not a chance in hell I’m pressing charges. You’ve been relieved of your position on my orders. Get out of here,” Steve commands, and the officer does not argue.

Steve wheels himself into Danny’s room, and as soon as the nurse is out of sight, stands and walks the rest of the way towards Danny’s bed.

“Uncle Steve! You’re okay!” Grace exclaims, and throws her arms around his waist as soon as he gets close enough.

Steve can’t help the fond little smile that comes to his face as he glances down at her. “What’d I tell you, kiddo? Everything worked out okay, didn’t it?” She nods and smiles up at him and Steve’s heart melts a little, and then he chances a look over at Danny and his heart flat out shatters.

Danny’s got a couple of stitches near his hairline, where he’d been cracked over the head when he was taken, Steve can clearly see where the collar had been locked around Danny’s neck, there’s a dark smudge of a bruise on his jaw, and a darker one that peeks out from the collar of his shirt. But worst of all is the look that Danny’s giving him, wary and confused and hurt.

Kono glances between them and takes Grace to get snacks from a vending machine.

“Why are you here, Steve?” is the first thing out of Danny’s mouth, and Steve lets out a shaky breath in response because that hurts more than he cares to admit.

“I came to see how you were doing,” he says, after a beat of heavy silence.

Danny scoffs. “Came to see how I was doing? Are you kidding me? You shouldn’t be within a hundred yards of me!”

That feels like a punch straight to the gut, if Steve’s honest with himself. “Look, Danny, I’m sorry for what happened. I never should’ve-- I’m sorry, okay?”

“You’re sorry?” Danny asks incredulously, pulling a face. Steve’s shoulders sag, and he opens his mouth to defend himself, to try to explain away his actions and beg Danny to forgive him. Danny speaks again before he can. “You’re sorry? What in the hell do you mean you’re sorry? Steve, I could have killed you! I fucked you up so badly they put an officer outside to sit on me like I’m a flight risk, and you’re just in here to ask how I’m doing and apologizing? Are you kidding me?”

Steve’s eyes widen a little, cause that’s not what he’d been expecting, at all. He wants to say something reassuring, but what comes out of his mouth is, “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

And then he smacks himself in the forehead, because he deserves that.

“Excuse me you’re what?”

Steve, very quietly, repeats, “I’m sorry I kissed you. I didn’t mean-- I mean, that was way out of line, I was just so worried when you were taken and my emotions got the better of me. It won’t happen again.”

“So, he does have emotions, after all,” Danny says, and Steve raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Are you…” Steve trails off, not sure of what exactly he should say. “Are you not-- you’re not mad?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad? What are you talking about mad? You’re the one who should be mad at me you monumental moron,” Danny snaps back, without a missed beat.

“I should be mad at you? What for?” Steve asks.

Danny throws a hand up in the air. “Babe, I put you in the hospital!”

“Yeah, by accident,” Steve says, like it’s a normal occurrence, that happens to everyone all the time.

Danny makes a sound that’s almost a laugh. “You’re a moron, you know that? You’re an idiot. Come here.”

Steve very slowly comes closer to Danny’s bed.

The second he’s close enough, Danny catches him by the shirt and tugs him forward. Careful of the burns crawling up his neck, Danny grabs Steve and kisses him like his life depends on it. Steve kisses back like he’s a damned man, and Danny is his salvation. Danny kisses him breathless, and only releases him when they absolutely have to part. Even then, he keeps their foreheads pressed together, and very gently traces a finger around the edges of the gauze dressing on Steve’s burns.

“It’s not your fault. That dampener was dangerous, it’s not your fault,” Steve breathes softly, and before he can repeat himself again, Danny kisses the words out of his mouth.

He knows they have to talk about it, but he can live with this for now.

[tehlaen]

Descent

[[tl;dr: Wherein a Jedi learns of her family, past and present. ]] Timeline: A few months after Vaylin’s defeat.

