#it is not duck season sire

[captain-amadeus]

peak sorcerer x steward content

[ineffably-human]

what's really smart about having this be Guillermo's arc, is it puts him up close with Vampire Angst things I don't believe he'd deal with otherwise.

because I don't agree Guillermo hasn't thought about the consequences, not with everything he's already given up and been through. he may eat crow about immortality later, when the shine of flying and cool fashion wears off, that's a problem for next century's Guillermo. but you can't tell me he's just now thinking about saying goodbye to family or becoming less human or any of that, because he's had fifteen years of living that already.

hell, he surprised me, he came right up to 'I can never see any of them again' on his own and accepted it on a dime. 'welp. that sucks. time to be Super Dramatic about it for the camera.' I think his feelings at the end of Local News are way magnified because he doesn't belong in the human world, but was just told the vampire one (and Nandor) has no use for him either.

and he has no real closure, he's saying goodbye over and over and over again because he has nowhere to leave to yet. the slow process is affording him a few more moments he can steal with people who at least openly love him (albeit imperfectly, on his part and theirs).

being a vampire would be something to celebrate if it happened the way he wanted it, with the sire and family he wanted. if he'd had a few days of hurt/comfort sick fic and then bounced out to live all his fantasies. but Guillermo isn't a vampire yet, hell he hasn't even eaten a guy. he's stuck in between worlds and unable to be present in either one. and Nandor's made it abundantly clear that Guillermo would be something to be destroyed, which would also destroy Nandor.

which means Guillermo is experiencing:

a body doing new, frightening things at unexpected times

becoming a stranger to the people you love

never knowing when you'll be found out as a Wrong Thing that needs to Die, which will make the people you care about suffer

all of which are extremely Vampire Things he wouldn't normally deal with. all of which is true for his human family, but for his vampire family hits fivefold. because that's the one he wasn't prepared for. Nandor was supposed to be who was waiting on the other side - not the price he paid for getting what he wanted.

"I have no country, I have no home, I have no people. I'm like a little lost duck, floating about in the middle of the ocean."

Guillermo's going to come out the other side of this with a new understanding of what vampires can go through. what Nandor, specifically, has been through.

but in the end, he's the one who knew the value of the vampires as a family first. remember 'these vampire pods never last long' just a few seasons ago? think of that vs Nandor rallying them all together this past episode.

in the end, when he does break through to the other side, I think Nandor will be waiting for him there. he'll surprise them both.

[spangel-fanwork-marathon]

Welcome to Spangel Saturday, where, every (hopefully. There's only one of me and I'm busy!) Saturday leading up to the start of the marathon, I rec a Spangel fic (probably an older and less well known fic).

For our very first rec, we have: Everybody Smokes in Hell by Ducks.

Summary: "Spike refuses to go on a mission with Angel, almost resulting in his Sire's Final Death. He feels bad. And you know that can only be a good thing. grin"

Rating: NC-17

Content notes: Contains explicit sexual content, adult language, at least one instance of canon typical homophobic language, some violence and blood, first person POV, ambiguously AtS season 2 but quite AU, established Spangel relationship, background Wesley/Virginia, background Cordelia/Gunn

Why: This is an excellent fic, the characterization is spot on, and the sexy times are sexy. Protective!Spike is always a great time, too. Plus, the soft romantic parts will melt you.

[project-xviii]

THE AWAKENING

AKT I

23 November 20XX

19:34 pm

"Maxie i need you to pick up the resources from Gary. Can you do that for me?" Kay said through the gadget she was currently holding.

"i got you friendo."

"Great! I'll see you in the afternoon."

Maxie packed away the gadget and got on the rails. The grass was covered in a thinn layer of ice that had frozen due to the cold breeze. Some of the mountains already had sprinkles of white powder on top. The trains were going crazy and running all around the land. It was the season before the great cold and If they wanted to make it through it, they needed resources.

Maxie drove past some familiar faces. All of them were preparing aswell for the winter time. Most of the machinery was already shut down so that energy could be spared for a reasonable time. Overall it was chaotic and loud. Trains of all sizes and shapes running around like crazy. It took Maxie quite some time and patience to squizze through the crowd. Where is this? Where is that? Where did you put it? It was all she could hear.

All around her were voices, loud voices, some kind, some not. All this confusion made her feel so small. She was like a drop of water in a small puddle. Small and weak. But of course that was not enough to weaken her spirit.

It was always something all the other trains admired. Maybe she was small but inside her was a lion, that always stood his ground.

A bit of struggle and a few bump-in's here and there, a she was free again. She waved to some of her friends, they cheerfuly waved back and all returned to continuing their job.

A few miles of nothing but frozen ground later she eventualy saw the face she was looking for.

"Hi Gary!" Maxie cheerfuly exclaimed.

"Hello Maxie," the old rattler greeted her. "Are you the one Kay send out?

"Yes siree."

"How lovely. I've already prepared the package, it's right there." He pointed towards three wagons filled to the brim with coal.

"Are those rocks? What do we need rocks for?"

"Oh Maxie." Gary chuckled. "You're close, but those aren't rocks, it's coal."

"Why do we need this 'coal'?"

"We need it to keep the fire in the chimney burning. If we didnt have any coal for the winter, we would've been freezing inside our own homes.

"Huh, so this 'coal' must be really important. No wonder Kay wanted me to bring it to the plaza." She drove towards the wagons and hooked them. She then looked worried at the old kind man.

"Do you have any for yourself? I don't want you to freeze in the Winter."

"Oh don't worry kiddo, i still have plenty of it. In fact i am so packed with it i don't even know where to put it anymore." Gary replied causing Maxie to let out a chuckle. "Besides, it's nice to share your stuff with your friends, ya know?"

"Oh i know." Maxie responded. "Well, it was nice talking to you sir, but im afraid i have to head back already. I'll see you another time."

"it was nice talking to you aswell. And tell your friends that i wish them the best of luck during winter."

"i will tell, take care Gary!" She bid him farewell. Next Thing she knew her wheels we're dragging her Body and the wagons forward. After a few seconds she sped up the pace, slowly distancing herself from Gary. After a little while she was running on the rails like a fish in water.

"Take care, and be careful!" Gary exclaimed from behind, turning smaller and quiter by every second.

22:49 pm

Maxie decided to go north, it was a long way for sure, but atleast it was quiet and she didnt have to squizze through any chaos.

She knew that at this hour the people would've been the most bussy. After a long day of working, everyone would've been packing their stuff into their storage or shed. The great cold always had a habit of surprising people. A few years back Alf forgot to put his toolbox back into his workshop. The next morning He had to shovel the snow for 7 hours just so he could find it again. After that he always made sure that his toolbox was at it's place. Till this day Duck jokes about it.

As she was driving, snow started falling from the sky and was starting to cover the land in a thinn white blanket. But with every mile the blanket got thicker and thicker, burrying anything that had been roaming around.

Maxie was already tired and the snow was making it difficult for her, but she refused to give up. Despite the weather conditions she still kept going.

To keep herself entertained she started observing her surroundings and looking for anything interessting. Sometimes she imagened herself a person that would parcour at her speed and jump around all the different rocks, lights and fences that we're next to the rails. But eventually that got boring and she got back to observing again.

She counted 67 birds, 43 sheep, 4 rabbits, 1 young deer and... old tracks... Maxie stopped.

Connected to the rails she was currently on, was an old rusty track. Unlike the newer and more modern rails, these were partialy made of wood. Most of it's screws were missing and the ones that remained we're barely holding themselfs. The Wood itself wasn't in the best state either. Many boards were missing, most were snapped in half and other were broken into hundred tiny splinters.

Her eyes wandered forward, the tracks led towards the northern land or the forbidden land as some called it. She never knew why, but the elder trains always kept a distance from this area. She always thought it was weird, i mean there was nothing special about it, it was just a large empty and hollow zone. And yet something was off about it...

Maxie was pulled back once her hunger kicked in.

At this time she would've been eating her last meal before preparing to go to sleep, but instead of doing that she was standing, in the middle of no where.

She thought to herself. She was already tired and hungry and the plaza was still a few miles away, it wouldn't hurt to use a short cut. Normaly in order to reach the plaza, you had to make a big circle around the roaring mountain, which worked as a "fence" of sort, dividing the forbidden land from the rest of the world. The old tracks apeared to run straight through the northern land. It would've been much quicker for her to get there.

She took another quick look at the rails. While the Wood was in a bad state to say the least, the Metal beams seemed durable enough for her.

She looked around, making sure nobody had seen her, she backed up and got on the tracks. The Wood cracked and creaked under her wheels, but it still managed to hold her.

She slowly crawled forward, going carefully and steady. Once she got used to it, she focused in what was infront of her. Suddenly she noticed something moving from the corner of her eye. Was.. was that a... train?

"MAXIE?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" A female voice shrieked. Maxie looked behind her and recognized a kind face, it was Janne.

"Get out of there! It's dangerous!" Janne yelled out. Surprised and embarrased, Maxie backed out.

"What we're you thinking? Why are you even here this late?"

"Because- um... N-nevermind." She mumbled.

Janne sighed. "Atleast you're alright. Come on, your friends are probably worried about you."

The peach train drove forward at a slow pace. Maxie followed her soon after.

Janne was also transporting resources. Instead of people she usually brought, she was carrying containers, heavy old containers. There was not a single spot on the cylinder boxes were paint wasn't scratched or scraped off. On the side were different symbols that were placed into bloody red triangles. When the red color was hit with light, it sparked a neon orange color you simply couldn't ignore. However all the different signs and sentences weren't anything of her intrest. She was intrested in its contents. She continued looking and eventuelly found her answer.

On the side of the container, written in capital letters was one word: Fuel.

Maxie backed off out of disgust. She always found the substance to be very yucky. For her kind fuel wasn't only some kind of drink, it was also their secondary blood. Maxie had always hated blood and fuel, probably because she saw some movies that she shouldn't have watched at her age. Even the simplest thought of a pile of blood was enough to send a sharp shiver down her spine.

She shook her head and looked for something else, hopping she won't think about that substance.

She glanzed to her left, nothing. All she could see was an empty filed that was constatly covered in newer layers of snow. She then looked to her right, nothing either. Just the Side of the massive roaring mountain that had nothing interessting except rocks and bones.

After a long while Maxie still continued driving behind Janne, until her curiosity finally broke through and spoke out.

"Why is that place so dangerous?"

"Huh?"

"Why is that place so dangerous? I mean, it's just empty land, what could possibly harm me?"

"You don't know?" Janne stopped and looked at her with shock in her eyes.

"Know what?" Maxie questioned.

"You really don't know about the monster?"

"What monster?" Maxie's confusion grew.

"Well..." She explained. "A very long time ago, there was a war on the wasteland. People were fighing for the land and the battle never seemed to end, atleast that's what they thought..."

"Did someone finally win?"

"No no, they all lost. All their weapons and machinery made so much noise they accidentaly woke up a massive beast that slept on the mountain!"

"No way! What happened after that?"

"No one's really for sure. All the soldiers and sargents were suddenly gone, there weren't even any traces left! It was almost as If they were swallowed by the ground."

"Maybe the monster ate them!"

"Probably. But even after their 'meal' there would've been some traces of it. Some people went there to investigate. Most returned home with nothing, others never returned."

"Never?"

"Never."

"Well... Maybe... Maybe they found the truth. Did anyone even look for them?"

"Their families and friends did. As much as they tried they still didn't find them."

"I could try to find them."

"i mean you can try, but i doubt you'll find someone alive. These people disapeared decades, even centuries ago."

"Oh..." Maxie frowned.

"Don't be sad Maxie. I know it feels bad when you can't help someone. But sadly there's nothing we can do about it now..." Janne comforted her.

The wind got stronger and the snow became heavier. The girls' tracks were slowly disapearing under the white fluff. Their lights were partcialy useless at this time. Instead of showing the way, all it did was shine it's bright light on snowflakes that blocked their view. Janne was not pleased.

Maxie felt her eyelids becoming heavy and drooping onto her eyes. Her tires were loosing their strengh and the wagons she carried felt like massive builders. The girl rocked back and forth, barely standing. She cuddled onto Janne so she wouldn't tip over, but that only made her feel more sleepy.

"Oh you poor thing." Janne sighed. "You must be extremly tired by now. Come on, just a few more miles and you'll be home. You can do it."

"I'll try..." she yawned.

The two trains moved forward in a slow pace. Maxie couldn't wait to finally cuddle herself up with fluffy warm blankets near the window and fall into a deep sleep.

As they drove through the covers of snow, the young girls mind was filling up with questions. What was the monster? What did it look like? Did someone manage to survive and find out the truth? Did someone live there? As much as she wanted to push those thoughts aside and think about the sweet and warm comfort of her home, she Just couldn't push them away. Everytime she did a new question came to her mind. Another mystery she wanted to solve.

"Hey Janne?"

"Yes Maxie?"

"Would you ever want to find out the truth?"

"No."

"No? Why not?"

"Because the truth won't be pretty. We know about the war, we know about the brutality and insensitivity of the people taking part in it. Whatever it was that made those people disapear, it was not kind.

Im sure that eventualy we will know the truth, sooner or later that thing is going rear it's ugly head around and someone would need to deal with it. But we shouldn't worry about it right now.

Leave the monsters to the wasteland. We did not start that mess and we shouldn't be the ones dealing with it and it's consequences."

With that being said, the two approached the plaza. Maxie thanked her for her company and bid Janne farewell. She then drove to her station where she unhooked the coal filled wagons and locked them in the resource shed. Nextly she walked all the way back to her home. The silent song of the grasshopper chirping was heard in the grass and from afar an owls hoot was percievable.

At around midnight, the young train entered her home. Her little dorm was as messy as in the morning. With barely any energy left she went to the small kitchen and made herself a quick snack before bed. Once she was done she unconciosly dragged herself to her bed, where she plopped on it and dozed into a sweet and deep dream...

[the-11-doctor]

The only person you give the daughter you love most away to, is somebody that is going to protect her. Buckle in, gang. (I’ve got a gang!) 

Elijah Mikaelson, the Original and for this case Time Lord Rebel, has a lot more facility to protect little Lizzy from an angered sire that has had something stolen from him - worse than Katherine - who he facilitates the “non caring” act for m o r e, until they’re alone. Scarier, right?

Terrifying. The last time we saw Damon care very little about somebody was when Enzo burnt to an English S’more, and it has come with him all the way to good old 20 fucking 10. Now imagine an Enzo that is his blood, Katerina’s who, was rightfully also sent away, if he can’t even h a v e a morsel of what he made with her? The world becomes a very small place.

But the Originals occupy so much of that world. It was going to happen that eventually, they run into each other. There was a pact, an agreement MADE that Elijah was the One who could facilitate the protection she needed.

If Damon was angry enough, he would have tried to take down the entire Original family line about stealing that part of him and disallowing him a MINUTE to marvel at the sire line being extended. But the problem (and the solution) is that they have regenerations. (Confirming your analysis of my local notes).

Klaus wasn’t the salvation Lizzy needed in her time of need. Elijah is capable of so much more e v i l that the two most evil (yes Stefan even when your humanity is intact, that still exists however dormant inside of you) agreed to ship Lizzy off, because it would be safer than staying at r i s k of Katerina being a single mother. SHE would also not be safe. She was traded between three evils among the Earth because they understood Damon’s sanity would not survive fatherhood, or certainly Katerina, Lizzy wouldn’t survive his idea of fatherhood (sirehood?)

If Damon “threatens to split the planet in half” Elijah is there kicking him off this one. But back to the key, that’s CONTEXT I’ve supplied to back this up. For our realm of Time Lords and without, it fits. 

Julie confirmed Lizzy to us, by showing us that as soon as we meet the Originals, we will meet a darker secret that has been hidden about Damon. Katerina was dipping our minds into the water about their relationship, and little clues about Lizzy, and scattering us like ducks by splashing us around seasons. 

Stefan supported Damon’s venture to maim Elijah and the remainder of the Mikaelsons because the alternative was saying no. And you do not say n o to Damon’s sire that has been fired up and infuriated because the Mikaelsons serve as a reminder that he had not one, but two elements of Katerina taken from him. And Stefan k n e w Elena would be the number one punching manipulating bag for his grief.

puts my hands together humbly

The absolute way Damon initiated sheer unadulterated violence on a Mysterious Original Fucker when hardly anybody else was that snapped just for looking at a man they apparently just MET.

It is the ONLY evidence I NEED aside from Lizzy clearly being on screen.

There's something SO DEEPLY Hey Fucker You Took My Kid Before I Could Argue And I Have Been Pissed As Hell For Sixteen Years about the way HE KEEPS SQUARING UP TO ELIJAH THAT JUST GOES B E Y O N D.

@the-11-doctor According to your local notes it's giving "he wouldn't straight up run at walking Instant Death for Elena but there's a Dad heart in there that would get ripped out over his baby girl" and I need you to come back and confirm the thing on stage real quick

BUT SINCE HE WAS HUMAN DAMON HAS LOVED WITH LIKE HIS W H O L E BODY.

You give him a daughter, and he's just going to go out of his m i n d. If you were also KATHERINE that give that child life he's going DOUBLE Sire Feral over this creation, and GOD

The man's brain is unreasonable all the fucking time don't you ever fucking take Lizzy away ever again he will literally split the planet in half for her before he remembers his fucking NAME.

the hate was so pre-established that coming for Elena makes it strike three on Damon's entire life and love PERSONALLY from The Mikaelsons.

Nothing compares. Persecuting the mother of his child, sacrificing the NEXT one to come along, AND raising his kid and keeping her the fuck away from him when he could have done it?? He could have. HE SHOULD HAVE AND NOBODY ASKED. THEY DECIDED F O R HIM. You walk out to process fatherhood for a week and suddenly you're not valid to talk to anymore. That shit fucking hurts.

he failed two Petrovas and it's like he was dared to fail the next one by a smug thousand year old chaos bisexual who's obsessed with Stefan for suspicious Future Reasons.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls: Season 1/Episode 6 ("Rory's Birthday Parties")

This is the only proper way to watch Gilmore Girls.

A win in the "continuity" column: if you fast forward to season 5, her birth day is the same.

(a mugshot would say "Lorelai Gilmore" not "Rory", but I digress). Another interesting bit of continuity: Rory and I were both born in 1984. I was born in February, she was born in October, but she graduated high school in 2003, while I graduated in 2002. So it would seem apparent that her October birthdate had her miss the "cut off" for kindergarten (she hadn't turned 5 yet when other kids born earlier the same year were going into kindergarten, and in the US, you typically have to be 5 to start kindergarten). Idk these are just the kind of things I love to think about even if no one else does. It also leads me to a theory about Jess' birthdate but I think its too confusing to explain lol

I can't think of anything LESS Rory than a plastic light up neon bracelet. I'm actually at a loss to think of any character in the entire show who'd wear something like this. Maybe Madelyn and Louise, lol.

A list of the men (and it's only men) on Gilmore Girls who have run away to California: Jess, Dave Rygalski, Max Medina, Christopher. Was this Amy Sherman Palladino's favorite plot device for male characters? Not even New York, which is a lot closer? Like they have to run far, far, away, as far away as possible while not leaving the country? It's very mysterious. Like there's a swirling vortex out in California sucking them all in. Somewhere in the distant year 2003, Jess and Dave Rygalski find each other again in California and become best bros. In my heart I firmly believe it. "Christopher calls once a week (I doubt it) and we see him at Christmas and Easter (maybe). "

Fuck me sideways, this is so gross. Rory tells Paris they can both attend Harvard, because it's a big school and they'll never run into each other. If they do see each other, they'll duck. They then proceed to not only attend the same college and work on the school paper together, but live together the entire time. They both sound sad at the prospect of not seeing each other after high school. My favorite Married Couple!

Now Paris is asking Rory if Diet Logan is available. Not a day after Paris witnessed him sexually harassing Rory at her birthday party, her immediate thought is "I want that for myself"?" Ick, ick, ick!

Fuck me sideways, I love late 90's/ early 2000's shit! I love being a Millennial and recognizing shit I grew up with! I love that I was the same age as Rory when this show was made! This, my friends is an ancient Apple computer called an I-Book! I'm giddy! Honestly it seems a bit sad that Rory has no friends besides Lane and eventually Paris (until they try to shoe horn in those other two girls, Lucy and the other one, at Yale near the end, which felt very forced) and both of her parties are attended by nothing but grown ass adults. I mean, there's nothing wrong with having only two close friends (and it's only one friend currently, who seems to have been her only friend her entire life). Quality over quantity right? Having only one friend her own age for most of her life while the rest of her social circle consists of her mother and grown adults who constantly tell this very ordinary girl that she's so special and perfect and can do no wrong and treat her like a princess. This will definitely not have any impact on Rory Gilmore's psyche anywhere down the line. No siree, Bob...

I mean, maybe it's not entirely her fault. Rory, Dean, Lane, and Lindsay are the only teenagers (or even CHILDREN) who seem to exist in Stars Hollow and the times that we see a SH classroom, the students look 35. I remember somebody saying "I don't think Amy Sherman Palladino has actually seen a child before."

Wow, that cake...sure is something.

Michel using a phone to avoid socializing at a party years before it was fashionable. The party hat is the icing on the Rory-Face-Cake! A true icon.

Edward Herrmann barely cleared this doorway.

I stand corrected. Ladies and gentlemen, here are some random ass 35 year old teenagers and one random old man who were kind enough to come to Rory's party. Go introduce yourself Rory. They look so friendly.

Did we ever hear Miss Patty's full name again? This is interesting.

Okay Miss Lacosta, go take a cold shower or something, you need to chill. Bad enough you were hitting on Kirk.

The iceman cometh. Emily: I could see the way he (Luke) looked at you. Like you were going to give him a lapdance. You're pleased that the ice man looked at you like a porterhouse steak! Okay, ALL the old ladies need to chill for a bit.