“Soldiers of Zakuul, we apologize for the manner of our approach.” The normally soft-spoken Jedi raised her voice, projecting so that her words rang clearly across the fifty meters separating her from the Zakuulan loyalists. “We regret the damage done to your ship, and offer our assistance in making the necessary repairs, once our parley is concluded.” Years of diplomatic training kept her from pointing out the obvious, that this parley was somewhat less than voluntary on her audience’s part.

The Twi’lek Jedi’s gaze slid over the dozens of reprogrammed skytroopers, focusing on the visored faces of the holdouts from Vaylin’s forces. “My name is Qerines Hadze, Jedi Master and Emissary of the Eternal Alliance. I come bearing a message from the Alliance COmmander, and an offer.

“Empress Vaylin has been defeated. You acquitted your duty to the Eternal Empire. Your duty now is to the people of Zakuul; peace has been restored, but the scars of war remain. Your countrymen need your help in rebuilding.

“The Alliance offers an amnesty to those of you who will lay down your arms and return with us to--”

Qerines tried not to be disappointed with her own lack of disappointment as her double-bladed lightsaber blazed to life and deflected the first blasterbolt into the low ceiling of the corridor. This marked the fifth time in as many weeks that she’d delivered the Alliance’s offer to a group of Zakuulans still fighting for a mad tyrant who’d been defeated months ago and had been met with the same emphatic, violent refusal.

The purple beams of hard light issuing from her saberstaff became a hazy curtain between her and the fusillade of blasterfire as she windmilled the weapon with the ease and blinding speed of two decades of practice. Her eyes drifted half shut as she reached out, seeing the trajectory of each of the hundreds of bolts of energy originating from the skytroopers’ blaster rifles and converging on the center of her chest. Once she knew which bolts would strike where, it was a simple matter of interposing her saber between her and the killer light in the right order and at the correct angle. The Force and her own reflexes guided her movements, ducking and spinning and twisting to dodge those blasts she couldn’t easily deflect. Her mind wove the deluge of information from her senses both mundane and mystical into an intricate choreography, positioning body and blades to evade and parry as necessary, redirecting the bolts’ hateful energy and turning it on its former masters.

The corners of the Jedi’s mouth twitched downward as a single, carefully-aimed shot flashed over her shoulder with scant centimeters to spare. It wasn’t worry for her own safety that sparked her quickly-stifled flash of irritation; Minev, the sharpshooter late of the Sith Empire who’d been assigned to her small team, was certainly not reckless and, moreover, was intimately familiar with the Jedi’s combat style and capabilities. No, her disapproval stemmed from Minev’s subtle but unmistakable defiance of the team leader’s orders. One of the handful of Zakuulan loyalists crumpled to the ground, a smoking hole burned through the hollow of his throat. Even without her connection to the Force, Master Hadze could tell that the man was dead before he hit the ground.

It ended quickly.

Lieutenant Minev walked up behind the Jedi standing hunched over the commandeered ship’s primary memory core. Years of training as a sniper had rendered moving soundlessly second nature for the Imperial soldier, and she stopped a polite few meters away before coughing softly.

Qerines wasn’t sure whether Minev’s gesture was meant as a courtesy to indicate her presence and avoid startling the apparently distracted Jedi, or a tacit request for her commanding officer’s attention and permission to speak. Regardless, it was unnecessary, and Qerines stood, stretching her tense shoulders and gave the woman a small nod and an easy smile.

The soldier gave her a perfunctory nod, standing at parade rest as she delivered her report. “Master Jedi. All skytroopers have been deactivated and rendered inoperative. This ship is severely damaged; getting it spaceworthy again would require time, technicians and parts that we don’t have. I recommend notifying the Alliance and requesting a salvage team. Failing that, the vessel should be scuttled to deny it to the enemy. I’ve taken the initiative and placed demolition charges, though they’re not yet armed.”

Master Hadze nodded, giving the soldier an encouraging and appreciative smile. “Very thorough, Lieutenant, thank you.” Minev nodded sharply, then shifted one foot behind the other. Before she could execute her crisp about-face, the Jedi cleared her throat. Minev paused, then resumed her former stance. One thin blonde eyebrow cocked, jumping a centimeter and a half closer to the line of her close-cropped hair. “Yes, my L--Master Jedi?”

She let the slip of the tongue go without remark; the mannerisms and speech taught by a lifetime in the Sith Empire weren’t to be unlearned in the year and a half since Minev joined the Alliance.

Besides, she had greater concerns. She kept her voice soft and level as she asked, “Have the surviving loyalists received medical attention?”

If the other woman read anything into the question or Qerines’ manner, she gave no indication. “No, sir. The Zakuulans fought to the last and refused to be taken alive.” She paused a moment, lips pursed in thought, then added, almost as an afterthought, “They died well.”

If she’d expected that to offer the Jedi some consolation, she had gravely misjudged her audience. Qerines tried and failed to keep the bitterness and derision out of her voice as she shot back, “They died pointlessly.”

Minev watched her team leader’s face as the Jedi closed her eyes and steadied her breathing to compose herself. After a moment, the Twi’lek opened her purple-irised eyes, and Minev gave a one-shoulder shrug.

The gesture only served to further exasperate Master Hadze, and she fought to keep her crimson skin from flushing an even darker red in response. “Our mission is to convince the remnants of Vaylin’s forces to surrender and accept the Alliance’s offer of amnesty! Not to kill them! If that were the case, we would have simply destroyed this ship and saved ourselves the trouble.”

The sharpshooter’s expression was unreadable, and Qerines was struck by a thought. Is this how other people feel talking to Jedi? Are we this exasperating? After a pause to gather her thoughts, her subordinate spoke, her tone level. “Respectfully, Master Jedi, no, it’s not. I was in the briefing, and our orders are to offer the amnesty. They made their rejection quite clear. We carried out our orders, and more to the point, I carried out my orders.”

The conversational curve took Qerines by surprise and she temporarily postponed her objection to the soldier’s interpretation of their task. “What do you mean, ‘your orders?’”

The lieutenant met her eyes unwaveringly. “Lana Beniko instructed me to keep you whole, hale and hearty. I believe her exact words were, ‘don’t let her naïve idealism get her killed for idiotic reasons.’”

Qerines’ brows drew in. “And you interpreted that to mean you should summarily execute someone who posed no real threat to my wellbeing?”

“Again, Master Jedi, respectfully, when the Sith Lord spymaster of the Eternal Alliance tells me it’s my ass if you get yourself killed, I’m not taking any chances. I’m way more afraid of pissing her off than you.”

She searched the sniper’s face, then nodded. “Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you for the explanation… and the backup. In the future, please make every effort to take our adversaries alive.”

“I’ll try.”

The Jedi laughed softly. “I suspect that’s the best I’ll get from you, so I’ll take it. I’ll finish--”

Qerines broke off as a panicked voice broke in over the earpieces she and Minev wore. Both women winced in pain as the comms adjusted the volume to compensate for Garis’ shout, but not quickly enough.

“General! Sensor contact!”

Now wasn’t the time to correct the young Republic pilot’s nomenclature. “What is it, Garis?”

“Sith Fury-class interceptor, sir! She just dropped out of hyperspace right off our stern! Charging weapons on an intercept course!”

With their own Defender transport docked at an airlock and the loyalist vessel’s shields still disabled, they were practically helpless. “We’re on our way, Corporal. Recall everyone to the ship and prep for takeoff. Do you have an ID on the Fury?”

“That’s the thing, General. She’s showing as the Rage of Iego.”

Minev and Hadze exchanged a worried glance as they jogged across the bridge to the open blast doors and the corridor beyond. “That’s the ship that’s been shadowing us for weeks, sir.”

Qerines nodded, her expression souring. “Longer than that, Minev.” The soldier looked at her questioningly, and she expanded  as they trotted down the passage toward the airlock and their ship. “That ship--it’s been pursuing me for years, since before the war with Zakuul. Showing up on planets I’ve visited, asking rather pointed questions about me and resorting to brutal methods to get answers to those questions.”

The lieutenant nodded once, sharply. “Then we’re leaving. Now.”