OMG! IT'S "THE" BRACELET! The one Jess took! Dean just strung a quarter through a piece of leather and called it a "medallion." This fucking clown. "I bought the medallion and I cut some leather straps and drilled a hole in it." Yawn. Who the fuck cares. Lorelai "tore up the entire town" and yelled at Jess, and Rory "had a heart attack" looking for this fucking quarter on a string. Rory: "It's beautiful. It's amazing." Yawn. It's certainly no "I wrote in the margins for you." Every "crime" Jess Mariano has ever committed was in some way justified. Stealing change from Taylor Doose? Not guilty. "Stealing" a quarter on a string that Dean made? Not guilty.

Lorelai is thinking "Hey, that's MY boyfriend!" The Good: Lorelai and Emily going shopping together. Randy old ladies. Michel being anti social. Dean doesn't show up until the last two minutes. Dean's stupid bracelet made me laugh so it's going into both the bad and good columns. The Bad: Diet Logan sexually harrasses Rory and Paris gets jealous. Forrester and his fucking moronic stupid gifts. Rory has no friends her own age. The New: Stupid fucking quarter on a string bracelet is seen for the first time. We learn Rory's birthdate and Miss Patty's full name. Deliciously Nostalgic References & Sightings: Old school Apple I-Book computer.

[auntieclimactic]

Semi-abandoned Trent Crimm/Ted Lasso BDSM fic below the cut

Rated M(ish)

Unbeta’ed - Unproofed - Unsensical - Read at own risk

i am drunk and feeling brave but may need to delete this tomorrow.

It happened by accident.

In fairness to Ted, most flash floods of self discovery happen by accident. Someone puts mushrooms in your pasta sauce and, boy howdy, all of a sudden you realize you like mushrooms.

It all started at Trent Crimm’s going away party. Well, it wasn’t so much as a party as it was a calculated ambush of celebration.

Trent was taking a leave of absence from The Independent to work on his book (something about the soul of the sport — sounded great, Ted was looking forward to reading it), and it was clear that he’d been hoping to just sneak away without too much of a fuss. Not on Ted Lasso’s watch, no siree bob.

That’s why Ted ended the last press conference with, “before y’all start plucking away at your keyboards or fighting with your fans on Twitter, we’ve got a quick announcement for ya.”

All the reporters in the room sat up a little straighter, including Trent, who was peering at Ted curiously from his normal seat two rows in.

Ted grinned. “Now today’s a very special day.”

On cue, Keeley carried the cake through the doors. The lady at the bake shop had really outdone herself. She’d decorated it with a perfect replica of The Independent’s sports page with “We’ll miss you, Trent!” as the headline.

Keeley winked at Ted, depositing the cake on the table at the front of the room before taking a step back and pulling out her phone.

There were a few puzzled expressions, but most of the reporters zeroed in on Trent, grinning viciously. Trent was slinking down in his seat, covering his face with a hand.

“It’s also a very sad day. Trent Crimm, no longer of The Independent, is having his very last Richmond press conference with us,” Ted explained, standing up and pointing directly at Trent. “Trent! I see you trying to hide behind Rachel. Get on up here, don’t start playing coy now.”

Trent groaned and dragged himself to his feet. His fellow reporters jeered and wolf whistled as he walked to the front of the room.

Ted wrapped a friendly arm around Trent’s shoulders, ignoring the resigned sigh he got in return.

“Trent has been keeping me on my toes for… oh, how many seasons has it been, Trent?”

“Four excruciating years,” Trent replied.

“A thrilling four seasons!” Ted exclaimed, turning to face the press. Nearly all of them had their phones out and were recording along with Keeley, gleeful smirks on their faces. “Everyone here at Richmond is gonna miss him, his glorious hair, his tough questions, and his delightful personality.”

“Jesus Christ,” Trent said under his breath.

“And no way we were going to let him duck out of this press room without a proper goodbye,” Ted continued, ignoring him. “So please join me in wishing Trent Crimm, agent of truth, justice, and the football way, a very happy last day on the job!”

Richmond's communications department burst through the doors, blasting music and cheering. Keeley was grinning from ear to ear (recording every second of it), and the reporters in the room erupted in wild laughter. Even Trent was struggling to keep his stoic expression from slipping into a smile. Ted beamed at him, nudging him gently in the ribs before shouting, “come on, enough jabbing! Let’s have some cake!”

Apparently, no one ever fed reporters because they all descended on the cake like starving animals. Pieces were handed out, and the press gathered in circles, chatting cheerfully amongst each other.

Ted found Trent sitting on the corner of the table, delicately eating the icing off the corner of the cake.

“Sound’ve known you’d had a sweet tooth all along,” Ted said, saddling up alongside him.

“And I,” Trent drawled, “should have known you’d pull some ridiculous stunt like this.”

Ted nodded. “You really should have. Keeley was peeping through the door the whole time. But, hey, if you’re feeling bad about it, we could always have a do over.”

Ted made to grab Trent’s cake, and that was when it happened. Trent’s hand shot out, faster than Ted had known he could move, and gripped Ted’s wrist tightly. He held it there in his firm grip, halting Ted in his tracks. Then, just as quickly as it happened, it was over.

“Don’t touch my cake,” Trent said, teasing in that mean way he had, as he released Ted’s wrist.

“Yozza, that’s quite a grip you’ve got there,” Ted chuckled, shaking out his hand to hide the fact that his fingertips had started shaking. “Bet you’d be a hell of a rock climber.”

Trent was rolling his eyes at him, opening his mouth to probably say some zinger of a line that would have Ted scrambling to keep up, but Ted was already on his feet. “Oh shoot, pardon me, I think Keeley’s trying to get my attention.”

He scrambled away as gracefully as he could because, the second Trent had wrapped his fingers around Trent’s wrist and squeezed, Ted had gone full half-stalk in his khakis. He shoved his trembling hands in his pockets and walked over to where Keeley was standing with a few members of the social media team.

“You ok?” Keeley asked, seeing the rictus grin Ted had plastered all over his face.

“Yeah, I just need to make a graceful exit,” Ted told her. “Can you cover for me?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Keeley said. She leaned in close, touching his shoulder and coming up on her tip-toes until she could whisper in his ear. “I’m going to gesture frantically at the door while whispering to you, so everyone here thinks you have a legitimate reason to leave.”

Keeley said all this while gesturing frantically at the door. Ted nodded along, plastering an appropriately concerned look on his face for the reporters glancing in their direction. “Thanks, Keeley. You are the public relations queen of my heart.”

Turning back to the room, Ted waved his hand in farewell. “Gotta dash! Y’all stay in here and party as long as you want. Thanks for everything, Trent!”

“Bye, Ted!” the press called out in unison.

Trent raised his hand in farewell, but he was watching Ted with a sharp expression that meant he smelled what Ted was shoveling and it wasn’t tulips.

Ted fled, a familiar high-pitched humming in his ears.

Something something something, Ted talks it over with his therapist. Starts looking into the lifestyle. Beard catches him in the library — sees his book selection. Recommends club that Trent JUST HAPPENS to frequent. Something something something, Trent and Ted agree to bone down.

“Do you have a prefered safe word?” Trent asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Ted licked his lips. “Uh, no, not as such. I’ve read about the light system though. Green for go-go, yellow for slow, and red for no. Easy to remember — universally accepted.”

“Yes, that will do fine,” Trent said, a small half-smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “If you are in a position where you can’t speak, this is the signal I use for stop—” Trent made a fist and opened it twice “—and this is the sign to slow down.” He crossed his middle and index fingers over each other. “Can you remember that?”

“Oh sure, sure.” Ted paused. “Why wouldn’t I be able to talk though.”

Trent hummed, pulling his hair up into a bun. The sight of it had certain parts of Ted taking notice — he shifted in his seat. “Some people want to be gagged or choked. Other times they may find their mouth otherwise occupied.” His eyes grew hooded. “Is that something you’d like to try?”

Ted swallowed hard, picturing it — Trent covering his mouth, holding him down as he pounded into him.

“What’s the hand signal for yes please, thank you kindly?”

Trent made the “ok” sign with his thumb and index finger. Ted mimicked the gesture back.

“Very good,” Trent said before going all serious all of a sudden. “Now listen to me carefully, Ted. If you ever lie to me about this, say give me a green instead of a yellow or a red, we’re done. Immediately and completely. I will not do this with a partner I cannot trust. Do you understand?”

“That’s a big ten four,” Ted said, nodding earnestly. He had a lot of issues, but honest communication in the bedroom had never been one of them..

“Excellent,” Trent said, removing his tie and placing it on the bedside table. “Then we shall begin.”

“Ok,” Ted said. “Wait, how do we do that exactly? I get on my knees or do you —”

Trent slapped him. Not especially hard, but enough that Ted stopped mid sentence with a surprised grunt.

“Did I say you could talk?” Trent asked, voice low and throaty.

Ted’s mouth shut with a click. Trent watched him with dark, unreadable eyes before asking in a mild tone, “color?”

“Green,” Ted choked out, breath already ragged. Trent smiled, cupping Ted’s face softly with his hand. He leaned down, pressing a biting kiss to Ted’s lips — aggressively licking into his mouth like he owned it. Ted kissed back, a soft whine building in the back of his throat.

“Take off your clothes,”  Trent whispered, stepping back a few paces so Ted could stand. He stripped quickly, aware of Trent’s eyes sliding over his body. He appreciated how they paused, widening at the sight of his cock, already half-hard. Ted never felt lacking in that area himself, but it was always nice to be noticed.

After he’d stripped off his last sock, Ted stood there, hands awkward by his side. Trent didn’t leave him hanging for long, stepping back into his space and cupping his erection with one of his huge hands. Ted bit back a gasp as Trent squeezed him.

“I suppose if my cock was this big, I’d feel confident enough to wear khakis unironically too,” Trent teased. “Sit back down on the bed, if you please.”

Ted sat, twitching in nervous anticipation. It felt good to be letting someone else call the shots for once, but he was still worried he’d mess this up somehow. What if he did something idiotic or completely—

Trent’s fingers gripped Ted’s head hair, just shy of too painful, yanking Ted’s head back. It stung. Ted loved it — the pressure in his scalp shutting everything else out.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Trent said, voice going sharp in a way that had Ted’s breath speeding up. “You are going to suck my cock, and then I’m going to fuck you. You will not come until I tell you to do so. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Ted whispered, the knot of tension in the back of his mind easing. Trent had it all fingered out, diagrams and everything.

“Very good,” Trent said, watching him carefully, eyes darkening. He kept his grip on Ted’s hair, using his free hand to unbuckle and unzip himself. Ted’s eyes darted down taking in the sight of Trent’s thick erection, already hard and leaking, foreskin pulled back. Trent let him look his fill for a moment. “Do you remember the hand signals?”

Ted nodded, but all his attention was on Trent’s cock. Good lord, it was one of the most beautiful things Ted had seen. Trent tightened his grip. Ted hissed.

“Show me,” Trent ordered. Ted made the gestures. “Excellent. Now open your fucking mouth, Ted.”

Hot sex, something something something, more hot sex, oh no they have feelings! Something something something, they’re in love and fuck happily every after. The end - I’m a genius, someone give me a book deal.

[prose-for-hire]

Bad, evil, rotten lovers

Pairing: Spike x vampire!reader

Request: Hey there! Could you write a spike x reader thing, where they have been friends/together since being humans and both have problems to hide their giddy and fluufy relationship from the scoobys and trz to act all dark and tough?

Requested By: Anonymous

A/N: I enjoyed this request - hope you like what I’ve done with it! 

For some reason I always default to season 4, not sure what’s up with that (it’s not even my favourite season) so I challenged myself with this request! We’re set in season 2 today with an ‘evil’ spike/reader.

You were never part of his usual crowd. You had been visiting the area he lived with his mother for only a brief period, staying with a distant relative but William had become instantly smitten with you. You had both got on so beautifully and when he had been missing for a while it had really hurt you, he had been the only one you cared about there. He loved you and you had been fast falling for him, he had even suggested that he would ask permission to begin courting you. So, when he went missing there was a hole in your heart. That was, until he came back for you, tapping on your window one fateful night. And that, as they say, is history. You had been sired and luckily the qualities he loved about you hadn’t changed and you fell in love outside of society’s strict code with neither of you looking back (unless you were reminiscing of course).

That was then, but now you and Spike were walking through a graveyard in Sunnydale. You had maintained a reluctant truce with the Scoobies to get rid of Angelus, secretly you liked the strange little group of kids but you would never tell them, or Spike. Angelus was starting to annoy you and your love, he had gotten into the whole Slayer killing, which was Spike’s thing. All that seemed to calm him down from his irritation was you, he really loved you which was lucky because you matched this love. You had taken to walking aimlessly at night, to get out of the mansion and strengthen Spike’s legs after being stuck in his wheelchair in front of Angelus. Your late night walks were where you could both discuss your frustration and maybe kiss a little between the gravestones. He had draped his leather duster over your shoulders, knowing you weren’t affected by the cold but wanting you to have it.

He had paused to gaze at you softly under the moonlight, the look he had given you all those decades ago. The first time you met at a society function. He had been so earnest back then, almost shy, now he was only like that with you alone. You liked it this way – you got the best of him. You had both apparently been reminded of the same thing, as he spoke his thoughts out loud.

“I remember practicing over and over, reciting long lines of wanting before I asked…” he referred to the night he asked you to be his.

“Sweetie! Your poetry still makes me blush, and I have no circulation!” You grinned at him as he appeared to duck his head slightly and you embraced him in a hug.

“Please don’t pull away, pet… not yet” he mumbled to you, as you started to move, but your embrace was unfortunately cut short as you both heard an almost inaudible whisper.

“Poetry?” Buffy and Xander had mouthed in confusion, both looking at each other. Xander raised an eyebrow, holding up a cross as you started to walk closer to them. This has to be a trick right? You were both evil and evil doesn’t write poetry or have cute pet names… do they? Buffy got in a stance ready to fight as you both finally noticed them.

“Well, well if it isn’t Betty the vampire layer” Spike smirked as you cackled, making sure to allow your most menacing scowl for the slayer.

“You know how many Slayers Spike’s killed? Two, soon to be three isn’t that right?” You bragged as Spike nodded along.

“Currently, you’re working with us though, sweetie” Buffy mocked. You both postured, starting to speak over each other in your haste to maintain just how bad you both were. You finally stopped as the slayer raised an eyebrow and started tapping her toe as if she were bored of your very evil tales.

Eventually Buffy and the boy walked away, having set your plan out for later. You both walked on, hand-in-hand, through another graveyard. Eventually you slipped your hand from his, a sparkle in your eye as you plotted. As spike was explaining something, he didn’t notice you slip away and hide behind a gravestone waiting to see how long it would take him to notice. He only noticed when he heard a soft giggle from behind one of the gravestones and his face melted as he realised. He wouldn’t admit it, but he enjoyed your impromptu games of hide-and-seek amongst the gravestones. He started to prowl through the stones, looking for any sign of you. He softly narrated where he was going, to see if he could make you giggle and give yourself away.

“Come here… big bad’s gonna eat… you… up” he whirled around at the last word, eyes locking with yours as you squealed and he scooped you up before you could run.

“You found me!” You cheered as he pulled you by your middle and held you to him.

“I’ll always find you, pet” He said, cupping your cheek softly. It was as if he were staring into your soul, even though neither of you had one. His cold blue eyes sparkled as you stared back, a smile on your lips. You could recall it all, you wouldn’t share the rest of your un-life with anyone else.

“Sweet William, you always know the right things to say to me!” You matched his soft almost-smile as he leaned into you, your lips meeting in small, soft kisses that turned slow and sweet. Your hands ran through his bleached hair as you both smiled into the kiss, reluctantly cutting it short. He was about to carrying on walking but you grabbed his shirt sleeve, “Wait! One more kiss, for luck!” you asked enthusiastically, and he smiled, pulling you in softly once more. Willow walked over to you, but neither of you were really paying attention to her, she must have gotten separated from the others. The young girl was too trusting, having spoken to you more than once without so much as a stake for protection. A small cough interrupted your kiss, she was clearing their throat and you both jumped in surprise before slowly turning to see Willow watching you both. Spike coughed, trying to show he hadn’t just jumped and almost yelped in shock at the tiny human.

“What do you want, little red? Never heard of the things that go bump in the night?”

“Y-yeah, we’re gonna eat you up after we all get rid of Angelus” you insisted. The girls pulse barely changed and you and Spike looked at each other. Willow wasn’t convinced you both were as bad as you say you were, especially since the truce. The girl was in a fluffy pink jumper, she looked like a marshmallow and her personality appeared to match the ensemble. You and Spike looked at each other, growling at her before deciding to head back before the sun rose.

Back at the mansion, you were sat on Spike’s lap as he wheeled you both into the room. He was still keeping up the pretence that his legs weren’t working. You were sitting sideways on his lap and you looped your arms around his neck, snuggling into his chest as he stopped in the centre of the room.

“I’ve got a surprise for you!” You smiled, “Close your eyes!”

“Love-” he started, but did it anyway, for you. 

“Hold your hand out, palm up” You asked and when he closed his eyes and did it, you grabbed his hand and interlocked your fingers with his with a wide grin. He peeked and looked down at your hand and smiled, moving your entwined hands up to his lips so he could kiss the back of your hand. You giggled and he smiled that smile that was only for you.

“I’ve always liked the way your hand fits in mine, pet” You both got lost in each other’s eyes, a soft smile as your hands held onto each other. He was about to lean in and kiss your forehead when a voice startled you both.

“H-has anybody told you that you’re kinda sweet together?” A small voice interrupted from the corner. You almost jumped, you had forgotten that spike had grabbed the little witch as your tasty snack for later when the Slayer inevitably double-crossed you both. She was tied up in the corner and you had forgotten. Even spike looked a little sheepish that you had been caught being so soft together.

“We’re not sweet!”

“We are evil, nasty creatures of the night!” Spike pointed threateningly at Willow, wheeling himself towards her as you got up from his lap.

“We’re bad! Rotten to our core!” You insisted, Spike had changed into his vamp face to prove your points. She just looked away and moved further into the corner.

“You couldn’t even dream of the horrible things that we’ve done!” You shouted, frowning, your eyes flashing amber, “The terrors that we have inflicted on entire cities!”

“Y-yeah you are evil, you’re j-just sweet to each other” she corrected herself. You and Spike gazed at each other before you were snapped out of it once more.

“Quit playing with your food, the Slayer’s here!” Angelus ordered to you both from another room. You both looked at each other, shrugged and grabbed Willow along too. This was going to be interesting.

[popculturebuffet]

Animaniacs: King Yakko Review (Comission by BlahDiddy)

Hello my beautiful technicolor rainbow! It’s time for Animaniacs, and while there is no balonga in my slacks there is one last christmas review for my friend to finish up, and after two visits to Acme Lab for the spinoff we’re finishing up with a look at Animaniacs proper.  Suprisingly for a show that stands so easily on it’s own it’s existance is entirely thanks to another show: Tiny Toon Adventures, which had largely the same staff, including ep and co-creator stephen speilberg and Todd Ruegger, who was brought aboard from A Pup Named Scooby Doo. Since TIny Toon was a colossal hit with tons of awards and merch, including some very good video games I wish Warner would find a way to re-release, I mean.. come on if disney can rerelease the disney afternoon games (If...not..for..switch), and LIon King and Aladdin games (If somehow FOR switch), then Warner, which has it’s own game stuido no less, can put together a collection of the good Tiny Toons games when the new show comes out soon. 

Point is it was a mass sucess and Warner Bros likes money, so they had Speilberg try to get Rutger to come up with another show for the two of them to do, something with name value. Rutger found his inpsiration when seeing the iconic warner water tower and taking some platypus characters, came up with our heroes and the rest is history.. well okay he retooled them from plataups’ to early looney tunes and other toons style characters minus the racisim of say bosko the tall ink kid but still, the rest after that is history. And the rest of this review is after the cut

The show was, and KINDA still is, a variety show: taking a page from looney tunes, as well as tex avery’s other work, the crew decided rather than just focus on the warners, to instead create a whole cast with various ensembles to work with so we got Pinky and the Brain, The Goodfeathers, Rita and Runt,  the Hip HIppos, Katie Kaboom, Chicken Boo, and my personal faviorite Slappy Squirrel.. and the bane of my existance, Buttons and Mindy.. or rather Mindy’s Mom. The kid did nothing wrong.  So naturally the first thing Animaniacs related I cover.. is an episode entirely breaking from format for one 20 something minute Warners cartoon. I do intend to do more animanics stuff in the future, so i’ll hopefully get a chance to talk about everyone, I just feel unlike with say house of mouse most people reading this probably know who they all are, and I can save any deep dives for if I cover the characters specifically. Spoilers: there’s probably never going to be a buttons and mindy deep dive unless someone tourtues me by paying for it. 

So with that out of the way, we can dive into the episode.. which I won’t be covering in my usual recap it point by point because the writers have freely admitted that’s not what Animaniacs is about. While some of i’ts SEGMENTS are more story based like Pinky and the Brain, Goodfeathers and Rita and Runt, most are just based on simple set ups to reams and reams of gags. And I love it. I grew up with this stuff not just Tiny Tunes and Animaniacs but the classic Looney Tunes, Tom and Jerry and Droopy shorts. 

Their well timed, well executed feats of comedy and most have aged pretty well.. emphasis on MOST. I’m keenly aware why there are several gaps in the shorts for both Tom and Jerry and The Looney Tunes on HBO Max, including all of the Pepe LePew and Speedy Gonzalez shorts. Also all of Droopy is missing. 