“Do you hear me arguing?”

“Sir! They--” Garis’ shouted warning drowned in a deafening flood of static and high-pitched squeals as their nameless foe jammed their comms.

The Jedi allowed herself a rare curse, one ear ringing even after the device adjusted the volume. The Imperial cursed a blue streak, and the two broke into a sprint.

A flash of either premonition or simple intuition struck her, and the Jedi slid to a stop, one hand grabbing the back of the other’s jacket and yanking her backwards a fraction of a second before an explosion filled the corridor with shrapnel. The flying bits of metal bounced off the Force barrier Hadze gestured into being, and the echoes of the breaching charge rang in the tight confines.

The secondary hatch of a Fury interceptor  was visible through the smoke and the new hole blown in the ship’s hull. The hatch slid open with a hiss, and the darkness beyond was rent by the ignition of a lightsaber. A corona of vibrant green surrounded a core of blacker-than-black--the black of the Void, of nothingness and nonexistence. Fitting, the Jedi thought as her hand dropped to the saber at her waist.

Minev shared none of the Jedi Master’s restraint. In one smooth motion, she unslung her rifle, snapping it up and loosing one hellish bolt, aiming purley by reflex. Even without conscious effort, her aim was true, the shot perfectly centered in the silhouette emerging from the darkness.

That green and black saber snapped up, reflecting the bolt with aim just as perfect. Qerines drew her own saber and ignited it, whirling it up to interpose between the Sith and the sharpshooter. Instead of splitting her sternum and consuming both of Minev’s  lungs, the blaster bolt slammed into the bulkhead, leaving a carbon scorch and glowing durasteel. Without taking her eyes from the approaching Sith, Qerines stepped in front of the soldier, weapon still in a low guard.

“Go. I’ll catch up.” She didn’t really hear the protest, but recognized it nonetheless. Doing her best impersonation of an Imperial officer, she curled her lip and snarled, “That’s an order!”

Her training complied with the command before her conscious mind had fully parsed it. She sprinted back down the way they had come to a T-junction that would take her back to the ship via an alternate route that would hopefully avoid the Sith. She paused, looking worriedly at the Jedi.

Qerines turned her head just enough to call over her shoulder. “Launch the ship, but stay close. I’ll be along shortly.”

Emotions warred on the young soldier’s face, then she nodded and disappeared around the corner.

The Jedi turned her attention back to the Sith, walking deliberately through the smoke and debris choking the improvised ingress. Qerines kept her saber at the ready, reaching out with her senses to anticipate her foe’s next move. The Sith stepped out of the shadows, into the light of the corridor, and Qerines studied her through half-lidded eyes.

Like herself, the Sith was Twi’lek; that was surprising enough, given the Sith Empire’s disdain for non-humans. More striking still was the genetic mutation she apparently shared with the Jedi, giving them both the same deep, rich red skin tone that marked them both as Lethan.

If she had to guess, she would put the darksider’s age at early to mid 50’s. Judging the age of Sith was difficult under the best of circumstances, given the horrible physical toll channeling the Dark Side took on a body. The green-eyed Twi’lek appraising her from a dozen meters away showed none of those signs of deterioration, though whether to attribute that  to limited use of the Dark Side or to some Sith-Alchemy exercise in vanity, Qerines was unsure. She suspected the latter.

"You are the Jedi Master known as Qerines Hadze?" The Sith broke the tense silence, spitting her name with such vehemence and disdain that the Jedi was taken aback. She allowed herself a small grin and a very un-Jedi-like flash of pride; to have any Sith hate her so was surely a compliment of the highest order.

Qerines extended her senses, probing, assessing, gauging her adversary’s strengths and vulnerabilities. She reached out with the Force, prodding--and her breath exploded from her lungs like she’d been kicked in the stomach. The Sith standing before her roiled and raged like a wildfire, her entire being fueled by--and simultaneously consumed by--a burning hatred, and at the core… a soul-deep anguish, a heartbreaking sense of loss.