My grumblin aside though, it is VERY NICE to have all the classic Warner and Tom and Jerry shorts at my fingertips and it was one of the biggest selling points of Max for me. Last year I gained an intrest in the old disney theatrical shorts, hence my various birthday specials, so I BADLY wanted to revisit the theatrical shorts I grew up with. And honestly.. Max is the best way to do that: their in crisp hd, in neat season collections (Though the Looney Tunes one is better sorted, tom and jerry’s seasons are just.. random smatterings of shorts across various eras), and most importantly EVERY SHORT they felt comfortable with putting up there is on there. Every. Single. One.  I make a big deal about this because Disney.. has only maybe 30-40 of their hundreds of shorts on there. Now lucky for me the vast majority are still on youtube and I get why some really arne’t suitable.. we probably don’t need the donald duck short where he prepares to shoot a penguin in the face or the Goofy short where his own reflection, the goofy equilvent of tyler durden I guess?, keeps saying “Hey Fat” to him. And yes BOTH of these actually happened. But.. there’s MANY shorts with no clear excuse why their absent like the triplets first apperance, gus’ only apperance, and one a friend told me about.. that time mickey built a robot to box a gorillia. Again not making this up, just wondering why you can’t restore the rest of these for plus. They’ve ADDED shorts ocasionally, but it still dosen’t make a whole lot of sense to just.. not have them all up there. and to not put them in some sorta collection for easier consumption but hey it’s Disney. They either full ass things or half ass it. There is no middle ground.  Point is Warner.. actually cares about their heritage in shorts and honors it and thus has everything avaliable in the best quality, so tha’ts nice.

My point after that detour is I really love this kind of humor, and now as an adult I can see the effort the timing, pacing and character chemistry these shorts had takes. And Rugger and co.. they got it. They got it down perfect. And this episode is a great show of that and just how they barely updated this format for the 90′s. But as I said it’s more about the jokes and basic setup, our heroes are slotted into x scenario and just left to run wild. It’s been the basic seutp for looney tunes, tom and jerry and all the gag based greats, and it works perfectly here. Sure there’s some setting and continuity with the warner lot, scratch n sniff, ralph, plotz and in the reboot Rita, but it’s mostly just our heroes go up against “X asshole” and it just works. 

And that’s.. entirley what this episode is. The short is an homage to the graucho marx film Duck Soup, which given the warners were based on the marx brothers that isn’t a huge suprise, a film like brian’s song I have not seen, but genuinely want to. The basic setup is the same: An underqualified womanizer, though since htis is Yakko it dosen’t get past hitting on his chancelor, played by hello nurse, constantly, which is still.. ewwwww... but clearly not the same thing, becomes king of a small nation and ends up at war with another country. There were spies and other stuff in the original short but that was left out to streamline things.  But this homage stands on it’s own fine: The basic plot is this: Yakko, due to being a distant relative and the last one alive, becomes king of the small happy and very musical, as the wonderful opening number shows, country of Anvilania, which makes anvils and why yes there is one MASSIVE anvil gag as a result at the end. Yakko says he’ll try his best and geninely tries to with the shenanigans you’d expect, including Dot not gettnig Polka Dot’s are a thing and instead taknig any mention of it as a sign to polka, Yakko again hitting on his colleague and wanting ot get a new anthem because the current one by “Perry Coma’ puts people to sleep. Honeslty that gag didn’t do it for me: Partly because I genuinely know next to nothing about Como and he’s far past my generation.. and because despite this, SCTV did a MUCH better Perry Como gag over a decade before this episode that while still left me baffled as to why anyone cared about mocking him, was 80 times funnier and felt far less like you needed to know who he was to be funny. 

That being said it’s one of only three running gags, and jokes period that didn’t land for me. The other ones being the hello nurse bits, because it’s aged really badly to have Yakko harass one of his employees and his age is hte only thing that keeps it from scuttling the episode as he’s just 13 or 14. Maybe 15. 

So SO glad I now have that on hand whenever i need it. The other being the “Your highness” joke as it just.. dosen’t make much sense and isn’t very funny. But that’s it: a refrence i specfically don’t get and I doubt most of you will, and if you do fine we all have our frames of refrences, a joke that’s dated very poorly, and one that just.. didn’t land. And even then the Perry Coma thing’s third use to knock out the opposing army DID work for me as did the VERY clever joke of “Sire” “Maybe later”, so even the weaker bits still had some legs.  But getting back to what little plot there is the king of the rival country, upon hearing this, assumes he can easily intimidate a child into giving him the throne and goes to a royal reception. Instead, as you’d expect, the Warners mistake him for a party clown, show him no respect and fail to take his delcration of war seriously, and while in a REALLY great gag, and the reason i’m not doing a strict summary is 90% of the review would be me saying something to that effect, Yakkos’ call to action for his troops ends up having them all run off in fear, the Warners take out the army as noted above and then in one of the most GLORIOUS climaxes in the series history...

 In which the Warners give the bad guy “all the anvils” as he requested. I sadly coulnd’t find a clip of it but seek it out if you got hulu, my words can’t do it justice as they hit him with anvil after anvil in increasingly clever and insane ways till the guy finally gives up and it .. is glorious.  Other highlights not already mentioned include: The opening song, the bad guy dictator from the other nation not being able to hear because of his helmet and his attendee having to lift it, leading to Yakko taking off his helmet just to end the “what’ running gag, Yakko’s bit explaning his distant relation and more.  So yeah not a ton to say on this one. It’s a very good, very funny episode but also very typical of a warner cartoon in structure, just stretched over 22 or so minutes. As I said with few exceptions the jokes work, the anmation is crisp as always, and the climax is one of the series best. A crisp, quick watch and a nice quick review after a week of with some really tough ones behind me and ahead of me and a month of rather large ones a few weeks out. So yeah if you like animaniacs, even ifyou’ve seen this one worth a watch, if you have any more animaniacs you’d like me to take a look at feel free to comment or comission and until the next rainbow..

[jane-the-zombie]

Twi-Lite || Harsh & Jane

TIMING: Present? LOCATION: Jane’s Apartment PARTIES: @notsoharsh​ & @jane-the-zombie​ SUMMARY:

Jane swung the door open the second she heard a knock at the door, eyeing Harsh. He certainly looked like the man she had fought wearing a wedding dress, though she was a little irritated that he didn ‘t have a black eye. She hit him pretty damn hard. Her foot for god’s sake was still bruised from the heel stomp. Crap, that must mean she had to go to the gym. “Nice to meet the man from my dreams,” Jane’s bad attempt at humor was obvious as she slid in the wave him in. “Come in, don’t mind the step stool, it’s possessed and cranky and don’t let it out, he’ll try to kill you.” As if to emphasize her point, the rattling step stool in the corner lurched. “Do you drink?”

Harsh let his eyes trail over Jane. Just like the dream. That was still weird. At least it meant he wasn’t losing his mind, but seeing her in person set him on edge. This wasn’t supposed to be happening, seeing her in his dreams, knowing her. It was wrong. But whatever. Not like he could do anything about it. “Likewise,” he said, with a grin as he stepped into Jane’s home. He glanced at the step stool. Huh. Weird. “Oh, I drink, you just have to make it strong. So do you wanna talk? Cause I’m good to just watch shit TV for a while.”

“I think we should talk,” Jane said. She was a little on edge seeing the man that was in her dreams here in person - maybe it was more strange to not automatically want to punch him in the face for ruining her dream wedding. She closed the door behind him. “Especially since I think… I think this may go deeper than dreams.” Jane pushed her hair out of her face, frowning. She kept having thoughts that didn’t quite seem like her own — like another voice was there whispering alongside her own. She waved him to the kitchen, pointing to the cabinet where she kept her alcohol. “I have just about everything, feel free to take whatever and we can sit and… maybe watch some shit Television afterwards. Did I see you watch Say Yes to the Dress??”

“Yeah.” Harsh should probably say a bit more, but… this whole thing was weird. She was real. And she was in his head. This kinda stuff was so far beyond him. It had to be something magic, there was no other explanation. He followed her into the kitchen, moving to the cabinet and grabbing the first decently full bottle he could find. “Yeah, you did. I… don’t usually though. I don’t really give a crap about wedding stuff, or I didn’t until we had that dream. Now I just keep thinking about it. And… other stuff. I’ve had the Miranda Rights stuck in my head for a week and I don’t know why.” He hadn’t heard those in person, in… a while. But Jane didn’t need to know about that part. He glanced over her, slight frown on his face. “Are you a cop?”

“The reality shows about weddings make for great tv.” Jane said with a shrug. She looked at him closely, squinting a little at him before she went to grab a couple of glasses from the cabinet. “I am a cop.” Jane nodded towards her coat rack. The chain where she kept her leather bound badge was hanging off it. “Which leads me to… asking about why I keep thinking about blood and turning people and what not…” She leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest as she stared at him. It was alarming, but she supposed some zombies couldn’t help but feed in old school ways. Brains, as she found out when she first did some research, were expensive. “I’m not planning on arresting you, don’t worry. But you’re a zombie, right?”

“I mean, I can’t really argue with that. I just never needed to know as much about dress shopping as I do now.” Harsh drifted about the kitchen, grabbing the first two mugs he could find. Pouring Jane a drink, he passed over her cup first before fixing his own. Shit. Well, there was that. He had to be more careful. Usually he was, but… most people didn’t exactly have a good look at the inside of his head. Wait. What? Zombie… huh. He ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “So you’ve got me figured out already. Yeah, I’m a zombie. It’s not really something I broadcast. I try not to turn people much, some people want it. And sometimes--I work at the hospital, y’know? If there are people on their last legs… sometimes I ask if they want it.” The lies rolled from his tongue all too easily. Still, it wasn’t all that far from the truth. Now, if he could just keep his thoughts going in the right line, everything would be fine.

She was pretty sure alcohol didn’t work if after someone was a zombie - no wonder he had said to make it hard. Whatever made him feel better, she supposed. “Everyone needs a few dress shopping tips here and there. I can give you those, and also tips on how to burn 30 pounds of tule and jewels properly.” Jane gave a shrug. She raised an eyebrow though when he mentioned that sometimes people wanted the bite. Absentmindedly, she touched the scar on her neck. Had things with her and Jason gone down far different - had he told her, had she realized something was off about him… Jane wondered if she would have fulfilled every teenagers lust blinded dreams. She wrinkled her nose, and shook her head as she took a sip of the drink. “And you do it safely, then? Make sure they don’t go out and rampage against people when they wake up?

“I never say no to learning new things.” Harsh sipped at his drink. It wasn’t quite the same blood free, but it was fine. In his time, there had been plenty of people who had asked to be turned. He tried not to make a habit of it. The whole, being mentally tied together thing didn’t really have a lot of appeal. He could teach them to feed safely and set them free, that seemed good enough. Micromanaging sires sounded like a pain and a half. He nodded. “I try to, yeah. I supervise, make sure they’ve got some brains so they don’t lose it in the hospital. I know a couple places where they can get brains easy, and… mostly cruelty free,” he said, with a slight wince. “It’s tough, being… y’know, this. But we have to make do. I try to keep my head down. I don’t want to hurt anyone, I just wanna live my life. Well, un-life.”

Jane considered a moment. Harsh seemed to have things under control, from what he told her. Though his thoughts did tend to be among the reckless side, but she supposed she couldn’t really complain considering her day to day activities. She shifted on her feet, glancing out the window to look at the street below. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.” She said, looking at him with a shrug. “That it’s a struggle and that it’s tough.” Something to look forward too. But she was more interested in the concept of forever. She would be here until the end of time - if there ever was an end of time. So many people would get to die and she would still be here, witnessing history and witnessing whatever the world had to offer. Jane remembered the damn fight she had with Daniel, and with a low sigh, she resigned to block her old partner’s number in the morning.  That had to mean something, right? Her hand dropped from her neck, and she shook the thoughts off. If poor Harsh was boggled down by them right now, he shouldn’t be. “Why don’t we take the night off from all this, then?” She asked, head tilting slightly as she nodded too her television. “I’ve got quite a few seasons of Say Yes to the Dress taped. Probably an embarrassing amount.”

Watching Jane, Harsh shifted on the balls of his feet. He could kind of imagine. With her bite… it wasn’t like she could avoid it. Eventually, it would get her. He shrugged a little, offering a slight smile. “Hey, it’s not all bad though. I’ve been young and pretty for two hundred years now. I’ve seen the world and learned way more than I ever would’ve otherwise. I sorta look at it… not like an ending, it was just a new start, and that’s not a bad thing.” Smile growing a little, he nodded. “Works for me. I was pretty annoyed at first, but I’m getting kind of into it now. If I ever get married, I know exactly what kind of dress I’m wearing.”

“I prefer to look at it like that too,” Jane replied, matching his smile. There was some part of her - some vain part of her that hoped she died before she turned wrinkly. She didn’t have to worry about grey hair because she frequently got it down, and she was sure she would have to frequently get it down whenever she did eventually perish too. “It’s much easier to be content with what you have, rather than what you don’t.” Or what you won’t have in however many years. Jane moved from the kitchen, shooting a glare as the step stool gave another rattle from his cage, and sat on the couch, patting next her as she reached for the remote. “Oh yeah? Enlighten me.”

Maybe it was the fact that he had already spent so much more time being dead than alive, but honestly, Harsh kind of preferred the way he was now. Humans were so squishy. There were so many things he had done that he never even would’ve tried if he wasn’t already dead. “Yeah, you’ve got a whole un-life ahead of you. People always get hung up on the bits that make it rough, but I wouldn’t go back if I could. I’m good this way.” He followed her, sinking down onto the couch next to her. “Mermaid all the way. I gotta show off this figure. If you got it, flaunt it, right?”

“I guess it all depends on what you go through,” Jane thought about Morgan. Lying on the beach, pretending to be dead didn’t exactly scream well adjusted and Morgan had admitted as much too. They clashed on how Jane thought about her bite, but that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel bad for what had happened to her. Jane pushed the thoughts away, though, and raised a glass. “I’ll toast to that,” she said, taking another sip of her drink as she flicked the TV onto Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Unchanged

Summary: Three hundred years after he was first turned, vampire Gold meets up with an old -very old- friend. The times have changed, but she never does...

Written for the @a-monthly-rumbelling moodboard prompt, available here. 

Rated: T

CW: Vampires, blood

=========

Unchanged

Although it was fifty years since he last saw her, he would recognise her anywhere. She'd had different hair colours, different styles, and of course, her mode of dress changed with the seasons to allow her to blend in perfectly with her hunting ground. She was never the same woman twice, and yet, Gold could always know her in a crowd.

They knew their own, of course. Like always called to like, something about their difference being a beacon to their own kind, almost like a light shining out stating that they were a kindred spirit, and guard could be lowered a little around them. Not lowered entirely, after all, they were predatory creatures, territorial. But there was no need to hide their true nature around their own kind, and the ability to talk about their true lifestyles once in a while was very freeing. 

Even without that natural attraction to other nightwalkers, Gold would still know Belle anywhere. He'd heard it theorised that they would always recognise and be drawn to their sires, but he'd never known the connection be as strong as his to Belle in any other of their kind. 

He stopped inside the doorway of the bar, watching her for a moment. She was playing the barfly tonight: hair in a messy bun, backless shirt showing bra straps and mini-skirt showing miles of sweet, creamy thigh. The expensive cocktail on the bar in front of her was naturally undrunk, no doubt bought for her by the enamoured young man who was obviously falling under her spell. What a shock he would get when he learned the true meaning of having a drink with Belle. 

She seemed to sense his presence then, turning to the doorway and giving him the sultry smile that he had first seen three hundred years ago, the smile that had led to his doom. Although, he was used to it now. He didn't consider it doom quite as much. Not if he had Belle as a constant in his unchanging immortality. 

They didn't see each other regularly. Sires never did take much care of their charges after turning them and teaching them the basics of vampirism. It was not a desire for companionship that drove them to turn, more a need to keep their population alive, unable to reproduce by far more pleasurable human methods. As long as there was a steady supply of humans being turned, then they would cancel out those of their kind that they lost to sunlight, or hunters, or other regrettable accidents. 

Belle summoned him over with an imperious nod of her head, the young paramour instantly forgotten as she laid eyes on him, and she turned her head to present her cheek for a kiss. It was always the way that he had greeted her, even back when he had been a human falling under her spell as thoroughly as the man at the bar. 

"Why is it that we always meet in drinking establishments?" he asked. 

Belle shrugged. "I find them to be easy hunting grounds. The haze of alcohol makes everything seem so much better, makes everyone seem so much more beautiful whilst they don't realise just how vulnerable they are."

She flashed him the barest glimpse of her fangs, primed and ready for the kill. Oh, she was certainly on the hunt tonight, and there was something bright in her eyes that Gold recognised from many encounters gone by. She was not just hungry for blood. 

Gold felt a familiar stirring in his own loins. It was a long time since he'd taken pleasure in another's cold skin. Humans were all right for such things, but they were always too warm for him, and they always smelled so delicious that he was inclined to get distracted. With Belle, he knew that he was guaranteed a wonderful experience that he could make last for as long as they desired - and oh, they had made it last in the past. 

"Besides, I miss the taste of alcohol." She twirled the stem of her cocktail glass between her fingers despondently. "Sometimes the only way to get a decent drink is second-hand. I don't miss much, but I do miss that wonderful burn."

Gold did not know how long Belle had been a vampire. He'd always accepted that she'd been there at the beginning of time and would be there long after the rest of them had given up the ghost. She had never talked about her origins with him, chastising that it was rude to ask a lady her age. 

He was sure she had been a high-born lady at some point, although whether that was her true life or just one of the many aliases she had formed for herself over the course of her immortality was another thing entirely. 

Speaking of...

"And what should I call you tonight, my dear? You seem to change identity as often as you change your knickers."

"Ah, now there you would be mistaken, for as you know, I long since gave up wearing them." She ran her tongue over her lips, inviting him to kiss her, but not here, not now. There was a hunt to be chased first. "For tonight, let's call me Lacey."

Lacey. The name suited her. There had never been a name that didn't suit her, although he would always come back to Belle. It was the name she had worn when she had turned him, and he would always remember it as the name of his sire. Whether or not it was her real name, the one she had been born with all those centuries ago, mattered little. To him, she was Belle, and always would be. 

"How've you been keeping, my darling?" she purred. "It's been a long time since we met, but sometimes the years pass in the blink of an eye. It always makes me happy to see you."

She didn't say that she would like to see him more often. Neither of them needed that closeness. It was in their nature to be solitary creatures, lone wolves, so to speak. Ironic since the wolves themselves would always pack together. Every few decades was enough for them to reacquaint themselves. After all, they had long memories, and long lives. Too much time spent in one place with one person would quickly become a bore. Time meant different things to vampires and humans. It lost its regular meaning, and yet gained so much more. 

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Same life, different places.”

She laughed. “Have you been exploring, my dear? My, my. You were always a homebody, I never thought that you’d be one to see the world.”

“I find it doesn’t do to get too familiar with any part of the world. That way, people start to get familiar with you.” Gold shrugged.

“I see. And are you averse to such… familiarity?” 

Her hand was creeping along his thigh, her expression one of completely false innocence. 

“There are some forms of familiarity that are… permissible.”

Belle squeezed his thigh. “I’m very glad to hear it. Perhaps later tonight we can renew our familiarity.”

“I’d be perfectly amenable to that.”

On the other side of Belle, the young man she’d previously been indulging with her presence seemed to have given up the ghost, accepting that the woman who had seemed so interested in him before had no designs on him whatsoever. As he left the bar, Belle smiled wickedly. 

“How much of a head start should we give him, do you think?”

“Well, there are two of us,” Gold pointed out, pretending to give the matter some serious thought. “We do have the advantage. It would probably be sporting to give him ten minutes, at least.”

“Ah, but we really don’t want to lose him.” Belle tutted. “He was going to be such a nice meal, as well. Nicely ripened. I’m not sure that I could forgive you if he were to slip out of our clutches, you know.”

“Well, I suppose that we could always follow him at a leisurely pace.” Gold got up from the bar and held out his arm; Belle took it and hopped off her stool, leading him out of the building. The chill in the air felt wonderful after the stuffy inside space, and Gold turned his face up towards the full moon, basking in its glow.

“Careful there, my dear. People will be mistaking you for a werewolf.”

“We can’t have that, certainly.”

They continued to walk down the streets arm in arm, occasionally catching the scent of the human they’d pegged for their prey this evening. There was no rush, he wasn’t running from them. 

Yet. 

Belle smiled as they came upon him, and she let go of Gold, sidling up towards the poor, unsuspecting human. 

“Hey sugar,” she drawled. “I’ve been looking all over for you. You left without saying goodbye, you know. Naughty.” She pouted, bopping him on the nose with one fingertip as she slipped her arms around his neck. The human looked extremely confused, especially when he glanced over to where Gold was standing, completely nonchalant and watching the whole thing. 

“You know, we never got to the best part,” Belle purred, and then her eyes were brightening and her fangs were sliding down, and the man was running away with a scream of terror. 

Belle sighed. “I do so hate it when they run. These heels were not made for pursuit.”

Gold just chuckled as she kicked off the shoes and began to jog along beside him. “Don’t you find something wonderful in the thrill of the chase, though?”

“Well, it does make the reward so much sweeter in the end.” She turned, giving him a wicked grin. “I’ll see you at the finish line, then, Gold. Don’t worry. I’ll save enough for you.”

She ducked into a side street, and Gold took the opposite route, a move that they had done so many times before when hunting through the big cities together.

It was good to know that Belle never changed.

[sailorshadzter]

JIMSA

all of the “jim frost” posts have been making me laugh so i decided to write about it. 

post season 8 with tyrion still as hand to bran because he’s the best one to troll with this kind of shit lmao. i also love imagining him going back to king’s landing to bran like “umm  jim frost?” & bran being like “yeah man totally, jim frost. what a good guy.” 

anyways, enjoy!

When the queen stepped into her court with a swelling belly on display, her people could do little but cheer for her good health and the future of their kingdom. After all the North had been through, their young unmarried queen having a baby out of wedlock was the least of their worries. In truth, they were overjoyed that their beloved queen was finally happy. Besides, it was well known who the father would be, though the queen would often remark her child was sired by the wolves, and none could be displeased with her choice.

She settled upon her throne and held her head high as the double doors opened, revealing her latest visitor. Tyrion Lannister had written some time ago to tell her he wished to make a goodwill visit to the North on behalf of her brother, King Bran, who sat upon the throne in Westeros. As Tyrion approached, he too noticed the swell of the queen’s belly beneath her dark green gown. “Your grace,” he bowed low before her throne, raising himself only when she spoke a greeting. “You look… Well.” He said, trying to choose his words as carefully as possible, recalling the young queen’s quick wit and temperament. He would regret dearly upsetting such a woman, especially in her condition.

Sansa can’t help but to laugh, her smile easy going as she leaned forward on her throne. "Thank you, my lord. I welcome you to Winterfell." She is as he remembered- charming, beautiful, her mid stage of pregnancy offering her a radiant glow Tyrion had never before seen in a woman. It gave her an ethereal look, in truth. "I hope your journey was not difficult, now that spring has come, I imagine the roads must be easy to pass." Spring had shown its face some months ago, the very same day she had first woke to the morning sickness of the same child she carried.

"Indeed, your grace, my journey was quite enjoyable." Tyrion responded, already enjoying this queen, finding her far more agreeable than the last he served. Though he was Hand to her brother, Tyrion found himself loyal to House Stark overall, and so he would serve this young woman as much as he served her brother. There was much to discuss with her and her lords, but he found he was much more curious about her growing belly than state politics. Though here in her court was the last place to speak so freely.

"I have had chambers prepared for you," Sansa says, her voice bringing him back from his own mind. "I'm sure you want to rest. I will have food sent to your rooms. Tomorrow, we can meet again, there is much to discuss between us." Her words are final and her smile dismissive, though her sapphire eyes are gleaming as she looked down upon him.

"Thank you, your grace," he replied before rising back to his full height and with a wave of her hand, he turned to walk back towards the doors he'd come in through. He paused for only a moment to glance back, surprised to see that Sansa had already risen from her throne, ducking out of the great hall on the arm of a dark haired man. A very familiar dark haired man, at that. Impossible, Tyrion thought before he pushed out the doors, though he was smirking as he shook his head. Though, perhaps not impossible at all.

[ x x x ]

"Might I ask a question?"

Lord Royce paused in his exit from his chambers, turning back to face the Lannister man with a nod. "Your queen... She is with child, but she's unmarried." Lord Royce does not respond but his expression is rather stony, which Tyrion at once can tell his directed at him and not the fact the queen is carrying a bastard. "And I have this strange notion that I saw Jon Snow leaving with her just moments ago, though he is banished to Castle Black."

"Jon Snow? Here, at Winterfell? Preposterous." Lord Royce says, shaking his head. "You must mean Jim Frost."

Tyrion doesn't know if he's being made fun of, but from the look on the Lord's face, he is quite serious. "Jim... Frost?" Really?

"Yes, he is the emissary for the Night's Watch, you see." Tyrion could swear the lord's lip twitched with a smile. "Jim has sworn fealty to our queen and he remains here at Winterfell, though he makes a monthly trip back to Castle Black."

Though he wanted to ask more, Lord Royce bids him a good night and now all Tyrion can do is ask the woman herself.

[ x x x ]

It took only a few short hours for the two of them to come to terms on a few things- namely trade between their two kingdoms. Securing peace between nations had been the utmost importance since Bran took the throne of the remaining six kingdoms and it had begun by the oldest practice in the book: weddings. Sansa had already agreed to wed Alys Karstark to one of Bran's own lord's oldest sons, the union already agreed on by the pair themselves. There had been talk of Sansa marrying the young Prince of Dorne, though such a thing was certainly out of the question now, though peace would not suffer for it. The Prince of Dorne would have a bride and someday, perhaps he would have a son or daughter to wed Sansa's own, should the gods wish it so.

"You know..." Tyrion's voice brings her from her own thoughts and she looked up at him, sitting across from her with a goblet of wine in hand. "I've been wanting to ask you..." Sansa chuckled at his expense, noting his uncomfortable expression. "About the... Father of your child."

Ah, she thought with a smile, leaning back to press a hand against the curve of her belly. "It is a child of the wolves," she spoke cryptically, reminding him of the king he'd left behind in King's Landing. "A new young, white wolf to someday rule the North when I am gone." She could already feel in her bones that this child would be a boy, a son with the Stark look, a son she would name Robb after the brother she had lost.

Tyrion took a long sip from his goblet before speaking on. "Yes, well... I have seen a familiar face among your court." Sansa arched a brow at his statement, but her rosy lips are still yet curved into a smile as she looked back at him, nodding for him to go on. "I am quite certain I saw Jon Snow on your arm just yesterday."

Sansa supposed she should have known he would find them out at once- this was Tyrion Lannister after all. And well, she and Jon had not been hiding so well now that her pregnancy was too far advanced to hide from the public. Her lords had long suspected her relationship with Jon since the first day he had returned to Winterfell, some six months after his banishment to Castle Black. "Jon Snow is at Castle Black." She spoke with that same smile, tilting her head, red hair cascading over her shoulder. "You must mean Jim."

"Jim Frost? Lord Royce mentioned him."

When the young woman laughed, Tyrion knew he was being fooled. "Indeed, Jim Frost." Her blue eyes gleamed as she settled back against her chair, hands pressed against the curve of her belly. "I don't blame you for mistaking him for Jon- he is as dark haired as any Stark, but I assure you he isn't Jon." When her gaze settled upon him, Tyrion knew the conversation was over.

And he also knew one other thing... Jon Snow was certainly the father of the queen's baby.

[ x x x ]

It was as he climbed into the carriage to leave, having said his goodbyes to the queen and her court, that Tyrion turned and saw them. Sansa was leaning on his arm, her red head tipped against his, laughing at something he was saying. As if feeling his gaze upon them, both she and the man turned for one last look, and that was when Tyrion caught sight of the man's face. Jon Snow raised his hand in a wave and Sansa smiled at him from where she stood, but then they both turned back and went on their way, leaving Tyrion to climb inside with a smirk on his face.  Jim Frost, indeed.

When he arrived back to King's Landing and reported back to Bran, the first thing the king asked was about his sister. "She is pregnant, is she not?" Bran asked as Tyrion poured himself a goblet of wine, his tone implying he already knew the answer to his own question.

"She is." Tyrion replied as he settled into his usual chair at the table.

"And it is Jon's?"

Tyrion can't help but to laugh. "She says the child was sired by wolves, though she hangs upon the arm of a man that looks remarkably like Jon Snow." Bran blinked and shook his head, the look upon his face that of amusement. "They call him Jim Frost as if no one knows." It is Bran who laughed then, a sound unfamiliar to Tyrion- the usually stoic king rarely even smiled, let alone laughed. "They care so much for your sister that I think they would call him a horse if she asked."

"It would seem a pardon for Jon Snow is in order."  Bran gestured for a piece of parchment, which Tyrion slid to him but a moment later. "I think he has been punished long enough, don't you?" Tyrion gave a single nod and watched as Bran leaned over the parchment, his handwriting scrawling across several lines before he looked up again. "See to a wedding gift." Is all he says before sliding the now folded and sealed parchment back to Tyrion, who gives another nod. He got up and crossed the room, to the window where a single raven sat waiting and he tied the scroll to its leg, watching as it soared out into the blue sky.

[ x x x ]

No one was surprised when just a month later, a raven arrived announcing the marriage between the Queen in the North and Jon Snow, now Jon Stark, the new King in the North. Even less surprising was when two months into their marriage another raven arrived to announce the birth of the North's crown prince, already called the Young White Wolf by his people. It was rumored for all of his life that the prince had been born of the wolves, just as his mother had always said, though others would gossip about a supposed wildling lover the queen had before marrying her king. A wildling named Jim Frost.

[dcrewatch]

Detective Conan Rewatch: Openings 46-50

Openings 46-50 Appreciation Post

Oh snap, time for another round of 5 openings!

Opening 46: "Everything OK!!"

Favorite screencap:

Shin’ichi: “Duck season!”

Ran: “Rabbit season!”

Comments:

Aw, cute.

Shin’ichi: “What do you mean, ‘Sherlock Holmes is stupid’, unicorn!?”

Ran: “For the last time, Shin'ichi, I AM NOT A UNICORN!”

Shin’ichi: “That thing has gotta be a unicorn horn. It’s got to be...”

Ran: “Maybe I was too harsh. It’s just...Maurice Leblanc’s characters I feel are better. ...Not that I’m partial ‘cause of my name or anything...”

Ah yes. Waffle and...crape. My favorite. =w=;;

Conan: “Yeah! Of course I’m in this opening too!”

Conan: “YOLO!”

Aww.

For those wondering what Ran’s message is: “Let’s go see the sea!” (”海を見に行こう”/”Umi o mi ni ikou”)

Man this song was catchy, and the animation was pretty cute!

Opening 47: "Countdown"

Favorite screencap:

Conan: “I mean...I knew I was a walking god of death, but come on? Explosions? Isn’t that a bit much?”

Comments:

Aw jeez. Animation staff putting me through "name that case” hell. (And this is why this post took forever.) I was able to identify 87 out of 91 pictures. Here goes:

Episode 772-773: Shin’ichi Kudo’s Aquarium Case

Episode 2: The Company President’s Daughter Kidnapping Case

Episode 763-764: Conan and Heiji, Code of Love

Episode 406-408: Conan and Heiji’s Reasoning Magic

Episode 279-280: The Hooligan’s Labyrinth

Episode 772-773: Shin’ichi Kudo’s Aquarium Case

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 770-771: The Tense Tea Party

Episode 425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

Episode 323-324: Heiji Hattori’s Desperate Situation!

Episode 11: The Moonlight Sonata Murder Case

Episode 343-344: The Convenience Store Trap

Episode 425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

Episode 497: The Clash of Red and Black

Episode 176-178: Reunion with the Black Organization

Episode 279-280: The Hooligan’s Labyrinth

Episode 490: Heiji Hattori vs. Shin’ichi Kudo: Deduction Battle on the Ski Slope

Episode 779: The Scarlet Prologue

Episode 48-49: The Diplomat Murder Case

Episode 2: The Company President’s Daughter Kidnapping Case

Episode 490: Heiji Hattori vs. Shin’ichi Kudo: Deduction Battle on the Ski Slope

Episode 43: Conan Edogawa Kidnapping Case

Episode 76: Conan vs. Kaitou Kid

Episode 763-764: Conan and Heiji, Code of Love

Episode 523: What She Truly Wants to Ask

Episode 2: The Company President’s Daughter Kidnapping Case

Episode 345: Confrontation with the Black Organization: Two Mysteries on a Night with a Full Moon

Episode 425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

Episode 836-837: The Unfriendly Girls Band

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 772-773: Shin’ichi Kudo’s Aquarium Case

Episode 836-837: The Unfriendly Girls Band

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 11: The Moonlight Sonata Murder Case

Episode 406-408: Conan and Heiji’s Reasoning Magic

Episode 830-832: The Cottage Surrounded By Zombies

Episode 652-655: The Design of Poison and Mirage

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 770-771: The Tense Tea Party

Episode 646-647: Deduction Showdown at the Haunted Hotel

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 345: Confrontation with the Black Organization: Two Mysteries on a Night with a Full Moon

Episode 307-308: On the Trail of a Silent Witness

Episode 646-647: Deduction Showdown at the Haunted Hotel

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 763-764: Conan and Heiji, Code of Love

Episode 11: The Moonlight Sonata Murder Case

Episode 836-837: The Unfriendly Girls Band

Episode 836-837: The Unfriendly Girls Band

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 76: Conan vs. Kaitou Kid

Episode 457-458: Sonoko’s Red Handkerchief

Episode 827-828: Ramen So Good, It’s to Die For 2

Episode 780: The Scarlet Pursuit

Episode 575-576: The Alibi of the Black Dress

Episode 425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

Episode 646-647: Deduction Showdown at the Haunted Hotel

Episode 345: Confrontation with the Black Organization: Two Mysteries on a Night with a Full Moon

Episode 219: The Gathering of the Detectives! Shin’ichi Kudo vs Kaitou Kid

Episode 810-812: The Darkness of the Prefectural Police

Episode 345: Confrontation with the Black Organization: Two Mysteries on a Night with a Full Moon

Episode 345: Confrontation with the Black Organization: Two Mysteries on a Night with a Full Moon

Episode ??? (too lazy to continue trying to identify...)

Episode 191: The Desperate Revival ~The Black Knight~

Episode 457-458: Sonoko’s Red Handkerchief

Episode 48-49: The Diplomat Murder Case

Episode 780: The Scarlet Pursuit

Episode 2: The Company President’s Daughter Kidnapping Case

Episode 191: The Desperate Revival ~The Black Knight~

Episode 808-809: The Kamaitachi Inn

Episode 406-408: Conan and Heiji’s Reasoning Magic

Episode 222-224: And Then There Were No Mermaids

Episode 425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 48-49: The Diplomat Murder Case

Episode 77-78: The Distinguished Family’s Consecutive Accidental Death Case

Episode 830-832: The Cottage Surrounded By Zombies

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 345: Confrontation with the Black Organization: Two Mysteries on a Night with a Full Moon

Episode 222-224: And Then There Were No Mermaids

Episode 827-828: Ramen So Good, It’s to Die For 2

Episode 772-773: Shin’ichi Kudo’s Aquarium Case

Episode 286-288: Shin’ichi Kudo’s New York Case

Episode 425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

Episode 810-812: The Darkness of the Prefectural Police

Episode ??? (too lazy to continue trying to identify...)

Episode ??? (too lazy to continue trying to identify...)

Episode 581: The Red Shaking Target

Episode ??? (too lazy to continue trying to identify...)

Episode 1: The Roller Coaster Murder Case

Episode 651: Conan vs. Heiji, Deduction Battle Between the Detectives of the East and West

Well I see the animation staff is having fun with imagining how a final showdown might go.

Conan: “You can tell I mean business by how serious my face is!”

Agasa: “Don’t mind me! Just uh...not stealing books to sell on eBay...nope, no siree.”

Mitsuhiko: “I told you the forecast said rain!”

Genta: “I like to live dangerously!”

Haibara: “Sure hope my friends remembered their umbrellas...”

Kazuha: ‘I could get used to this...’

Shiratori: “You ever think we should stop standing around looking cool and go do stuff?”

Kaitou Kid: “Man I’m cool.”

Organization Member: “Whoa, that was sick!”

Ran: “Shin’ichi, help!”

Shin’ichi: “USE YOUR KARATE DAMNIT!”

Potential Rum suspects.

Conan: “Ran! Use your legs!”

Conan: “LIKE THIS!”

Ran: “Oh, right!”

Pretty interesting “what if” scenario.

Opening 48: "Timeline"

Favorite screencap:

*-Oingo Boingo’s “Weird Science” intensifies-*

Comments:

Shin’ichi: “DON’T DO DRUGS KIIIIIIIIIIIDSSS---!”

Hooray, more case identification. This time figuring out the odd translations of titles of the cases on the books in the background. Books listed are from left to right, top to bottom. Obviously too small to see in my screencaps, but if you watch the opening for yourself, you’ll see what I mean. :D;

763-764: Conan and Heiji's Code of Love

701-704: The Jet-Black Mystery Train

491-504: Clash of Red and Black

457-458: Sonoko's Red Handkerchief

425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

394-396: Big Adventure in the Eccentric Mansion

385-387: The Dissonance of the Stradivarius

238-239: The 3 "K"s of Osaka Case

50: The Library Murder Case

18: A June Bride Murder Case

174: The Twenty Year Old Murderous Intent: The Symphony Serial Murder Case

166-168: Tottori Spider Mansion Demon

153-154: Sonoko's Dangerous Summer Story

385-387: The Dissonance of the Stradivarius (yes, again in the same shot)

129: The Girl from the Black Organization and the University Professor Murder Case

76: Conan vs. Kaitou Kid

68-70: The Night Baron Murder Case

50: The Library Murder Case (yup, again)

London flashbacks...

Ran’s message she sent to Shin’ichi is basically asking about the upcoming school trip.

Here’s another round...

400: Ran's Suspicions

472-473: Shin'ichi Kudo's Childhood Adventure

490: Heiji Hattori vs. Shin'ichi Kudo: Deduction Battle on the Ski Slope

507-508: The Blind Spot in the Karaoke Box

511: Deduction Showdown! Shin'ichi vs. Subaru Okiya

781: The Scarlet Intersection

780: The Scarlet Pursuit

129: The Girl from the Black Organization and the University Professor Murder Case

162: The Locked Room in the Sky: Shin'ichi Kudo's First Case

266-268: The Truth Behind Valentine's

284-285: Chinatown Deja Vu in the Rain

219: The Gathering of the Detectives! Shin'ichi Kudo vs. Kaitou Kid

345: Head-to-Head Match with the Black Organization: A Dual Mystery on a Full Moon Night

286-288: Shin'ichi Kudo's New York Case

Ran: “...Nope. Holding my phone determinedly does nothing to improve the reception. Stupid cell phone company...”

Looks like more messages asking relating to the upcoming school trip.

Here’s more...

230-231: The Mysterious Passenger

238-239: The 3 "K"s of Osaka Case

304: The Trembling Police Headquarters: 12 Million Hostages

385-387: The Dissonance of the Stradivarius

394-396: Big Adventure in the Eccentric Mansion

400: Ran's Suspicions

425: Black Impact! The Moment the Black Organization Reaches Out

457-458: Sonoko's Red Handkerchief

491-504: Clash of Red and Black

18: A June Bride Murder Case

153-154: Sonoko's Dangerous Summer Story

166-168: Tottori Spider Mansion Demon

174: The Twenty Year Old Murderous Intent: The Symphony Serial Murder Case

Back to the London flashback...

I’m not bothering identifying more. =w=; Books on Conan’s left are segments of the Scarlet Arc, and the others are too much in shadow to read completely.

Okay, one more identification because it’s the story that enables Shin’ichi to join up on the school trip: 925-926: The Heartfelt Strap.

Conan: “Conan...SMASH!!!”

*-Doctor Who theme intensifies-*

Ran: “Did...”

Ran: “Did you just stick a a 10 point landing?”

I see what you did there animators. Clever.

Yup, this too, showing the three sides to Amuro. Cleveerrrr...

Yeah, don’t worry Haibara. My brain’s fried too.

Overall, decent!

Opening 49: "Barairo no Jinsei"

Favorite screencap:

*-“Halleluiah” chorus intensifies-*

Comments:

Nothing really to say new about this one! This one’s just flashy despite not really having any new character animation to speak of; just bits from the school trip arc.

Opening 50: "ANSWER"

Favorite screencap:

When your anime has gone on forever and the person making this blog post wants to reference a now old meme.

Comments:

Gin: “For our next trick we shall now give a performance of Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’!”

Conan: “I knew it. They’re wizards.”

Oh hey, it’s that Itakura guy from Episode 307-308.

Haibara with Mary...who may or may not be related?

Lots of Rum arc relevant things...

Carasuma now showing in the background...ominous.

Next Episode: Episode 946

Previous Episode: Episode 945

[sir-a-nonny-mouse]

All The King’s Horses

Summary: After the portal Catra is sent to Beast Island to bring back Entrapta and Scorpia.

Notes: This story exists because what I really wanted to write was a post-redemption Catradora fic that honored the events of season 3. But in order to that I had to figure out how Catra could be redeemed after her downward spiral. 25,000+ words later…

Trigger warnings for panic attacks, giant spiders, child abuse/neglect

If you would rather read this story of AO3 it can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072848/chapters/50132171

Catra dreamed.

Adora stands over her as she clings to the wall of the cliff. The light of the collapsing world streams up around her lifting Adora’s ponytail up into the air.

“Grab my hand,” Adora shouts, stretching down toward where Catra’s claws are starting to lose purchase. “I can still fix this! I can still save you!”

“Don’t you get it?” Catra shouts back. The roar of the ground falling apart around them is getting louder. “I don’t care! I won’t let you win. I’d rather die than let that happen!”

Adora’s face shifts. The soft concern in her eyes is replaced with the cold blue of She-ra’s gaze.

“No Catra, you don’t get it.” Her voice is deeper suddenly. There is a familiar lilting quality Catra couldn’t quite place. She isn’t shouting anymore but somehow Catra can hear every syllable. “I always win in the end. And you will always fall!”

She-ra’s lunges forward and rips Catra’s hand from the protruding rock. Catra is thrown backward into the stream of nothingness. It burns. She tries to scream but there is no air in her lungs.

***

Catra sat up in bed with a gasp. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her heart pounded so loudly in her chest it almost sounded like someone banging on the door to her room.

Wait. No. That was someone pounding on the door to her room.

She swallowed hard and took a deep breath to steady herself.

“Come in,” she shouted, louder than she meant to but it covered the quiver in her voice.

“Uh…hi Catra. It’s me.” Kyle poked his head through the door. “Um…Hordak wants to see you. Right now. That’s all gottago.” He squeaked and slammed the door shut again.

Catra swallowed against nausea rising in her throat and got out of bed.

***

It had only been a week since the portal. Things in the Fright Zone had returned to some sort of normalcy; the soldiers continued their battle maneuvers and the cadets continued their training simulations. Hordak had been locked inside his inner chambers with only his demon assistants, but that wasn’t so different than before the portal. Catra had no idea what he was working on—a new portal, a new strategy for defeating She-ra and the princesses—but that was hardly a change either.

It was all disturbingly normal aside from the fact that Catra had no idea what her status was anymore. She wasn’t re-imprisoned but was she back to force captain status? Second in command? What was her mission? The lack of purpose made her skin itch. Given all her years of ducking responsibility it would have been hilarious if it weren’t so stressful. If Adora could see her now she would….

No. Adora wouldn’t care. Adora didn’t matter anymore.

Catra held her head up high as she approached Hordak’s throne. She tried to ignore the echoes of her trial as she passed the rows of soldiers lining the chamber. She spared a glance around for Scorpia but didn’t see her familiar shock of white hair anywhere in the crowd. No purple either. Not that Catra was expecting to see Entrapta….

“Catra,” said Hordak in his low gravelly voice. He was seated on his throne in his full regalia without a hair out of place. No sign of the staggering wreck Catra had seen in the chamber the day of the portal. Catra felt the familiar staccato of her heartbeat and her mouth went dry. Still, she was nothing if not good at bravado. She clenched her teeth and stepped forward.

“Lord Hordak,” she said, pleased when the words came out with confidence. “I heard you wished to speak to me. I wasn’t expecting all this ceremony.”

“It has come to my attention that the Princess Entrapta has been spotted on a transport ship to Beast Island.”