“I would speak with you,” the Sith intoned imperiously, regarding the Jedi through slitted eyes.

“I suspected as much,” she answered dryly. “There are easier ways to reach me.”

The older Twi’lek’s brows drew in slightly, having clearly understood the subtext. “That--those--were… another matter. A personal one. Not some kind of message for you.”

Qerines shook her head. “Whether you intended to send a message was irrelevant. I understood your message perfectly.”

Those narrow brows, emphasized by the menacing spikes tattooed all around them, arched in cryptic amusement. “Clearly, you do not.”

The younger shook her head. “Enough, Sith. This conversation is over.” She snapped her saber up in a high guard, then whirled it around her head, bringing it down in a slash aimed to remove the Sith’s head from her neck.

The vile green and black blade looped up in an easy, almost dismissive parry. Just as well; the strike had accomplished its purpose, momentarily blocking the Sith’s view of the Jedi. Qerines let the inertia tuck her into a low spin, and by the time the green and black saber had recovered into a guard, she had exploded out of her crouch into a dead sprint down the corridor, away from her crew and her ship.

Have to buy them time, she thought to herself as she ran. Behind her, she could feel the Sith’s flare of frustration, even before the accompanying curses reached her hearing. A plan started to take shape as her eyes passed over an arrow emblazoned with “Cargo Hold #2.”

She rounded the corner without slowing, a lifetime of athletic training and a nudge with the Force allowing her feet to transition seamlessly from deck to bulkhead and back.

She could sense the darksider’s approach, stalking after her in pursuit, the Sith’s footfalls heavier in the Force than on the deck. “The Jedi move lightly through the world, carried on the currents of the Living Force as a leaf on a stream,” one of her early teachers had been fond of saying. “The Sith do not; they want to be noticed and to leave their mark on the Force and on the lives of those around them.”

Qerines tried--unsuccessfully--to suppress a dark thought. Her footsteps sound like inevitability.

She ducked into the hold, eyes scanning the towering stacks of cargo containers and smaller racks of supplies and spare parts. It was second nature, as intuitive as breathing, to wrap herself in the Force and vanish from sight, and she slipped between rows of freight pods. She didn’t know if any of it would fool the Sith hunting her, but all she had to do, she reminded herself, was buy time for her crew to circle around and pick her up at another airlock.

How much time, that’s the question.

Qerines felt the Sith enter the hold before she saw her--standing in the hatchway, green eyes narrowed, searching the dark corners and crevices.

“Jedi, come out.” Her voice echoed ominously in the cavernous hold. “We have much to discuss.”

The hidden Jedi answered by grabbing a shipping crate with the Force and hurling it through the air at the Sith. The green-eyed Lethan’s lip curled in a snarl. One hand came up, the lightning flowing from her fingers superheating the plexoid crate and blasting it to pieces well before it hit her.

Qerines’ breath caught in her throat, and as the Sith’s emerald glare settled on her hiding place, she dashed down one of the seemingly infinite narrow passages that snaked maze-like among the cargo containers.

It devolved into a running battle; the Jedi struck from ambush, then faded away before the Sith could bring her considerable power to bear. After several such engagements, the Jedi came to a pair of realizations: First, while she was unquestionably the more skilled duelist, she was hopelessly outclassed by the sorcerer in terms of raw power… and she suspected her own strength would fail long before the Sith’s reserves were exhausted. In short, any protracted battle would be one she would lose.

Secondly, it was becoming increasingly clear that the Sith was not striking at her with anything approaching her full capabilities. Why, Master Hadze couldn’t fathom, except for the possibility that the Sith wished her alive and didn’t want to kill her prematurely. She didn’t know why, but she still had nightmares about the horrors the Sith had left in her wake. She would not allow herself to be taken alive.

She let the shroud concealing her drop, and she stepped sedately out from hiding. She faced the Sith across a mostly open “clearing” among the containers, and her amethyst gaze met emerald unwaveringly. She folded her hands in the sleeves of her robes, her lips speaking the words for what, she suspected, would be the last time.