Catra could feel sweat dripping down the back of her suit. She swallowed.

“That is unexpected, my Lord. Was she apprehended on her way out of the Fright Zone?”

Hordak grunted.

“That remains to be seen. It seems your friend and fellow force captain Scorpia was seen with her.”

Catra’s heart sped up. She wondered idly what would happen if she just passed out in Hordak’s throne room in front of all these people. Probably nothing good.

“Strange,” said Catra. “Perhaps even after all this time some of her Princess tendencies have gotten the better of her.”

Hordak crossed his arms over his chest.

“An interesting theory. And yet unsatisfying given that Scorpia’s greatest allegiance appears to have been to you previously. After all, she did risk almost certain death in the Crimson Waste to accompany you.”

Catra snorted. “Perhaps she knew I wasn’t so easy to kill as you expected. I can’t imagine the same holds true for Entrapa on Beast Island.”

“I did not sentence Entrapta to die. Nor did I sanction her or Scorpia’s transfer to Beast Island.”

Catra shrugged. “Seems like it’s been taken care of for you.”

“I DID NOT SANCTION IT!” Hordak roared standing suddenly from his seat. Catra couldn’t fight her instinct to shrink backwards.

“You will go to Beast Island and retrieve them,” Hordak continued. “You have proven yourself resourceful in places with few resources in the past. And you have yet to prove your loyalty to me since returning from the Waste.”

“Prove my loyalty!” Catra forced herself to stand up straight again. “You sent me to die and I brought you the key to your most precious project! How much more loyal can I get?”

Hordak regarded her with emotionless red eyes. “You pursued your own private vendetta and nearly destroyed us all in the process. If you are truly loyal you will bring the Princesses Entrapta back for a proper trial and punishment. Scorpia as well if you are able. If not; well then Beast Island is probably a fitting punishment and I likely should have sent you there in the first place.”

He gestured to one of the soldiers, who stepped forward to grasp Catra’s arm.

“You’re sentencing me to death,” she shouted, jerking her. “For what? For helping you achieve your goal. So what I had my own agenda!? You need me.”

“Indeed. I need you to bring back the Princess Entrapta. She may well be a traitor, but she will be far more useful in my dungeons than rotting on that infernal island. That will be all now, take her away.”

With that Hordak turned and exited the throne room.

Catra whirled around only to realize she was surrounded by soldiers. She searched frantically over their shoulders for her team. For a moment she thought she caught sight of Lonnie’s braids, but it immediately was lost from her view. She tried to run but several hands were holding her arms and (horrifyingly) someone had grasped onto her tail. She heard the crackled of a stun baton and then everything went dark.

***

The boat creaked and moaned as metal slats shifted against each.

“This is fascinating,” Entrapta murmured as she peered through the porthole. “The friction between air molecules and water molecules propagates a wave function that transfers energy for miles! And the variation, there must be some sort of relation to the lunar cycles but with three moons the equation is going to be exceedingly complex. Plus, we can’t discount the possibility of interaction with the First One’s tech that has surely been buried along the route. How have I never thought to study the ocean before?”

“Oh, I don’t know about studying the ocean, but I can tell you nothing quite beats the fresh salt air,” Scorpia replied, leaning her head back against the bulkhead. “I mean, when they let you up to appreciate it. This cabin is not my favorite way to travel, no siree.” She chuckled to herself and then winced when another prisoner chose that moment to vomit into a bucket.

“Once we get to our destination, I will need to take some measurements,” Entrapta said. “I still have a few bits of equipment, but do I wish I still had access to Hordak’s lab.”

“Uh…Entrapta, you do know that we are headed to an island that no one has ever come back from, right? We are going to have to put all of our resources into survival.”

“I know! Why don’t people every come back thought; there has to be an explanation.”

“Because they get eaten by the beasts…on Beast Island?”

“Seems statistically unlikely; at least a few souls would have escaped after so many years.” Entrapta turned around and peered at Scorpia through the safety goggles pulled down of her eyes. “I have some theories, but I need to run a few more tests.”

“Uh…okay, Entrapta.” Scorpia stared up at the bulkhead ceiling. “But I don’t think we should discount the beasts either.”

“Never fear, friend,” Entrapta exclaimed, resuming her position staring out the porthole. “Like any good scientist, I have planned ahead.” She used one of her hair tendrils to thrust a small manual in Scorpia’s direction.

Scorpia took the book. “Uh…thank you?” The title read “A Princess Survival Guide to Beast Island.” Scorpia thumbed through it. “Well this seems weirdly perfectly suited to our current predicament.”

“The right tool for the right job,” declared Entrapta. Scorpia couldn’t really argue with that.

***

Catra woke up on a ship, which was just adding insult to injury, really.

A hawk-faced Force Captain glared down at her. Catra barely remembered her from one of the few Force Captain meetings she had bothered to attend. She thought her name was possibly Leona.

“Good you’re awake. Take this.” She thrust a small device at Catra who groaned as she sat up to accept it. “This only works once. You press it when you have the Princess and we will come and pick you up from the North Shore. Don’t bother pushing the button before you have Entrapta; we’re under strict orders to leave you behind if we don’t see her with you. No get-out-of-jail-free card just for managing to survive a few days out there.”

Catra stared at the device. It was a small green rectangle with a smooth red button in the center and a blinking yellow light in the top right-hand corner. She grunted.

“He’s just throwing me out there by myself?” she asked. “I can’t even bring my companions from the Waste?”

The Force Captain likely named Leona made a trilling noise that Catra interpreted as a laugh.

“They asked around, kitty. I think the exact quote was, ‘Heck no; I’ve seen how she treats her friends.’”

Catra felt her face color.

Leona leaned her head down close to Catra, beak inches from her nose. “You got a shitty deal for sure little fighter, but you can hardly say you didn’t ask for it. You’ve been playing fast and loose with your attitude. I don’t know what caused all your little friends to abandon you, but if it’s anything like the lip you gave Hordak before he sent you off to the Wastes I’m not surprised you’re all alone.” She snorted. “Bet you thought you’d lost everything then, but there’s always farther to fall.”

Catra turned her head away and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Whatever. Just let me know when we get there.”

The captain trilled again. “Oh, trust me, you will know. And be grateful. The prisoners don’t get supplies.” With that she dropped a small bag next to Catra and walked away

Catra sank back against the side of the ship and tried to ignore the knowledge that she was surrounded by water on all sides.

She must have dozed off because the next thing she knew she was being grabbed by the shoulders and hauled to her feet. A stun baton crackled behind her.

“We’re here. Move,” came the tinny command from within the soldier’s helmet.

Catra hissed but followed instructions as she was escorted of the ship and onto a small rowboat that made her stomach churn. She sulked as sea water splashed up, cold against her arms. Once the boat hit the shore, they tried to grab her by the shoulders but Catra hissed again and jerked her arm out of the soldier’s grasp. She snatched the pack from a different soldier’s hands and leapt over the side. She winced as her feet hit the mushy sand at bottom of the shallows and marched toward the shore.

***

“Okay so according to this the first thing we should do is find fresh water,” muttered Scorpia as she flipped through manual. “I think they have diagram here…oh! Oh whoopsies.” One of her claws caught the edge of the page tearing it slightly. “Oh, I’m sorry…I think I can fix that. Do you have any tape?”

“This place is maaaagical.”

“Uh, what?” Scorpia turned to see Entrapta on her hands and knees with her nose inches from the coarse sand that covered the beach of Beast Island.

“These tiny rocks,” muttered Entrapta, holding out some sort of small cylindrical device next to her face. It made a strange whining noise.

“You mean the sand?”

“Sand? This is no ordinary sand!” She looked up and beamed at Scorpia. “These are tiny fragments of data crystals! I mean…not all of them. Some of them. Mixed in with the sand. And you know what that means?”

Scorpia tried to think. “Lots of tiny data?”

“IT MEANS THERE MUST BE A MASSIVE DATA CRYSTAL SOMEWHERE ON THIS ISLAND!” Entrapta shouted. She jumped to her feet. “And I’m going to find it. Oh, Hordak will be so excited when I tell him about this!”

“Hordak? I…wait, Entrapta!” Scorpia shouted at the purple-haired princess as she scampered off toward the shoreline. “Oh no.” She rubbed one claw across her forehead and sighed. “I hope this massive data crystal is near some fresh water at least,” she muttered as she gave chase.

***

Catra trudged up the beach to the tree line and sat on rock to take inventory. In addition to the tracker her supply bag contained two canteens of water and a handful of ration bars. Enough for a few days of survival but she was going to need to find an alternate source of fresh water and food soon if she wanted to make it through the week.

Or you could just find Entrapta and Scorpia and click your get-home button.

Catra stared at the blinking remote at the bottom of the bag and frowned. She shoved the supplies back in and threw it over her shoulder.

The moons were starting to dip below the horizon and in the dimming light the orange sand seemed to almost glow. Staying near beach was probably her safest bet for now. Catra wasn’t certain where the beast (beasts?) of Beast Island hung out, but the dense foliage past the edge of the jungle did not look inviting. She could get her bearings tonight and trek deeper in search of a means of survival once the light was better.

She scouted around the edge of the tree line collecting branches and set to work constructing a lean-to a few feet from the edge of the sand line. She cleared a small area for a camping fire, but when she thought about lighting it she imagined some burly creature with fangs emerging from the undergrowth at the smell of smoke, so she left the pile of sticks and leaves to sit.

She stared at her not fire as the light faded from the sky fully. The low hum of insects seemed to get louder as darkness fell. She could still see reasonably, thanks to whatever genetic fluke had made her part cat, but the color faded to nothing but greys. She shivered despite the humidity.

Catra glanced back at her lean to and then jumped back onto all fours as she watched a multilegged creature scurry across the floor and disappear under a log.

Heart pounding, Catra scanned the forest floor, suddenly aware of the not deafening white noise of jungle.

“Oh no,” she muttered and glanced around. Her eyes caught site of a wide tree branch hanging about ten feet above the underbrush.

“Screw this.” She scurred up the side of the tree to the branch and crouched there, studying the jungle around her. When nothing moved for several long minutes, she lay down on the branch and tried to settle herself. It wasn’t comfortable per-say, but at least she felt she was further away from things that skittered. Catra shuddered and closed her eyes.

She didn’t quite fall asleep, but after a few hours the tension in her body seemed to fade back to the low level that lived in her shoulders chronically. Slowly, very slowly, she felt her mind start to drift.

Her eyes sprang open at a soft clicking noise next to her. Immediately she was crouched on all fours, peering through the darkness. There was a small rustling in the bushes near the base of an adjacent tree.

Catra held perfectly still aside from the twitch of the tip of her tail. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears.

A moment later a small furry creature with pointed ears and a large fluffy tail nearly the same size as its body scampered across the camping area making a loud chittering noise. Catra let out her breath.

Almost as soon as her heartbeat started to slow the clicking noise returned, louder this time and directly behind her. Catra whirled around on the branch and almost fell in her attempt to scamper backwards as she found herself facing a large creature with a bulbous body and eight long, pointed legs hanging from a higher branch of the tree above her.

Catra hissed and extended her claws. She had half a second to consider the fact that these creatures looked remarkably like the security system of the Crystal Cavern before the spider fired webs toward her face.

Catra grinned as she swiped the web away with her claws. She leapt toward the creature, landing on its head and immediately clawing for one of the shiny red eyes. She expected to encounter glass or metal as her hand came down and was slightly horrified when her fingers sank into soft, wet tissue.

“Eugh!” She ripped her hand back staring at it in horror.

The pause was a moment too long. One of the many legs of the creature plucked her off its back and threw her off the tree and onto the forest floor. Catra managed to twist and land on her hands and feet but when she whirled around to face her opponent the only thing she could see were dripping fangs bearing down on her. She turned to run but felt a prick to the back of her right calf before she could take a step.

Immediately icy-hot pain spread out from the puncture. Catra screamed and tried to scramble away but her leg would not cooperate. She fell onto her back facing the spider who was spitting out more webs. Catra was immediately covered head to toe. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. Her head swam as she tried desperate to gasp for air.

Not this way, she thought as she started to lose consciousness. It can’t end like this.

Just before she passed out, she heard a loud crash and a man’s voice shouting but she couldn’t make out the words.

***

Catra dreamed.

“Don’t you get it, Adora? I never needed you to save me.” Catra and She-ra circle each other on the edge of the cliff amidst the roar of the dying alternate universe. “You leaving was the best thing that ever happened to me!”

She dodges She-ra’s sword once, and again. She can see the frustration and anger in She-ra’s eyes—hints of Adora bleeding through—and it makes her feel powerful. She giggles as she ducks another swing of the sword and runs forward, shoving a shoulder into She Ra’s solar plexus and sending her over backwards. Catra kneels over She Ra and hisses down at her. “You only ever held me back! I’m stronger than anyone ever knew.”

She-ra’s eyes narrow and the world flips. Suddenly it’s Catra on her back with She-ra towering over her, sword in hand.

“Strong?” She-ra laughs and her face changes to something reminiscent of the corrupted princess from the frozen north. There is no Adora to be found in the alien expression and Catra feels a chill of fear run through her. “That’s funny, because I think you just tried to destroy the universe as an elaborate hissy fit for me leaving you.” She-ra leans in close and whispers in Catra’s hear. “When did you get so weak?”

She-r rears back and hold up the sword ready to strike.

“You wouldn’t have the guts,” Catra says. She can remember another time, another place where she said those words with confidence. Now she can hear the tremor in her voice.

“Wouldn’t I?”

Fear grips her. Before she can stop herself Catra shouts, “Adora, please!”

“Adora is dead,” She-ra shouts. “You killed her.”

The sword comes down through Catra’s gut. She can feel it, piercing through her, can feel the warm blood bubbling up to the surface of her skin. She coughs. She looks up She-ra and sees….

Nothing. No remorse. No panic. No sadness. Just cold, red eyes on an expressionless face.

I never thought it would end this way, Catra thinks.

***

Catra gasped herself awake. Her hand came immediately to her abdomen and a wave of relief washed over her to find the skin and clothing intact.

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said a deep voice to her right.

“Gah!” Catra snapped her head to the side and saw a man with dark hair tied in a top know and a salt and pepper beard sitting at a wooden table in the middle of a ramshackle kitchen. She shoved herself off the bed she only just realized she was lying on, ready to run. Instead both of her legs gave out under her and she collapsed to the ground, hard.

“Ah…whoops. I…uh meant to warn you about that,” said the man rushing over and reaching out for Catra’s arm.

Catra jerked away from him and hissed. “What did you do to me!?” she shouted, trying frantically to drag herself toward the door. To her horror she couldn’t seem to get either of her legs move even to inch her across the ground. She couldn’t even feel them. She raised one hand with claws extended. Her eyes darted around the room looking for an escape.

The man stepped back and held up both hands in a surrendering gesture. “It wasn’t me! just brought you here. It was the Spinder you were fighting. They have a paralytic agent in their venom.”

Catra had a flashback to the horrendous pain that had spread from where the spider-creature had bit her. She glanced from the man’s face to the door down to her own useless legs flopped on the ground.

“Who are you? How did I get here? Where am I?”

The man touched his own chest. “My name is Micah. You got here by me and Fredrich—but mostly me—carrying you. And here is…well my house. Can I please help you get back in the bed?”

Catra hissed again. “I’ll get myself back,” she snapped. She glanced at the door she suspected led outside and then back to the bed she had just vacated. Every instinct in her begged to race for the door but she had no idea what she was going to do when she got there.

Not that that’s ever stopped me before, she thought to herself before starting to drag herself back toward the bed.

Micah watched her in silence, but she could almost feel the strain as he held himself back from reaching out to help her. The process was slow and mortifying, but she was eventually able to lift herself back onto the straw-stuffed mattress.

She positioned herself with her back against the wall and glared at Micah. He was dressed in plain brown leathers with a thick heavy knit cloak over his shoulder. He looked…familiar somehow, but Catra couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Uh…are you hungry? Would you like some stew? It should be ready in a minute.”

Catra’s stomach growled at the thought but she ignored it.

“I would like some answers,” she said instead. “Why did you bring me here?”

Some color popped into Micah’s cheeks and he looked down to pick an invisible piece of lint off his shirt. “Fredrich and I were out for a late-night stroll and we heard your scream. We came to check things out and saw you were about to be lunch for the Spinder, so we decided to intervene.”

Catra narrowed her eyes. “Out for a stroll…in the middle of the night…through Beast Island? And who is Fredrich?”

Micah looked up. “Oh, he’s sitting next to you.”

Catra started. She looked to her left where she met the beady black eyes of the same little creature with the bushy tail that had run out of the underbrush last night.

Every predator instinct in her went on high alarm. She froze in place and felt her claws, which had retracted during her struggle back onto the bed, extend again.

The creature chittered at her, shook an angry fist and then darted away just moments before Catra reached out to swipe at it. She missed and nearly toppled over onto her side.

The creature, Fredrich, scampered across the floor and darted up Micah’s side perch on his shoulder. He chittered loudly into Micah’s ear.

“Well obviously,” Micah said, ostensibly replying to whatever the rodent was screeching about. “She’s a Magicat. What did you expect, bating her like that?”

“She’s a what?” Catra snapped.

Micah’s looked back over to her. “Uh…a Magicat?”

“A what?”

“Your race. The Magicats.”

Catra scowled. “I am a Horde soldier. My race is irrelevant.”

“I think technically you’re a Horde prisoner now, correct? They’re not sending their best and brightest to Beast Island these days.”

“I am not a prisoner.” Catra paused. “I…misplaced something valuable to Hordak. He sent me to find it.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“What is it to you?” she said. “Were you in need of a second pet or something? You can hardly be taking in every wayward Horde prisoner who ends up on this forsaken island.”

Micah shrugged. “Like I said, we heard your cry and we tried to help. Obviously, you’re in no state to go searching for your lost…item right now and I don’t really want to see my hard work go to waste. Here.” He walked over to a small cookfire in the corner of the room and ladled some sort of thick broth into a bowl. “Have some stew. Relax. I have some work to do in the other room. The paralytic from the Spinder will wear off in a few days. Whenever you can walk you can leave. No more questions asked.”

Catra accepted the bowl. She stared down at the liquid and sniffed it. She looked back up at Micah.

“Oh! A spoon.” He handed her a small wooden utensil.

Catra stared at the utensil and then back at the bowl. There was delectable smell coming from the “stew” or whatever he had called it. She took the wooden object from him and then bent her head down close to the broth and lapped at it gingerly. It was warm and a bit salty with a deeper earthy flavor that Catra couldn’t place but was maybe reminiscent of the yellow ration bars in the Horde.

Micah’s eyes widened. “Have you…never had soup before?”

Catra glared.

“You uh…I mean it’s fine to eat it that way, but the spoon will help you get some of the vegetable chuncks. Let me show you.” He demonstrated dipping the spoon into the bowel and lifting it up with a large orange tuber balancing on the end. “Up to you.”

Catra snatched the spoon out of his hand causing the vegetable chunk to splash back down into the broth. She mimicked his movement, bringing up a mouthful of broth and vegetables.

It was heavenly; warm and filling and full of so many flavors Catra couldn’t describe. Swallowing it down felt like scratching an itch she hadn’t known she was ignoring. She continued to spoon the stew into her mouth, forgetting about her audience until Micah cleared his throat.

Catra looked up. “What?”

“My only rule is please don’t interrupt me while I’m working.” He gestured to a door on the right side of the room that as open just slightly enough to tell it led into a shed of some kind. “Oh, and please don’t eat Fredrich. You probably can’t catch him right now, but once you get your legs back, he might be hard to resist. I’d be very put out if he died.”

Fredrich chittered in seeming agreement with this sentiment. Catra just shrugged and said “Fine,” before returning to her stew.

Micah watched her for another minute before he disappeared into the shed and shut the door behind him. A few minutes later a faint white light seemed to glow through the slats of the wall. Catra paused with the spoon halfway to her mouth and stared. There seemed to be something familiar about the pulsing of the light.

Fredrich scampered up the side of the wall and settled himself on a shelf that contained a little nest of fabric scraps. He chittered at Catra for a few seconds before curling himself into a ball and seeming to go to sleep.

Catra set her now empty bowl aside the decided to do the same. She lay down on her side, tugging her legs into some sort of sensible position. It probably wasn’t the wisest idea to let down her guard in this strange place with this strange man and his little rat creature, but she hadn’t had a full night’s rest in almost three days now and she had no idea how long it would take before her legs were working well enough to get her out of here. If they going to hurt her, they would get a chance eventually.

Even before she fully finished the thought, she was unconscious.

***

“Good news! I found a small spring about a half hour’s walk into the jungle and there were these berry things nearby that seem to match this illustration in the manual as safe to eat!” Scorpia dumped and armload of supplies onto the campsite they had set up on the beach. “Uh…what are you doing?”

Entrapta was lying on her stomach examining an array of variably sized pebbles spread out on the flattened sand in front of her. In one hand she had the small beeping cylindrical device from earlier and in her other there was one of the seemingly endless supply of tracker pads she had on her person at all times.

“You were right!” Entrapta exclaimed as she reached for a handful of berries and shoved them in her mouth.

“Great! Uh…right about what?”

“These tiny data crystals; they contain tiny bits of data! I am collecting relevant pieces together to try to gain information about the larger piece of First One’s tech they came from! If my initial calculations are correct the main structure should be about ten miles that way.” She thrust a finger toward the densest part of the jungle and let out a delighted laugh. “I never expected such advances in my research on such a primitive appearing island.”

Scorpia sighed. “But don’t you think we should maybe stay put for a little bit longer? I finally found a reliable source of food and water and the jungle is not striking me as a particularly safe place to travel. I saw these spider webs up in the canopy that have to have been as big as Hordak’s inner sanctum.”

“Research cannot advance without risks!” Entrapta shouted jumping to her feet. She paused and took in the setting moons. “Although maybe we should wait until daytime before venturing on. We will travel more efficiently with a reliable light source.”

Scorpia gave a relieved sigh. “Good. Let’s get the fire going again.”