“There is no emotion; there is peace.” The Sith had stopped, some fifteen meters distant, and her eyes narrowed.

“There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.” In her peripheral vision, the green-and-black blade swept up into a guard and the other hand clawed its fingers, gathering power for another blast of lightning.

“There is no passion; there is serenity.” Those lips curled in a derisive sneer, and Qerines felt the surge of anger--beyond what she’d expect from the standard-issue Sith disdain for the Jedi teachings.

“There is no chaos; there is harmony.” Her steps brought her closer, close enough now to register the decades-old scars--brands, she corrected herself--that marred her cheeks and forehead and marked her as one of those Sith Lords who’d risen from slavery to the highest rung of the brutal ladder that was Imperial society.

“There is no death; there is the Force.”

Qerines came to a stop barely a meter and a half from the Sith, well within the reach of that balefully glowing blade.

“My name is Qerines Hadze, Master of the Jedi Order and emissary of the Eternal Alliance.” The rage that fueled the Sith swelled and the Jedi felt the power gathering to strike the killing blow. She imagined herself for a brief instant as standing at the floor of a narrow canyon as a dam burst, the rushing wall of water about to overtake her. There was a certain peace in knowing that death was imminent, inexorable and inevitable.

There is no death; there is the Force.

“I do not fear death, Sith, and I do not fear y--”

The Sith Lord’s fury exploded out of her, and Qerines had enough time to twitch her lip in a defiant grin--

Her grin died instantly as the power was unleashed as a lightning storm that encircled the two of them, savaging the crates and containers all around them, leaving glowing scars and gaping rents but leaving the two Twi’leks unscathed. Above the crackling lightning and the sounds of devastation, the Sith’s voice rang out angrily.

“THAT IS NOT YOUR NAME!”

The fury in that voice was hardly a surprise, but the sorrow and anguish underscoring the words took the Jedi off-guard and hit her with a palpable force. She doubled over, gasping for breath, and felt tears course down her cheeks in sympathy with the soul-rending sadness emanating from the Sith. She craned her neck up, looking in wonder at the tears flowing freely from the Sith’s eyes.

“That is not your name,” she repeated, and with a visible effort unclenched her clawed fingers and snapped off her lightsaber.

“Qerines’Hadze,” she scoffed. “A bad joke.”

The Jedi straightened slowly and set her jaw. “Many cultures name their children after virtues they hope they will exhibit or embody. Is ‘redemption’ so surprising?”

The Sith’s lip curled derisively. “That name wasn’t picked for your sake. It was directed at me.”

“How--”

“Your name,” the Sith continued in a hushed, almost reverent voice, “is Hirani’Tarkona.”

The question died on the Jedi’s tongue. Those words, that voice… She remembered them, from beyond the fog of forgetfulness. She was certain she’d heard them before, before even her earliest memories of training at the Jedi Temple on Tython.

“How--” Hirani began, faltered, then tried again: “Who are you?” she asked, and from the expression on the other Twi’lek’s face, both already knew the answer.

“My name is Gnoxis,” she said slowly, her tone marked by a gentleness that visibly surprised both of them, “and I am your mother, Hirani.”

[softboywriting]

Scrapped Werewolf Shawn

Scrapped works of mine are works that I started and ended up not feeling the story’s direction, or I just had to get the ideas out. None of these are going to be continued as of right now. These are unedited. 

You stand at the edge of the stage, watching Shawn belt his heart out to Mercy and you’re just amazed the way his voice is so rough, on the verge of breaking but so controlled. It’s one of your favorite things about him and you are just perplexed as he steps forward ever so slowly, making his way toward you and your best friend and about ten other girls crammed into the tiny space against the railing.

It seems Shawn is looking directly at you as he saunters closer. For a moment you think he must just be losing focus and he’s singling you out as a constant so he can get himself back on track. But he isn’t losing pitch and his voice, if anything, is going deeper and more raspy with each step. You look away to the drummer in the back but it’s too late, Shawn is already in front of you. You’re deafened by the screams of the girls beside you. His voice is so loud and you can’t help but look up at him where he’s crouched down in front of you.