***

When Catra woke from her nap the cabin was silent. She lay on her side for a moment, eyes closed, just absorbing the sensation of feeling rested. After a long minute she tried to roll over and managed to get her legs tangled up on the process. She cursed and forced herself up into a sitting position.

The cabin was small; one large room and the smaller space Micah had disappeared into from what she could tell. The building was oddly put together, haphazard logs and boards going every which way with no real obvious means of support. The irregular network created dozens of small pockets of shelves that seemed to contain a strange assortment of knick knacks. Some appeared to be scraps of cloth woven into small sculptures while others looked like animal bones or colorful rocks.

In the far corner was the cookfire where the now cold pot of stew was resting. A rack beside it was covered with wooden plates and bowls and utensils. In the center of the room was a large (or at least large for the space) wooden table and a single chair which looked as whimsically constructed as the rest of the place.

The door to the room where Micah had disappeared was still closed, although the strange white light seemed to have disappeared. Catra cast a glance over to Fredrich’s nest, but he had disappeared. She felt the tip of her tail fluff up a bit at the thought of him scurrying around the cabin somewhere.

Wait! Her tail! She hadn’t been able to feel it at all before she had fallen asleep. She whipped it around in front of her and twitched the tip back and forth a few times. A wave of relief washed over her. She was getting better. Slowly, but it was happening.

The door to the side room creaked open and Micah trudged through. A few stray hairs had escaped his top knot and the bags underneath his eyes looked more pronounced.

“You look better than when I left,” Micah commented as he sat down on the single chair pushed up against the table.

“You look decidedly worse,” said Catra.

Micah raised an eyebrow. “Not one for niceties, I see. I might have guessed being raised by the Horde.”

Catra scowled. “You don’t know anything about how I was raised.”

A strange look crossed Micah’s face but he shrugged and didn’t reply.

Catra studied her claws. After a minute she sighed and said. “What is a Magicat?”

Micah looked up at her. “You really don’t know? The Horde didn’t tell you anything about…? Well no, I guess they wouldn’t.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Micah shook his head. “Did you think you were the only one of your kind?”

Catra rolled her eyes. “Of course not. I’m not stupid. I know where the orphans at the Horde come from.” She shrugged and studied a claw. “I was just the only one like me in the Horde.” She frowned. “Not that it mattered.”

“The Magicats were a race of cat-hybrid people that lived in a forest on the outskirts of the Crimson Waste. Half-Moon. They were excellent warriors and very territorial, so they didn’t often venture outside of their territory. They were one of the last territories to fall to the Horde before the final stand of the Princess Alliance.”

“Final stand of the Princess Alliance,” Catra muttered. “If only.”

Micah raised an eyebrow.

“What’s it to you, old man.? Following Etherian politics from your hermit cave?”

Micah laughed. “I wasn’t always the ‘hermit’ of Beast Island, kitten. I didn’t end up here by accident any more than you did.”

“You’re telling me that you fought for the rebellion?”

“I never did understand that term. The rebellion. Hordak crash landed and started taking over one kingdom at a time; how does defending your home make you a rebel? I guess it all just depends on your perspective. But yes, I fought for the princesses. Is this where you tell me that Hordak just wanted a more ‘orderly’ Etheria?”

Catra looked away.

“Yeah you don’t strike me as a true believer.”

Catra snorted. “It’s easy to have high lofty beliefs when everyone loves you. I had to fight for everything I ever had. And then, boom, one mistake and lost it all just as fast. Scrap my way back to the top and now look at me.” She gestured to her useless legs. “Let’s just say I have a really practical view about idealism.”

Micah’s mouth quirked up in a little half smile. “That’s an interesting read of the situation. I think another version might be that you doubled down on your allegiance to a man you knew very well was selling half-truths and cruelty and it predictably did not work out in your favor. The princesses are not without their flaws, but at least their ideals are in earnest.”

“Yeah, earnest enough to make them all weak and vulnerable. No thank you.” Catra squirmed herself to a more comfortable position. “Why did you even bother to save me, an evil Horde solider, anyway? You never really answered that part. For all you know I’ve just come from attacking your favorite princess stronghold. Were you more a fan of the sarcastic mermaidy one or the hippie?”

“Honestly, I didn’t know who I was saving when I went in there,” he said, standing up. “And now here you are. My vulnerable ideals preclude me from tossing you out when you can’t walk.” He moved toward the door. “Or letting you starve to death on my bed. So, I’m going to do a bit of gardening and make dinner.”

“Stew?” Catra asked before could stop herself. She winced at the hopeful rise in her voice.

Micah smiled. “Yes, stew. You’ll get sick of it eventually. But it’s nice to have someone who appreciates my cooking.” He shot a look into the corner of the room and Catra could hear angry chittering from wherever Fredrich must be hiding. “Back in a few.”

***

Scorpia was miserable. She had sand in parts of her shell she couldn’t reach, the skin on the back of her neck was sunburned and every non-shell part of her body was itching both from bug bites and a strange rash that that had popped up on her right forearm. They had been walking for hours with Entrapta cheerfully chatting about technomagical interfaces while her prehensile hair seemed to have taken on the burden of walking and swatting away bugs.

“Oh dear,” muttered Entrapta suddenly, breaking off her technobabble stream-of-consciousness.

“What?” Scorpia asked through gritted teeth.

“Weeeell, I think there might be a slight error in my calculations.”

“And?”

“And I think maybe we’ve been walking the wrong direction for the past twenty minutes.”

Scorpia took a slow, deep breath in and out of her mouth. She turned and took a step but paused when Entrapta squeaked.

“Also, I think perhaps you’re standing in a bee’s nest.”

“A what’s nest?”

“Bees? Small yellow critters with stingers?”

Scorpia suddenly became aware of a loud humming bubbling up around her feet. She glanced down and saw the swarm slowly amassing and rising from what had looked like a pile of leaves when Scorpia had stepped on it.

“Run?” asked Scorpia.

“Run,” agreed Entrapta.

“AAAAAAAAAGH”

***

Catra was starting to get used to being in the cabin. Every day she was getting a little more movement in her legs. As Micah had explained it, the poison had spread from the initial site of her injury and retreated back in much the same manner. Eventually she was able to limp awkwardly around the cabin, dragging her right leg behind her and using the furniture to support her.

Micah took this as a sign that it was time for her to pitch in.

“Weeding?”

“Have you never seen a garden before?”

Catra just raised her eyebrows at him.

Micah closed his eyes for a moment and pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “Do I even want to know what is in those ration bars you were carrying around with you?”

“Protein, carbohydrates and a small amount of lipids with the requisite vitamin and mineral supplementation,” said Catra.

“H’okay. Well outside of the Horde we eat something called ‘food’ which generally comes from plants in the ground or animals that are used for meat. Since everything on Beast Island is generally more interested in eating us than becoming dinner meat is sparse so most of what I make is vegetable based. To get enough vegetables to feed you, me and a surprisingly voracious squirrel I grow them in a small plot of land in the back yard. That’s called a garden. And it needs weeding.”

Catra blinked at him.

“You know what, just come with me and I’ll show you.”

It was the first time Catra had ventured outside the cabin since waking up in it. The air was humid enough she could feel the fur on her tail puff up and her skin felt tacky almost immediately. Micah handed her a long stick to use as support as she limped out onto the front porch.

Immediately she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as the low hum of the jungle came rushing at her.

“Don’t worry,” said Micah, seeing her shrink back. “We’re protected here. As long as you stay back from the tree-line you’re pretty safe.”

“Pretty safe,” Catra muttered and deliberately chose not to ask how they were so protected.

“This is the garden,” Micah said, gesturing to a large dirt square that was subdivided into several smaller squares with neat lines of greenery poking up. “Come with me, we’ll start with the carrots.” He led her over to one of the patches and crouched down.

“This is a carrot,” he said, pulling one of the stalks out of the ground to reveal a long conical orange tuber. Catra recognized it from where she had seen bunches lying out on the kitchen table in the cabin. “They grow underground, so all that you can see is the stalks poking up which should pretty much all look like this,” he pointed to the green bit he’d pulled the carrot up with. “These other plants,” now he pointed to a thin vines growing next to the row of carrot stalks, “are weeds. As they grow, they will start to choke off the carrots and take over the garden. So, we pull them up.”

He tugged gently and the vine lifted with a shower of dirt. Catra could see dozens of smaller roots dividing from the piece Micah had pulled from.

“You want to try to pull them up with the roots still attached, otherwise they just come back. Like the carrots, there is often more beneath the dirt than above it.”

Catra set down her walking stick and lowered herself down sit on the ground, unable to crouch with her weak leg. She grasped one of the weeds and pulled sharply, ripping the stalk where it went into the ground. She glared at the small piece of greenery in her hand. “This is stupid.”

“You have to be gentle, otherwise they tear like that and then you have to go after the roots with a tool. Here, try again.”

Catra smacked the dirt with one hand. “Why am I doing this? I’m leaving as soon as I can walk without that stupid stick!”

“One possible reason might be as a favor to an old man who has shown you a great deal of hospitality,” replied Micah. There was not much bite to his words but Catra could feel her cheeks heat. “Another might be that I’m watching you go quietly stir-crazy sitting around the cabin all day so this might give you something to do aside from quelling your urge to chase Fredrich around the place.”

Catra’s blush deepened.

“Here, try this one,” Micah gestured to the small plant by Catra’s hand. “Just pull gently and wiggle it a little and you can free the whole thing. If it’s really stuck or you tear it again you can use this to wedge it free.” He handed her a small trowel.

Catra reluctantly took the trowel and reached for the weed. This time she tugged a little more softly and felt the dirt slowly give way before a familiar ripping sensation and the weed pulled away with a few thick broken roots. Catra growled and threw the plant to one side sending an arc of dirt into the air.

“Better,” said Micah. “You’ll get the hang of it soon.”

“Better?” she sneered. “At this rate you’re going to have to dig up your whole garden to get all the roots out.”

Micah shrugged. “The weeds will pop back up again and give us another shot even if we miss them this time. You can’t expect to be perfect at something the first time you try it.”

Catra stared at the dirt.

“Let me guess,” Micah said. “The Horde wasn’t too forgiving on the subject of failed first attempts.”

Catra ignored him and pulled at another weed. It seemed more deeply entrenched in the ground as she wiggled at it. She shoved down the urge to rip this one out and instead extended a claw into the dirt to break up some of the hard ground around the weed. There was a sudden giveaway and the majority of the plant seemed to come free with only a few of the smaller roots broken at the edge.

“Nice,” said Micah. “You work here, I’m going to head over to the tomatoes. Just shout if you need help.”

“Oh help, Micah, the plants are attacking me,” Catra mocked, pulling another weed that came up surprisingly easily. She regarded it with a

“Well as long as your biting sarcasm is intact, I think we will be okay,” Micah said with a chuckle as he hoisted himself to his feet and moved toward a different part of the garden with large green vines draped over wooden frames.

Catra worked her way down the rows of carrots, clearing away everything except for the carrot stalks. A few times she grew frustrated again, cursing or throwing broken weeds or, once, a carrot she had pulled up by mistake. Micah ignored her and by the time she reached the end of the row she was starting to find the gentle give of the weeds coming free sort of satisfying. She was taken by surprise when Micah’s hand touched her shoulder.

“It’s getting dark,” he said. “We should go inside for some supper.”

Catra jerked back to herself and was surprised to hear her stomach let out a low rumble. Micah helped her to her feet and handed her the walking stick, but she found as she moved that she scarcely needed it. She leaned on it heavily when Micah looked in her direction and made her way back into the cabin.

***

Catra dreamed.

She is back in the Fright Zone sitting on the bottom bunk with a blanket wrapped around her. She’s not crying but she can feel that deep ache in her chest that was a familiar marker of a run in with Shadow Weaver.

She hears a noise and looks up just in time to see a blond ponytail disappear around the corner.

“Adora?” she calls, jumping up and giving chase.

She rounds the corner only to see Adora disappear into another corridor.

“Adora, wait!” But this time she is facing an empty hallway when she rounds the corner.

“Did you think she would wait around for you?”

Catra jumps and whirls to see Shadow Weaver standing behind her, arms crossed over her chest.

“Adora has more important things than to wait for her needy little pet to get over herself.” Shadow Weaver leans down close. “Were you crying again? Pathetic. Get back to training. You’re late.”

The next thing she knows Catra is standing in the locker room alone. There is laughter coming from outside the door and she thinks she can pick out the familiar lilt of Adora’s giggle. The door swings open and the cadets stream in. Catra searches frantically for Adora’s blond pouf, but she can’t see her anywhere. She turns back to her locker and catches sight of Adora sitting on the bench pulling off her boots.

Catra slinks up beside her. “Not even going to say hi, princess?”

Adora treats her to a withering look. “I don’t know what you expected. You let us down again today.”

“I….”

“Save it Catra. I have to study.”

Adora stands to walk away.

“Wait!” Catra reaches out and grabs Adora’s shoulder and suddenly the scenery has changed in they are standing in the Whispering Woods.

“Wait!?” Adora jerks her arm from Catra’s grasp. “Why should I wait for you? You never waited for me. You never did anything for me! You whine and cry about how unfair everything was and how badly you were treated but we both know you deserved it. Maybe if you’d actually tried once in a while I wouldn’t have had to leave.”

“I…I tried,” Catra stammers. She can’t seem to get ahead of swelling pain in her gut. “I did try. Shadow Weaver….”

“Shadow Weaver values strength. She was hard on you because you’re so damn weak, Catra. She had no choice.”

“No….” Tears are starting to spill over. Stop, Catra thinks. You don’t cry like this. Not in front of people. Not in front of Adora.

“Ugh, look at you.” Adora’s face is full of disgust. “What a waste.” She turns and walks away.

Catra takes a step to go after her but her knees give out and she falls to the forest floor sobbing.

Catra woke up. Her cheeks were damp. She pushed to sit herself up and found it remarkably easy with both legs working. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She pressed her aching eyes against her knees and sat like that for the rest of the night.

***

“I think the signal has been shifting this entire time!” Entrapta studied her tracker pad. “It must operate under similar properties to the Whispering Woods, although in this case it doesn’t seem like the jungle is moving so much as certain structures within the jungle that give off very strong First One signals.”

They were gathered around a small fire in a clearing a few miles from where they had run into the bee’s nest. They had been relatively lucky; Scorpia had three stings and Entrapta had escaped with just one on her ankle. After that she had agreed to set up camp for the night and continue their quest for the First One’s signal in the morning.

“Fantastic,” said Scorpia, poking the fire with a long stick. The sting on her neck ached.

“It appears we are about five miles off at this point, but I have adjusted my calculations slightly in hopes of accounting for the movements.”

Scorpia sighed as her stomach growled. “I don’t suppose that thing can give us any information on where to find some sort of food product other than berries. I’m fairly certain that a diet exclusively berries is not going to be very healthy.”

“Oh, that would be useful. Maybe I can design something once we get back to the Fright Zone!”

Scorpia looked up. “Once we get back to…. Entrapta, what do you think we’re doing here?”

“Looking for the First One’s tech on Beast Island.”

“No…I mean…do you think that Hordak sent us here? For a mission?”

Entrapta’s eyes darted from Scorpia’s face to the fire and back again. “No. I mean, I know that Catra was mad about me not wanting to activate the portal because of the whole ‘possibly could destroy all of time and space’ thing. And I heard that Beast Island is supposed to be some sort of Horde prison, so I guess being sent here makes me a prisoner. Oh! And then you came along to keep me company. Which maybe means you are a prisoner too, although I don’t know what you did to anger Catra. It seems pretty easy to do these days. But now we’re here and this island is full of mysteries so, I figure, why dwell on the whole ‘prisoner’ thing. I mean I started out as a prisoner of the Horde in the first place and that turned out to be great!”

The stick snapped in Scorpia’s claw.

“We are here because Catra sent you to your death! Don’t you get it? Beast Island is not a place you come back from. It’s a place you get sent and then you are never. Heard. From. Again!”

Scorpia stood up and threw her stick into the fire. “We’re not going back to the Fright Zone. she shouted, towering over Entrapta who just stared up at her with wide eyes. “You are not going to bring Hordak a treasure trove of First One’s tech! The most likely thing that is going to happen to us is that we are both going to be eaten by something huge and mean and everyone we ever knew or cared about is going to think we were traitors. And I….” Scorpia sniffed as tears started to leak out of her eyes.

“I came with you because what Catra did was wrong and I…I know she would have realized that eventually, but she was so angry…. And I wanted to protect you but now I’m going to die out here and you don’t even care. All you care about is your precious tech.” Scopria sank back down and buried her head and her claws.

There was silence except for Scorpia’s ragged sobs and the quiet crackling of the fire. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder.

“I…I never really had any friends other than my robots until recently,” said Entrapta softly. “I’m not very good at being a friend myself—too many parameters—but I do know that you are a very good friend, Scorpia. According to my calculations, you are my best friend, actually.”

Scorpia sniffed and turned her head to the side to look at Entrapta.

“I do know that this is dangerous and that you gave up a lot to come with me. I’m sorry if I made you feel taken for granted.  I thought that if I could find this signal maybe I could find something that would help us out here but…maybe I’ve been a little too fixated. I tend to do that.” She gave a little laugh. “My robots never really cared enough to call me on it.”

Scorpia took a shaky breath. “Yeah I….” Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “That makes sense Entrapta. I…uh…I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“That’s okay!” Entraptra said. “I do better if you tell me things plainly. Not as many parameters to navigate.”

Scorpia nodded. “In that case…I need a break. We have been walking for days and I don’t have mechanical hair to help me out. And we need more food and water. Perhaps we could camp here tonight and tomorrow, find some more supplies and….”

Scorpia was cut off by a low growl coming from behind them.

“Uh…Entrapta?”

“Yes? You were saying? More supplies….” Entrapta had her tracker pad out, goggles down and was typing with her hair.

“Remember what I said about us most likely being eaten by something very large?”

Entrapta looked up. “I do.”

“That may be happening much sooner than I had hoped.” The statement was punctuated by another low growl.

They turned slowly. At first all Scorpia could see was blackness and underbrush, but the fire flared and suddenly they could see the glint off two golden eyes peering at them through the darkness.

The growl became louder as a large creature stepped into view. In addition to the yellow eyes, it was covered in pitch-dark fur with long tusks and a rope of saliva dripping from its mouth.

In unison Scorpia and Entrapa were both on their feet backing away slowly as the creature stalked forward.

“We need to run,” hissed Scorpia.

“It’s going to catch us,” Entrapta said, voice high pitched.

“Definitely. But what choice do we have. On the count of three. One…two…THREE!” Scorpia turned to run, one arm reaching to grab at Entrapta but finding empty air. Scorpia turned back just in time to watch Entrapta rushing forward.

“Entrapta, no!” shouted Scorpia as Entrapta launched herself toward the beast using her hair as a springboard.

“You stay back!” Entrapta shouted as she fell toward the creature. One hand shot out, wielding the bag of data crystals like a slingshot, smacking against the top of the animal’s snout.

To Scorpia’s shock the creature let out a loud whimper and broke off its attack, falling to the side.

Entrapta managed to steer herself with her hair and three-point landed facing the retreating beast and looking (Scorpia had to admit it) pretty badass.

The beast ran off whimpering into the woods.

“Entrapta that was amazing!” Scorpia ran toward her and scooped her up into a hug. “How did you know that was going to work?”

“I didn’t!” said Entrapta. “As a rule, I would prefer not to make calculations based on so little data, but from what I could figure the odds of fighting seemed better than running. Although I have to admit that was way more effective than I expected.”

“You’re telling me.” Scorpia set her down on the ground. “Any idea what just happened?”

Entrapta looked at the small pouch in her hand. “It seems that the beast was responding to the First One’s tech in a negative fashion. I would need more experiments to determine if this is effective for all of the beings on this island or if was only the one we just encountered. I am also not certain if there is a specific data crystal in this collection that was effective or if it was the large quantity I have collected. Perhaps with further analysis I could determine….”

“Okay ‘Trapta…how about if we revisit that idea tomorrow while we have some down time?’

“Down time!” Entrapta raised herself up on her hair to be eye to eye with Scorpia. “This is all the more reason to find the central First One’s technology stash as soon as possible. Now that we have a safe means of travel, we could leave tonight and....” She paused and studied Scorpia’s face for a moment. “I mean…right! Down time. Analysis, tomorrow!”

“And then on to the First One’s stash the day after,” agreed Scorpia with a relieved sigh.

***

“What is it?” Catra asked, taking the leather object in one hand.

“It’s a book,” said Micah. He looked pained. “I take it you didn’t have books in the Fright Zone?”

Catra shook her head. “What do you do with it?”

“You read it. Oh! I didn’t even ask if you can read.”

Catra scowled at him. “I can read. We had plenty of things we needed to read in the Horde. Like duty rosters and troop rotations and battle maneuvers. And there were like…pamphlets about the Fright Zone and the Horde.”

“In other parts of Etheria, people use writing to tell stories. Sometimes they were true stories about history and sometimes they were untrue stories that were just told for fun.”

Catra raised her eyebrows. “Untrue stories told for fun.”

“No one even told stories in the Fright Zone.” The line between his eyebrows grew deeper.

“We told stories,” Catra muttered. “I was just never into all the spooky princess tales. Adora was the one who ate that shit up.”

“If you don’t like it you can just stop reading it. But I thought it might give you something else to do while I’m working. There are only so many weeds in the garden.”

Catra felt her cheeks heat and she looked down at the tome in front of her. Once she had gotten the hang of gardening it had become difficult for Micah to get her back indoors. She found a weird satisfaction in lifting the weeds out of the dirt and had developed her claw-trowel method in a way that extracted even the most stubborn of root systems without breakage.

She had also dispensed with the walking stick in the past day. Micah had yet to comment on her new mobility and Catra hadn’t brought up leaving again.

“This book is written about the world of the Princesses, so there may be some things you don’t recognize as you go through. But just ask if you run into anything too peculiar.”

Catra opened it to the first page. “The Cat Queen,” she read. She raised an eyebrow at Micah who grinned.