The other girls are screaming, reaching out for his hand but he isn’t extending it. He’s just crouched down, serenading the group of you, eyes burning a hole into you as he sings every word as if it were written just for you. Your best friend elbows you, screaming something about “He’s looking at /you/!”

It’s automatic how your hand seems to extend itself out to him and then, only then, does he reach for it. You’re quite a bit taller than the other girl around you so you’re reach is much better than theirs. It’s not competition for his hand as he wraps it around yours. The other girl's hands that are desperately reaching only come about to your wrist. Shawn’s hand is warm, so warm but not sweaty at all and you’re fairly surprised because he’s visibly very sweaty from performing for so long now.

Shawn sings the final notes of Mercy and the crowd goes wild. He stays there in front of you, hand in yours. It feels like hours are passing, really it is only a few second, and you can’t say anything and he isn’t talking either. You’re the first one to let go, realizing how this is lingering and you’re not really sure what is going on. Shawn snaps out of it and stands up, thanking the crowd for being amazing before starting to sing Treat You Better.

His eyes find yours for the next two songs, but he doesn’t come over again and you think it’s for the best. The rest of the concert you can’t hardly talk, your best friend is asking you a hundred questions a second but you can’t answer any of them. There was something about the way Shawn kept your gaze locked with his, the way you could feel his pulse in his hand. It made you feel warm, like heat flooding through your veins.

The show comes to an end and you watch him leave the stage. After a few minutes people start to clear out of the stadium and you start the long twenty minute shuffle to your own car. It had been an unforgettable experience and your best friend was still yammering at you, asking every question under the sun and all you could say was, “I don’t know...I don’t know.”

Your best friend gets through the entryway to the event center halls before you because you let a group of girls go ahead of you because they had gotten separated from their friend. You take your phone out to check if you had any missed messages and a security guard stops you. His hand lands on your shoulder and you look up at this six foot something huge man dressed in all black. “Can I help you sir?” you ask, unsure of why you’ve been stopped.

“I need you to come with me. You aren’t in trouble, someone needs to talk to you.”

You raise your eyebrows and squeeze close to the wall so the other concert goers can get out through the walkway. “Well I don’t need to talk to anybody. If I’m not in trouble, I’m going to leave.”

The guard makes a small move to block you in a bit. He takes the walkie talkie off his belt and says something into it. You try to step around him because you’re starting to get a bit uncomfortable with the situation. Before you can yell and make a commotion, hopefully gaining attention of the few people still making their way out, the guard hands you the walkie talkie.

“Hello? Please pick up.” a voice carries through, staticy on the well used device.

You press the TALK button and say, “Hello? Who is this? This isn’t funny.”

“Hello? Is this the girl from the stage?”

You swallow thickly because you realize that it’s Shawn on the other end of this device. “Y-yeah? This is her?”

You hear a laugh and he asks, “Can you go with Jason? He’s the guard. I’d like to talk to you.”

Your stomach drops, flip flops and twists up in a knot. This had to be a prank. You take your finger off the TALK button and look at the guard. “Jason is it? This better not be a fucking joke. Prove it, show me some ID or something. How do I know you aren’t some guy in a security get up?” The guard shakes his head and pulls out his security badge and shows it to you. You turn it over in your hands, it looks legit but you aren’t convinced.

Pressing TALK again, you say “What is Jason’s last name?”

There is a delay on the other end before you hear Shawn turn his walkie on. “Walker.”

It’s too easy to know someone’s last name. You let go of the TALK button and Jason pinches the bridge of his nose. “Shawn better really enjoy this because you are tiring me out kid.”

You glare at him. He can just be tired and annoyed. You were not about to walk into a situation where something awful could happen to you just because you wanted a chance to meet Shawn Mendes. For all you knew this could be some elaborate hoax to get you kidnapped.

You press TALK, “Shawn?”

“Yes?”

“I won’t go with your guard. I can’t trust you or him. I don’t know if this is a hoax.”