“I thought this might give you a bit of an idea of what Magicat society was like, even though the events are made up. Don’t worry, there are plenty of action scenes. A little romance too.” He wigged his eyebrows and grinned. Catra rolled her eyes.

Micah stood. “I have some work to do. You can tell me what your thoughts are later this afternoon.”

Catra watched Micah disappear into the side room. A moment later that familiar, unsettling white light started to leak through the slats of the doorway. Catra sighed and opened the book to the first page.

She read for the better part of an hour and had to admit that for all the times she rolled her eyes at colorful descriptions of jungle castles built high in the trees and bizarre customs, the story was much more engrossing than any battle maneuvers she had read about.

She was eventually interrupted by Fredrich who had chosen to perch near his nest and chitter at her.

Catra sighed and closed the book. “You know I can’t understand you like Micah can,” she told him. “All you ever do is get my hackles up.”

She wasn’t entirely sure if Fredrich could understand her, but he chittered again and held something up in the air.

It was the remote to call back the Horde ship.

“You little shit!” shouted Catra and lunged toward him.

Fredrich chittered and dashed across the network of shelves. Catra, clumsy after so long without full use of her limbs, careened into the wall, missing him. She growled, tail twitching, and gave in fully to the instinct to track and pounce.

Fredrich dashed across the floor. Catra followed him with her eyes trying to anticipate where he would go. She saw him aiming for the rack of cookware and sprang after. He dodged just in time and made a break for the closed door of the work room where Micah had gone. Catra could see a squirrel-sized hole a few inches from the floor where the door met the hinge.

“Oh no you don’t,” she muttered. This time she leaped ahead of his path and slapped one paw down beside creature.

Fredrick let out a squeak, dropped the remote and leapt over her paw, narrowly escaping through a hole in the floor just under the bed.

Catra sat back against the side-room door panting feeling both embarrassed and triumphant. She turned the remote over in her hand. Her finger brushed over the single button in the center. She imagined pushing it, right now, sitting on the floor of Micah’s cabin. The boat would show up. No Catra or Entrapta to be found. And then it would leave; no second chances. No going back.

Why would we go back? Catra could hear Scorpia’s voice in her head. Let’s stay here. Forget Hordak. Forget Adora. Forget all of them. We could, you know…be happy.

The light from behind the door flared up again and reflected off the metal of the remote. Catra felt her stomach turn and her finger slid off the remote’s trigger. She twisted around and saw a small gap between the slats of the door.

She shouldn’t.

But then again when had Catra ever done what she should.

She pressed her face against the door and peered through the gap.

At first all she saw was light. She squinted and wondered if the reason she felt so unsettled was because this reminded her of the She-Ra transformations. Then her vision cleared. She could see Micah standing over a large bowl with his arms stretched up in front of him. From her angle on the floor she couldn’t see the contents of the bowl, but she could see a light pattern rising from it. She watched his hands forming intricate patterns in the air as lines of light emitted from his fingers and drifted to join the circular design. In the very center was a clear blue crystal that glowed brighter and dimmer in a slow pulse. Just beyond it was the ghostly outline of a person with long hair looking out over a cliff.

Catra let out a yelp and threw herself backwards from the door, crashing into the chair. It fell to ghe ground with a loud bang.

The glow behind the door abruptly stopped and a moment later the door swung open.

“If you need something else to do at least go into the garden and leave poor Fredrich…Catra?” Micah stopped when he saw her. Catra was crouched beside the fallen chair, eyes wide, muscles locked in place, the fur on the tip of her tail standing on end.

“Catra, are you okay?” He held up one hand and Catra jumped backward again, skidding into a defensive position.

“I saw,” she hissed. “I saw what you were doing in there.”

“Saw what I was…?”

“You’re like her,” she hissed. “How did I miss it? What do you want with me?”

“Catra, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who are you talking about?”

“Shadow Weaver!” Catra shouted. “I know what sorcery looks like!”

Micah froze, arm still outstretched toward her. “Wait,” he said. “It’s not what you think.”

“And what do I think, Micah?” Catra shouted, horrified to wetness springing to her eyes. She squeezed her hands into fists and realized she was still clutching the remote. She had almost just…. “What could I possibly think watching you do magic just like her.”

“It’s not like her. Catra, please! I…it’s complicated. I’m not like her. Just let me explain.”

He took a step forward and Catra immediately moved backwards, scrambling up onto the table, crouching with one hand outstretched, claws unsheathed.

“Don’t you dare get near me!” She turned and started to run toward the door. It wasn’t until her hand touched the knob that she realized she had been bracing for the familiar cold sensation of magic freezing her muscles into place.”

Instead Micah shouted, “I’m sorry! I never meant to lie to you. I was going to explain once I thought you would stay long enough to hear me out. I didn’t want to let you down again!”

Catra paused, gripping the handle.  

“Again?”

She looked back at Micah and was shocked by the expression on his face. Not the anger or fear or disappointment she expected. He looked…sad.

“This isn’t the first time our paths have crossed, Catra. You…wouldn’t remember—it was a very long time ago—but I…I will never forget it.”

Catra let her hand slip from the doorknob.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked.

Micah shrugged. “I don’t know if you should or could. But just…hear me out? I won’t lie to you anymore. About anything. And if you want to leave after you hear everything…well, I won’t stop you.”

Catra looked back toward the door. She stared at the wood grain, the cracks between the slats.

Her other hand was still clutching the remote. For a moment Catra couldn’t breathe. She reached for the door and turned the knob.

“Please?”

Catra please! You don’t have to do this.

Catra released the doorknob and walked over to the bed. She sat herself cross legged on the grass-stuffed mattress and pointed to the chair across the room.

“You stay there. Tell me your story. Don’t come close to me. Don’t even start to do any magic or I’m gone, and I’ll probably rip your face open on my way out. Don’t test me; I’ve done it before.”

Micah nodded and sank down into the chair.

“It’s a long story,” he started.

***

“I guess I should start with the woman you know as Shadow Weaver. When I met her, she was known as Light Spinner and she was one of the most powerful sorcerers in Mystacor. I was a young student there and I admired her above all my other teachers. She recognized some talent in me and after a great deal of pestering she took me on as her apprentice. I was so flattered; she had this way of making her favored students feel like they were at the center of the universe. But I take it you know something about that?”

Catra scowled down at her hands. “Not from personal experience.”

“Adora?” Micah asked. Catra eyes shot up. “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

“This isn’t about me,” snapped Catra. Micah nodded.

“I was willing to do whatever she said to stay in her favor. Frequently that involved bending or sometimes outright breaking rules of the academy. Light Spinner always felt that she was underrecognized for her skills and at the time I thought she might have had a point. I guess in retrospect the masters recognized a hunger for power that I missed. Or…shared.

“One day she went too far. She used me to help her tap into a spell she had no business using and it backfired. The spell…it changed her somehow, scarred her face and turned her into whatever it was that became Shadow Weaver. She was cast out of Mystacor, cut off from magic and the masters told me that she was gone forever. They agreed to let me complete my training under heavy supervision after that. I wanted to put the whole thing behind me, but I always suspected she wouldn’t have just faded away like that.

“Light Spinner…Shadow Weaver was wrong about a lot of thing in Mystacor, but she did recognize that the masters were too passive when it came to bigger threats to Etheria. They expected the outside world to take care of itself. But with the Horde starting to eat up kingdoms, I couldn’t just stand by. When I completed my training, I left Mystacor and joined the rebellion. I met my wife. We had a child together, a baby girl.” Micah smiled for a moment before clearing his throat. “And together we fought against the Horde.”

“This is all nauseatingly pure, but maybe we could skip ahead a bit?” Catra interrupted.

Micah rolled his eyes but continued. “All the kingdoms have different protections, but the lands closest to the Fright Zone were the most vulnerable to the Horde. We lost ground fast before we created the Alliance and it was all we could do just to hold the line.

“One day we got the call from Half Moon, the kingdom of the Magicats.” Catra’s ear twitched. “I lead the troops as part of our aid effort, but when we got there it was already too late.

“The people of Half Moon…they were a proud people. They refused to surrender, even when the battle was clearly hopeless. I think perhaps they were holding out hope that reinforcements would arrive in time but…. When we got there the jungle kingdom was on fire and the few survivors were making a last stand or fleeing. We tried to join the fight but the Horde had already taken the castle as a stronghold, so it was as though we were the invaders. We never stood a chance.

“In the midst of the battle there was a break in the fighting, and I turned to see a familiar figure moving across the battleground. I don’t know how I recognized her—she looked so different from the woman I knew from Mystacor—but I knew immediately it was her. Light Spinner, now fully Shadow Weaver. She had something in her arms, thrown partly over one shoulder and when she turned, I could see it was a person. A Magicat child, maybe two years old, with a brown mane, grey tufts, and two mismatched eyes, one yellow and one blue.

“I pointed my staff at her head and shouted for her to stop. She did and turned to face me.

“She recognized me immediately, which threw me off guard. She looked so different I almost expected her to be a different person. But she spoke to me with the same affection she always had.

“I told her to put down the child and surrender. She laughed and told me the fight was over and I should go back home. I had a clear shot. One blast and it would have been over. I couldn’t save the rest of the kingdom, but I could save this one child and rid the word of Shadow Weaver forever.” He cast his eyes downward.

“But I couldn’t do it. I hesitated too long and, in that time, she was able to summon the power to freeze me in place. I thought she was going to kill me right then, but she walked up and stroked my cheek just like she used to do when I was her pupil. She told me it would be a waste to take my life and that the time we had worked together still meant so much to her.

“She took my staff and left me for the soldiers to tie me up. I watched her float away, unable to move or look another direction. But the clearest memory I have is watching those two mismatched eyes, one blue and one yellow, blinking at me over her shoulder as she faded into the smoke.”

Catra didn’t say anything for a minute and continued to stare at the floor. Finally, she sighed.

“You’re lying,” she stated.

“I swear, I’m not,” Micah said. “I…I did lie you before, but just about how I found you. I wasn’t just wandering through the woods in the middle of the night. I saw your boat land and I recognized you. I had Fredrich follow you and warn me when you were in danger. But everything else I told you is true.”

Catra shook her head. “Why would Shadow Weaver take a child from a battle? She never even went to the battles. And the only wards she raised were me and…Adora. And Adora was special.” She sneered through the word. “She hated me.”

“I…have my theories on that front,” said Micah. “Light Spinner only ever gave attention to the trainees she thought were the most naturally gifted. Generally, children from magical pedigrees. She used to talk about how the greatest potential student would be the offspring of a sorcerer and a royal. Able to channel sorcery with the power of a runestone.”

Catra snorted. “Well she miscalculated there if she thought that was what she was getting by kidnapping me.”

“It was a miscalculation. You are not a princess…”

“Obviously.” Catra rolled her eyes.

“…but the daughter of the Magicat queen did, in fact, have a sorcerer for a father. And she would have just turned 2 years old at the Battle of Half Moon.”

He paused as Catra put the pieces together. “She thought I was the princess.” It suddenly seemed harder to breathe. “You think she took me expecting I would be her next protégé and then…what, found out I was just normal?” Her voice kept seeming to climb in pitch without her permission. She could almost hear Shadow Weaver’s voice in her head. If you ever do anything to jeopardize Adora’s future, I will dispose of you myself. “She…that’s why she….” Catra was gasping now. “She hated me. All. Because I was….” She grabbed at her throat. “I can’t…I can’t breathe.”

Micah leaned forward in the chair.

“Don’t,” Catra shouted, one hand on her chest, the other pointing a claw in his direction. “Stay there.” She sucked in short bursts of air barely able to get the words out. “What. Did you do. To me,” she gasped.

“It’s not me,” said Micah. “You’re having a panic attack. Just…concentrate on your breathing.”

“What. Does it. Look like I’m. Doing,” Catra growled. Her head was swimming. I will dispose of you myself, she could hear the words on a loop in her mind. Dispose of you. “No!” Her lips felt numb.

“Catra! Listen to me!” She could barely hear him over the roaring in her hears. “You need to focus on something else. Think about a part of your body. Your left foot. Think about your left foot.”

Catra shot him an incredulous look.

“It helps, I promise. Just focus on your left foot. Don’t think about your breathing, think about your foot and your toes and your ankle.”

Catra forced her mind to focus on her left foot. She wigged her toes and extended her claws in and out. She rolled her ankle in a circle.

“Now your right foot.”

Catra shifted her attention to her right foot and did the same. There was still a small pain in her lower calf from where the spinder had stung her. She focused on that sensation until the roaring in her ears seemed to subside.

“Better?”

Catra opened her eyes, only then realizing she had closed them in the first place. Her breathing was calmer although the staccato rhythm of her heart was still going strong. She met Micah’s warm, concerned eyes.

“What was that?” she asked.

“I think it was your body’s response to…what I told you. It happens. When I first came here, I used to have panic attacks all the time. It took me a long time to learn how to break them. I usually just go from body part to body part, starting with my feet and moving up gradually.  I focus on each one for a second and at some point, I’ve distracted myself enough from the panic that I can function again. How do you feel?”

Catra thought about her answer for a long moment.

“Exhausted,” she said. “I can’t…I can’t think about this anymore.”

Micah nodded.

“I meant what I said. If you choose to leave, I won’t stop you. But please stay for tonight? It’s dark and the jungle is so much more dangerous at night.”

Catra nodded, too tired to argue. She felt so raw and wrung out. She tilted to her side until she was lying horizontally on the bed.

Micah looked on and gave a half smile. He pointed down at the chair where he sat. “Do you mind if I?”

Catra almost laughed. She felt too weak to fight Fredrich right now. “Go ahead,” she said with a little gesture in his direction. Micah stood up and pushed the chair in.

Catra rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling, the little knots and whorls of the wood grain. She blinked her eyes and it felt so heavy to open them again. She closed her eyes again and almost instantly she was asleep.

***

Catra dreamed.

She is in the prison cell with Shadow Weaver, on her knees, arms wrapped around bare shoulders. Shadow Weaver reaches out toward her cheek. Catra flinches but lets her cup the side of her face gently in one hand.

“I will admit I was hard on you,” says Shadow Weaver. “But can you blame me?”

The grip of her face tightens, and nail-tips dig into the skin of her jawline.

“You’re hurting me,” Catra whispers. She can’t pull away.

“You were never anything but a burden to the Horde. Another mouth to feed. And yet I kept you around. For what? Certainly not for your gratitude.”

The nails dig deeper. Catra thinks she can feel blood dripping down her cheek.  “You never gave me a chance….”

“Silence! I should have disposed of you the moment I learned your true nature. It would have spared us all a lot of grief.”

Catra forces herself to look up at Shadow Weaver’s expressionless mask. “Then why didn’t you?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“Because of me.”

Catra’s eyes focus behind Shadow Weaver as Adora steps into view. She rests one hand on Shadow Weaver’s shoulder.

“I was the only one who ever wanted you. I was the only one who ever protected you.”

“You should have let me die,” Catra spits.

Adora gives her a sad smile. “I probably should have.”

Catra woke up with tears streaming down her cheeks.

The cabin was dark and quiet aside from the soft snores coming from the bed roll on the floor.

Catra stood up slowly and padded over to where Micah was sleeping and sat down cross-legged on the floor beside him. She studied his face; brow relaxed so the crevices of his forehead were smoothed to thin lines. There were speckles of grey in his pitch-black hair, thickest around the temples and scattered through the coarse beard. His breathing was slow and measured, giving a faint nasal snore as he breathed in and the slow puff of air as he breathed out again.

Catra put her hand in the top of his head and the breathing shallowed out suddenly.

A second later Micah inhaled suddenly, and his eyes shot open.

“C…Catra?”

“I have this memory,” said Catra. Then she paused. Micah waited and said nothing. He didn’t even seem to be breathing.

“I think it might be my first memory, but things are so jumbled from the early years. I remember Shadow Weaver taking me into a room and sitting me down on bunk. She stroked my hair and cupped my cheek and told me that this was my home now and she would take care of me. She told me we would do great things together. And then she called Adora over and I saw this chubby little blond thing who was one big smile. She took my hand and I felt…safe. Maybe. I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that again.”

Catra reaches up to touch one of tufts of hair by her ear. “If what you said was true that must have been when she still thought I was some…Princess-Mage or something. I don’t know how soon after that she gave up on me. But I never really forgot that feeling. Even long after I stopped trying to get it back.”

Micah struggled himself into a sitting position.

“She does have that effect on people,” he said, voice scratchy from sleep.

Catra clenched one fist and glared at the ground. “It doesn’t change anything,” she said. “I knew she was cruel; I knew she was unfair. I knew I was better than she ever gave me credit for. Why do I still care what she thinks?”

Micah put his hand over her fist and squeezed lightly. “She was your mother for all intents and purposes. I don’t think you can logic away the importance of that person in your life. No matter how terrible she was.”

Catra looked up at him. “If you could go back…if you could have a second chance. To kill her. Would you do it?”

Micah stared and their joined hands for a long minute before answering. “I don’t know.”

Catra sighed and slumped. “Yeah me neither.”

“I think about it all the time,” Micah admitted. “I wonder if she was ever genuine—if she ever really cared about doing the right thing and protecting people—or if it was always just about power. I know she manipulated me but…sometimes I wonder if she knew that was what she was doing. I wonder how much of who she is today is because of her corrupted magic and how much was just who she would always have become when Mystacor wasn’t enough. I wonder if she ever really loved me, or just saw me as a tool to greater power.”

“Why is it so hard to just hate her?” asked Catra.

Micah put an arm over Catra’s shoulder. “You don’t have to hate her. Or love her. You just have to find a way to love yourself despite her.”

Catra sniffed and wiped a tear from one eye. “That’s a nauseating sentiment.”

“Don’t deflect,” said Micah. “It’s true.”

Catra sighed. “If nothing else it seems like a project that will require a little more sleep,” she muttered.

Micah chuckled. “Fair enough. Go back to bed, kitten. We will talk more tomorrow.”

Catra stood and padded across the room back to the bed. She paused before climbing in but didn’t look at Micah. “I guess this means I’m staying.”

“Glad to hear it. The place would be too quiet without you.”

***

“This is it, huh?” Scorpia ran a hand along the smooth stone at the side of the pyramid that had seemingly just appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the jungle. “Entrapta?” she said when there was no reply. She turned and saw the other woman staring at the monument with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“I have been looking for this my entire life,” whispered Entrapta.

“Ooookay.” Scorpia stepped back a bit and looked up toward the vanishing point at the top of the building. “But how do we get in?”

“I don’t know!” exclaimed Entrapta. “But I am going to find out!” She plopped down on the ground and started typing furiously into her tracker pad.

After a few minutes Scorpia got tired watching her and decided to wander around the base of the structure. The surface was a smooth, glass-like polished stone that seemed carved into intricate patterns that fit together with only the faintest of gaps. Scorpia had the sense that from distance the shapes might form together into a coherent image or words but this close she couldn’t really make out much.

She had almost finished her circuit when she heard Entrapta shout “I’ve got it!” and there was a sound of stone grinding against stone. Scorpia ran around the corner just in time to see Entrapta about to step through a doorway that had just opened in the side of the structure.

“Entrapta, wait!”

Entrapta paused and waved at Scorpia before disappearing through the opening.

“You will be the end of me, woman!” Scorpia muttered, starting to jog forward as the sound of grinding started up again and the rock began to shift and close.

“I hope you have a plan for getting out of here!” Scorpia shouted as she dove forward, sliding through the contracting entrance moments before it sealed up again.

Inside it is pitch black aside from the glow from Entrapta’s tracker pad. Scorpia follows the faint light forward until she nearly knocks Entrapta over at the entrance to a large circular chamber.

Entrapta has the same look on her face as she did outside the ruin; wide eyes and utter joy.

“I take it this was what you were looking for?”

“I have no idea!” Scorpia winced at the volume. “I can’t wait to find out!” Entrapta ran forward to the center of the room and once again settled herself on the floor, eyes focused on the tracker pad. Scorpia sighed and decided to do her own exploration.

The chamber was almost 200 feet in diameter, again made of that strange smooth stone material with networks of interweaving lines forming intricate patterns. Scorpia made her way to the edge of the circle to try to get a better look at the whole pattern, but she still couldn’t seem to get a great view. She glanced around and saw a short flight of stairs up on an overhang on the opposite side of the circle.

“Sure, why not,” she muttered and made her way across the room. She shot a backwards glance to where Entrapta still sat, furiously typing, and made her way up the staircase.

From this vantage point she could easily see the pattern on the chamber floor. It appeared to be an intricate series of circles surrounding a large figure with a winged helm and holding a large sword.

“Of course,” muttered Scorpia. “More She-ra.”

Turning around she was met without another relief in the wall behind the staircase she had just climbed up. This did not seem to form any figure, just concentric ovals one inside the other, in places overlapping. Smaller circles sat at irregular intervals on the larger lines. At the center was a large circular yellow crystal.

“Hey Entrapta,” Scorpia called. “I think I found one of those data-crystal-y things you like so much!” She stuck a claw into the indentation on the side of the gem and managed to wedge it free. The crystal popped free, but immediately slipped free of her pinchers. She juggled it for a second before managing to catch it balanced on her outstretched arms.

“Don’t touch anything,” she heard Entrapta shout back to her. “This place has a pretty robust security system.”

“Uh…too late?”

Suddenly, the chamber went dark. The lines forming the patterns on the walls and floor glowed an ominous red.

“Uh, Entrapta?”

“Time to go!” came the response from below.

Scorpia was already moving toward the stairs back down to the first floor, but the passageway was pitch black. She reached her arms out blindly, claw grazing the edge of the chamber wall. Her foot tripped over the top of the first step and she pitched forward into the darkness, barely catching herself before falling face first into….

Eyes. Pinpoints of bright white flicked into view in front of Scorpia and seem to float toward her in the darkness. She scrambles backwards back up the stairs.

“Entrapta! I’m stuck!”

“Get to the landing!”

Scorpia ran out to the area overlooking the main chamber and looked down. She winced. It was maybe a 15 foot drop down, definitely a risk of a broken leg.

She turned around and yelped as she saw the eyes had formed themselves into spider-creatures that were rushing toward her.