Shawn releases the TALK button on his end and it sends a loud burst of static through the walkie. You push your walkie into Jason’s hand and step around him to leave. Everyone else has cleared out and you keep your eyes trained on the OUT doors on the other side of the hallway.

You hear footsteps approaching as you reach the big glass double doors and you think Jason has actually followed you. Your pulse races, heart jumping into your throat and you scan the area in front of you for anyone to help you in the event something happened. The closest people were way the hell out in the parking lot and you feel like you can’t breathes. Ten more steps, nie, eight, seven, the doors are right there, six, you reach for the handles and a hand lands on your shoulder. You freeze, too scared to move. Too scared to breathe. How could you have been so stupid as to wait to leave until everyone was gone?

“Hey, please don’t leave yet,” the voice is soft, gentle and vaguely familiar.  You turn as Shawn steps around to block the doors. He’s in a pair of jeans and a hoodie. His hair looks wet and his face is red around his cheeks. He smells strongly of men’s body wash as if he just came from a shower.

He’s a sight to see and after all that has happened you can’t believe he is standing in front of you right now. “Did you shower?” you ask, the words just falling out of your mouth. You really didn’t mean to say that. You really wanted to ask what the hell was going on.

Shawn laughs and nods, “Yeah, yeah I hate being so sweaty when I get off stage. They had a full bathroom so I showered and-” he stops mid sentence and steps toward you. He breathes in deep and you stare at him in confusion. His eyes look golden, less rich brown then they were earlier on stage.

“Shawn? Are you okay?” You take a step back. He reaches for your hand tentatively and you let him hold it. It was strange, like a dream, standing here in front of Shawn Mendes while he seemingly loses his fucking mind over you. His hand is hot, hotter than it was during the concert.

“What do you know about werewolves?” The question stops your thought process for a moment.

[h-o-i-s-n-y]

April 2nd 2018,

I decided to leave my hometown of Madrid, Iowa. I decided to get out, start fresh, so I got on a plane and headed to Paris Island, South Carolina. Began my first steps of becoming a United States Marine. Do I regret leaving my friends and family behind? No. I actually regret nothing. Because how much I’ve changed, the new family I made. Iowa will always be my home state. I’ll go back and visit. It’s were my roots are. That town raised me. But that title on the right side of my chest that reads “U.S Marine” has much more meaning to me. Where it takes me these next few years, I’ve already seen so much of the country and I’ll see so much more of the world. I went from East coast to west coast in a matter of six months. The past 5 months I’ve been in Missouri. I’ve seen my family twice since being back in the Midwest. Now I’ll be heading back to the east coast for the rest of my contract. I decided to pack my bags a year ago so that I may serve my town and country. I decided to sign that dotted line, understanding the sacrifices Id be making. The birthdays I’d miss and the important family events that follow. There’s no regrets in all of this. Do I miss my family? Yes, everyday. I also understand that everyone I left behind will still be there when I go back and visit. I won’t be returning home to live in the same state I’ve already spent 21 years living in. In all of this, I’ve seen and felt heartbreak, losing ones I once loved. Understanding not everyone is built for the sacrifices I’ve made. So I had to let go and move on. Madrid, is nothing but a rear view town for me. They can have the old photographs of high school. They can have the old me. Wherever I end up, gets the new me. In January of 2019, I let go of my first love, the first girl I ever loved. I hope you’re happy. It’s a good feeling to know we both finally moved on. Deep down we’ll always be Mav and Goose. But nothing more. I met someone and I can’t tell you when I exactly fell for her. I fell for my best friend. I found a girl that understands the sacrifices I made. She understands that my life isn’t always easy. She understands I had to leave that old life behind. She doesn’t toss ultimatums in my face. She doesn’t make me choose between her and my family. The Marines weren’t the only thing that became my big break, she became one too. She’s been here for me through a lot. I can’t thank her enough for that. But I plan on spending the rest of my life doing so. Goodbye to who I once was, the troubled kid who barely passed high school. The one who burned bridges with my family. The kid who found it easier to be alone than to be surrounded by those who didn’t care or were fake.