"Jump!” shouted Entrapta from below.

“Easy for you to say,” Scorpia called back, leaning back against the balcony as one of the spider legs reached out to swipe at her.

A purple tendril appeared suddenly and snaked around her torso, plucking her off the landing just as the spider launched a ropey web in her direction.

Entrapta’s hair set Scorpia down beside the other princess.

“How are we going to get out of here?” Scorpia asked, seizing Entrapta’s shoulders.

“With science!” Entrapta said with a giggle and started typing on the tracker pad again.

“Uh…’Trapta? I don’t think now is quite the time for an experiment?” The spider creatures had made their way down the and a swarm of beetle looking creatures were coming from a separate staircase on the other side of the chamber.

“Not an experiment,” said Entrapta as she continued to type furiously. “A failsafe!”

Suddenly the floor below them opened.

“Wuaaaaaah!” shouted Scorpia, grabbing for Entrapta as they both fell straight down a hidden hatch in the floor that seconds ago has been a relief of the tip of She-Ra’s sword.

They fell only about a foot before hitting a chute and starting to slide.

“Entrapta! Where is this taking us?”

“Outside! Hopefully! Also, possibly to the basement.”

“What’s in the basement?”

“I don’t know! But I would guess more security drones.”

Scorpia clung to Entrapta and prayed to Hordak that they would not be exploring a whole new part of this death trap. Thankfully the chute spat them out of the side of the pyramid and onto the jungle floor.

“Ugh,” said Scorpia, rolling onto her side and then slowly clambering to her feet. “Are you okay, Entrapta? That was a rough landing.”

“No injuries here! And this tracker pad has certainly been through worse.” Entrapta held up the device and gave it a gentle pat.

Scorpia looked up at the pyramid and…it was gone?

“What? Where did…?”

“I told you, it moves. I think we probably triggered a protective migration algorithm by messing with the tech inside.”

“Oh, Entrapta! I’m so sorry!” Scorpia sank down onto her knees. “I ruined everything.” She buried her head in her claws.

“What are you talking about? This was fantastic!”

“I touched something when I shouldn’t have and now the whole First One’s ruin is gone. I screwed up and now all of the technology you wanted is lost!”

“Don’t be silly,” said Entrapta, tabbing through something on the screen of the tablet. “That much First One’s tech is too complicated even for me to analyze in one sitting. I managed to download more than enough to keep me busy for months!”

Scorpia sighed. “You don’t have to say that just to make me feel better.”

Entrapta paused, one finger hovering in the hair over the tracker pad. “Why would I say things to make you feel better?” she asked, curiously.

Scorpia opened her mouth to explain but then paused and laughed.

“You know you were wrong, ‘Trapta.”

“I highly doubt that. I miscalculate from time to time but is usually based on sound….”

“No, I mean you’re a pretty good friend. Thank you for saving me in there.”

Entrapta beamed at her. “You are welcome, Scorpia! Also thank you for this!” She held up the yellow data crystal with one hair tentacle, eyes wide and shining with excitement. “Oh, the things you and I will be able to accomplish little guy.”

***

Micah held the long handle out to Catra who just stared at the tool dubiously.

“It’s a hoe,” he said.

“You say that as though it will clarify something for me,” Catra replied.

“Well if you would take it and follow me you might find further explanation forthcoming.”

Catra made a face but accepted the hoe, following Micah out to the garden.

“Now that there are two of us, we can expand some more and try to grow some different things. In order to do that we need to break up the ground enough to plant the new stuff and that’s where the hoe comes in.” He demonstrated digging the sharp end into the dirt below.

Catra eyed it skeptically. “Can’t I just use my claws?”

Micah huffed and swung the hoe down again. “Oh, the vigor of youth. You make my back hurt just thinking about it. Yes, I suppose you could, but it’s only fun until you get one of those razors stuck in a root and it pulls out.”

Catra winced. “Point taken,” she said. She picked up the hoe and mimicked his action. The earth beneath her the hoe’s tip cracked and crumbled into soft, dark dirt. “What are we going to grow anyway?” she asked.

Micah’s eyes lit up. “These,” he said, reaching into his pouch and producing a small, red fruit with little seeds scattered on the outside. He held it out to Catra. “Try this.”

Catra accepted it and took a bite. Juicy, tart sweetness flooded into her mouth and without thinking she closed her eyes.

“Oh,” she whispered. “What is it?”

“A strawberry!” said Micah. “I found a grove of wild ones a few months back but they’re so temperamental to grow in a garden I didn’t want to spare the space trying to cultivate them here. But now that I have your help, I figure we can take the risk.”

“I will definitely help you grow more of those,” said Catra. “I am fully committed to the effort.”

Micah laughed. “Ever the solider.”

They worked for a few hours in relative silence. Eventually they reached the end of the area Micah had designated to the project.

Catra wiped sweat of from brow and leaned against the hoe. She glanced over at Micah and then back down at the dirt.

“Go on,” said Micah. “I’ve been feeling you thinking about saying something to me all morning. I’m honestly shocked you’ve shown this much restraint.”

Catra felt her cheeks flush. “After our conversation the other night you never really told me…. I was wondering what you were doing. In the other room. With magic?”

Micah’s brow furrowed. “An oversight on my part. It’s not a secret anymore. Come with me, we’re due for a break.”

Micah led Catra through the previously forbidden door in the back of the cabin.

It still took effort to quell the wave of fear when Catra saw the large bowl in the middle of the room with the gem hovering above it. There was no light emanating from the objects now but Catra could still see echoes of the spell pattern in her mind’s eye.

“Ever since I found myself stranded on this island, I have been trying to find a way out,” said Micah. Catra absently touched the bag tied to the belt at her hip where she had taken to keeping the Horde remote.  “I expect for all she raised you, Shadow Weaver never told you much about the magical arts?” Catra shook her head. “Even the strongest sorcerers need a focus to cast magic. That is usually in the form of a crystal. Mystacore had thousands of crystals for its sorcerers to use, but when I left, I only took two with me. One I used to make my staff, which of course was lost in the Battle of Half Moon. The other I…well let’s just say Light Spinner’s unorthodox lessons mean I’m seldom unprepared. I managed to hide it well enough that it came with me to Beast Island. I’ve been using it to try to contact my family back in Bright Moon.”

Catra froze. “Bright Moon?” she asked hoarsely.

“For the first several years I was pretty resoundingly unsuccessful.” Micah continued. “My magic with the one crystal wasn’t powerful enough to get across the physical distance between Beast Island and Bright Moon. But—you may not remember this—but a few months ago there was a big shift in the magical fields around Etheria.”

Catra felt her back stiffen. The portal….

“I have these…memories from that time. I don’t know if they are real or not, but they are very vivid.” Micah shook his head. “I saw my wife. My daughter. I was back in Bright Moon again. Then this Horde solider, who I guess was your friend Adora, came and told us the world we were in wasn’t real. At some point I had all my memories of that alternate world as well as this one. Then that universe collapsed and I was back here again.”

Micah shook himself. “I’m sure it all sounds crazy now. I see the look on your face.”

Catra had no idea what look she had on her face. She bit her lip so hard she could taste blood.

“The point is that once I came back here, I tried to reach out to Angella again and for the first time I could sense her out there. It took me a long time to figure out what I was sensing and how, but eventually I realized that she was still trapped in a remnant of that other universe. And somehow—whether it’s a connection with Beast Island or my own attachment to Angie or the place itself—my magic can bridge the divide.” Micah furrowed his brow. “It’s faint. I think she can sense me, maybe see me, but we can’t speak. If I had more power, I might be able to bring her back here.” He looked back up at Catra. “So that’s what I have been working on.”

Catra nodded mechanically. “I…uh…wow,” she said. Her stomach turned. “I’m going to go get some air?” she said and turned to leave the room.

“Of course, sorry. I know you hate this magic stuff,” she heard Micah say behind her.

Catra burst out of the cabin and ran to the tree line. She fell to her knees and immediately vomited up the strawberry and stomach lining. She sat back on her heels, heart racing and wiped away the moisture that had sprung to her eyes with the heaving.

She stared out in thick jungle underbrush.

“Catra?” She heard Micah calling from behind her. “Are you okay? I didn’t think being in the room would upset you so much. I would have explained out here.”

Catra dug her claws into her palms and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Was it the mention of Adora? I know that’s still a tender topic for you.” He laid a hand on Catra’s shoulder.

“Back off old man!” Catra shouted batting his hand away and whirling around. “Who said you could touch me?” She held out one clawed hand.

Micah’s eyes were wide. Catra felt her stomach turn again as she recognized the same expression from when she told Adora she didn’t want her to come back to the Horde and brandished the stun baton at Scorpia.

“Not everything gets solved with a pathetic heart to heart!” she shouted. “Don’t pretend like you know anything about Adora just because you saw her in some dream world.”

Micah held up his hands defensively. “Catra, I don’t know what upset you, but please don’t take it out on me.”

“You upset me.” She snorted. “I knew you came from the princess’s world but seriously? Bright Moon. Husband to Queen Angella. I should have known better. You’re all the same, trying to get me to join your stupid Alliance. As though I would ever want to! As though I would just throw away everything I worked so hard for just because you all stole my friend, my mentor, my whole freaking life?”

To Catra’s surprise, Micah’s eyes went soft and sad instead of angry. “You don’t have to do this, Catra. I can’t stop you if you’re determined to self-destruct, but I also won’t stop giving you the chance to choose something better.”

“Aurgh,” Catra screamed. “I never asked for your forgiveness, old man.” She pushed past him and walked off toward the garden. Micah did not follow.

She could barely see where she was going, anger and tears clouding her vision. She stepped on a stake set into the ground to mark the start of the pea plants. Pain shot up from her foot and she let out a loud cry.

“What. The. Ahh!” She kicked the plant next to the stake, stomping it until the shoot was completely mashed and broken. Catra could see bits of green stuck to the bottom of her toes.

She gave out another anguished cry and reached out grapping a handful of pea shoots, ripping them out of the ground and throwing them as hard she could. They scattered around her. Catra grabbed handful after handful, first the pea shoots, then the carrots, then the squash. She clawed at the dirt throwing handfuls every which direction as she screamed.

Finally, somewhere near the tomato plants, she ran out of energy.

She came back to herself, chest heaving with sobs and desperate gasps for oxygen. Her hands and feet were cut and bleeding, covered in caked dirt. Dirt clung to the ripped-up knees of her leggings and debris coated her shirt and bare shoulders.

She stared at her hands and at the darkening sky above her. Then she stood stiffly and slowly walked back to the cabin.

When she reached the front door, she initially reached for the handle but then paused. She raised on dirty, bloody hand and knocked.

There was a pause and then the door swung open. Micah stood, backlit by the cooking fire that was blazing cheerfully in the corner.

“I destroyed the garden,” said Catra, flatly.

“I can see that,” Micah replied.

“I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“There is a whole island if you want it. Try again.”

Catra looked off to the side and then back at Micah.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I forgive you,” said Micah. He steps back and let’s Catra into the cabin. “Let’s get you cleaned up and see to your hands.”

***

Catra dreamed.

She sits on the railing looking out over the sickly green yellow of the Fright Zone. Adora stands beside her, elbows propped up on the railing resting her chin on her hands.

“Not exactly the photo op that Bright Moon is, but it does have its own sort of polluted beauty,” says Adora.

“Bright Moon colors make me want to puke,” says Catra.

“To be honest that was my first thought when I went there.”

“That you wanted to puke?”

“That it would make you want to puke.” Adora tilts her head to one side and looks up at Catra. “I thought it all looked sort of…charming. I had never seen so many colors before in my life.”

They continue to take in the view in silence.

Adora is the one to break it. Of course.

“Why did you bring me here, Catra?” she asks.

“It’s our spot!”

“It was our spot. Before.”

“Why can’t it just be like that again,” said Catra. “When it was just the two of us against the world. Why can’t things be the way they were?”

Adora stares down at the pipes below them. “Maybe it could have been. At some point. But you kind of started burning down that bridge when you kidnapped my friends, threw me off a cliff, tried to destroy new home and then broke reality.”

“Can you blame me?” Catra’s voice sounds weak even to her own ears.

Adora looks up at her with the same sad, concern she had seen on Micah’s face. “Yes Catra. I blame you. You did this to yourself. I may have been the one to fracture our friendship, but you’re the one who split it open and poured salt in the wound.”

Catra turns her head away.

Adora reaches up and cups Catra’s cheek, bringing her back around to face Adora.

“I love you, Catra. But I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

Catra is crying again, annoyed because she has been doing this so. Much. Lately. She doesn’t trust her voice but nods. Adora presses a soft kiss on her forehead.

Catra woke up with aching palms and wet cheeks.

The next morning Catra climbed out of bed just before moonrise and went to sit at the table. She reached into her pouch and placed the Horde remote on the table in front of her. She folded her arms and waited.

Micah woke up an hour later. He sat up in the bed roll and looked over to where she sat.

“I was sent here to find someone.” Catra said. “Two someones, really.” She gestured to the device in front of her. “This is my ticket back to the Fright Zone if I succeed. If I push this button a boat will show up. If I have completed my assignment, we all go home. If I am alone, they may kill me, or they may just leave me here for the Island to finish me off.  No second chances.

“The people I’m supposed to find…I did wrong by them.” She shook her head slightly. “I did wrong by a lot of people, even before I crossed this line, but I…. If they’re still alive I owe them…something. A lot. But I don’t know if a trip back to the Fright Zone is the right thing.”

She looked over at Micah. “I’ve made so many bad decisions in the past…well, my entire life. I can’t be trusted. Part of me wants to complete the mission as fast as possible and run back to the Fright Zone. Part of me wants to push this button right now and just take away the choice forever. Most of me is just delaying the decision because I’m so sure whatever choice I make it will be the wrong one.”

She held out the remote. “Please take this. Push the button if you want. Hide it away. Use it to escape and leave me behind; that would honestly be what I deserve. Just…take the option away from me.”

Micah looked at the device blinking in Catra’s outstretched hand and then up at her face. He reached out and gently took it from her.

“How about this,” said Micah. “How about if we put this away for today while we replant the garden. And then tomorrow we will start to search for these people who you wronged. And we give them the choice.”

Catra looked down at the table and nodded.

“They get to decide what it right for them, Catra. But you get to decide what is right for you. You don’t have to go back if you don’t want to.

Catra glared at the table. She thought about Scorpia’s hopeful face in the Crimson Waste. She thought about Adora taking her hand in the First One’s ruin. She thought about walking down the hallway of the Fright Zone with the soldiers parting to let her pass.

She closed her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.  

“Well think about it. Now let’s get some breakfast before we have to assess the damage. If we’re expecting to have two more guests, we’re going to need to be able to feed them!”

***

“Oh man, these little fuzzy critters are delicious when they’re cooked!” Scorpia nibbled around the edge of the charred rodent-on-a-stick and paged through Entrapta’s survival manual. “I should have read this chapter ages ago!”

“It is quite a bit more pleasant after so many berries,” said Entrapta. She was holding one of the sticks with a hair tendril, eating absent mindedly as she tinkered with the tracker pad and the gem from the First One’s ruin. “I do miss my tiny food and fizzy drinks though.”

Scorpia studied the food for a moment frowning. “I mean in a way this is tiny food. After all the creatures are way smaller than any of the big fuzzy critters. Not that I think I would look at them as food so much as the other way around….”

“Ugh.” Entrapta let the tracker pad slip from her grasp. “I’m having a terrible time getting into this thing. I can tell it has so much potential but there’s something interfering with the signal.”

“Take a break,” said Scorpia around a mouthful. “My squad leader always used to say that sometimes you just need to turn your brain off and then back on again to try to solve a problem.”

“That sounds biologically unsound but metaphorically may not be a terrible idea for the moment. I do sometimes forget that the brain requires proper rest and nutrients to operate properly.”

Scorpia smiled and settled back against the log. Their fire crackled and the camp smelled of woodsmoke and cooked meat.

Off to one side there was a faint rustling.

Scorpia sat up. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

Entrapta pulled out her sack of data crystals and gave it a little shake. “Don’t worry, we’re ready.”

“Maybe you should let me have that,” said Scorpia. “I know you’re the brains of the operation, but I should probably take point in protection. I was trained for battle by the Horde, after all.”

“I did just fine with the last three creatures,” said Entrapta. “Besides, I don’t want to lose any of these.”

“I wouldn’t lose the data crystals. I just think I could pack more of a punch with them.”

“There is no need to pack more of a….”

Entrapta was interrupted by the snap of a branch off to the side of the camp. She and Scorpia turned sharply, Entrapta brandishing the bag of stones in front of her clutched it both hands.

“Woah! No need to bring out the bludgeon!” said a deep voice. There was a soft squeaking sound and a small creature, similar to the one that had graced Scorpia and Entrapta’s skewers, ran out of the underbrush, sat back on its heels and chittered angrily shaking a tiny paw up at Scorpia.

A figure stepped out of the darkness behind the rodent. He had dark hair pulled up into a top knot with speckles of grey throughout a long beard.

“Now, Fredrich. We’ve talked about the fact that humanoids eat all manner of things. You can’t judge them for following their nature any more than I can judge you for hiding nuts in my bedrolls.” The man looked up at the two princesses.

“Hello. You must be Scorpia and Entrapta. My name is Micah. I have been looking all over for you.”

***

Catra was working in the garden when she heard the party arrive. The fur on the tip of her tail stood on end as she heard Entrapta’s excited babbling pierce the hum of the jungle. A moment later she could hear the base tones of Scorpia and Micah’s voice, although she couldn’t make out any specific words. Her heart pounded and she tried to turn her attention back to the row she was replanting.

It took another fifteen minutes before they broke through the edge of the jungle and Catra could see the group making their way toward the cabin. She stood slowly and wiped her hand on her pants.

Scorpia spotted her first. She stopped walking and just stared at Catra.

Entrapta noticed Scorpia had stopped walking and turned back to where she was standing. She tracked her gaze and caught sight of Catra as well. Her eyes went big.

“Catra!” she shouted, bounding up to her. “How did you end up on Beast Island?”

“I…uh.” Catra cleared her throat as she watched Entrapta’s face shift through a series of different expression. Excitement followed by confusion and finally settling on wariness. “I was sent to bring you back to the Fright Zone.”

“Don’t listen to her,” said Scorpia, stepping in front of Entrapta. “Hordak wouldn’t have sent her on a rescue mission out here. Not expecting her to come back.”

“I don’t know that he expected me to come back,” Catra admitted. “But that is how I ended up here.”

“Catra,” said Micah softly from behind the princesses.

Catra sighed and looked down at her feet. “I wanted to…I asked Micah to help me find you because….” She cleared her throat again.

“I…uh screwed up,” she said. “I shouldn’t have turned on you, Entrapta and I…uh…shouldn’t have threatened you, Scorpia. There’s a lot of other stuff too, I know, but that was kind of the biggest one so…I’m sorry.”

There was a long pause.

Then Scorpia let out a loud sniff and scooped Catra up in her arms. “Oh, who am I kidding. I forgive you, Wildcat. I could never stay mad at you.”

Catra winced but accepted the hug with only minimal wiggling. When Scorpia set her back down on her feet she turned to Entrapta whose face had become unreadable.

“I thought you were my friend,” said Entrapta. “My data supported it, even though Adora said I couldn’t trust you.” She made a face. “I hate it when my data misleads me in these matters.”

Catra scratched the back of her neck.  “I don’t think your data was entirely wrong. I did want you as a friend. Even if my actions didn’t reflect that.”

Entrapta shook her head. “I have additional data now. A friend would not demand that another friend do something dangerous and then hit them with a stun baton when they refused. Unless I continue to misunderstand the parameters of friendship?” She glanced at Scorpia.

Catra winced. “No, you’re right. That was…not friendly of me.”

Entrapta studied her for a moment. “I will need to gather more data,” she said after a minute. Then she nodded to herself and walked in the direction of the cabin. Scorpia scrambled after her.

Micah watched them enter the cabin, Scorpia nearly smacking her head on the low-hanging entrance.

“We might need their help to add on to the place,” said Micah. “It’s getting a bit cramped.”

Catra nodded, still watching the entrance to the cabin.

“How are you doing?” asked Micah.

“I’m going to finish planting this row,” said Catra. She knelt back down onto the soft dirt and set back to work.

***

Catra did not return to the cabin until the moons were starting to set and it became too dim to see. She could hear the rumble of conversation and laughter punctuated a few high pitched chitters from Fredrich as she paused at the front door. When she pushed through, she was greeted to the group of them gathered around the table, the room lit by the cheery crackle of the cook fire in the corner.

“…the crystals used by the sorcerers of Mystacore are in fact tiny data crystals mined from the interior of the planet. That’s how they can be channeled to form effects on the natural world of Etheria, similarly to the princesses with their runestones. They serve as a non-specific focus.” Entrapta, who seemed to have turned her hair into a chair, was leaning over the table scribbling furiously. Scorpia was seated beside her looking in the direction of the drawing but Catra could see her eyes were glazed over as she was mechanically polishing off a bowl of stew.

“I never thought of it like that,” muttered Micah, peering over her shoulder.

“Most Etherians don’t!” exclaimed Entrapta. “But I have devoted my life to figuring out the integration of magic and technology, specifically in how it relates for First One’s tech. Tadaaaah!”

Catra skirted around the edge of the room and helped herself to her own bowl of stew.

“That…that looks extraordinary, but can it really work?” asked Micah.

“I don’t know!” Entrapta let out a loud laugh. “I can’t wait to find out!”

“Did you see this?” said Micah, turning to where Catra was leaning against the wall, eating.

“I learned a long time ago that I need Entrapta to explain her diagrams in very small words if I’m going to have any idea what she’s on about,” said Catra.

“She thinks she can use this data crystal they found to bolster the signal from my casting! This might be the piece I have been missing to finally bring back Angie!”

Catra glanced up from her food. Micah was looking at her, eyes bright with excitement. Entrapta was still studying the drawing she had…apparently made directly onto the dinner table. Scorpia was looking at her with a furrowed brow.

“If my calculations are correct,” said Entrapta. “We just need to find a means of stabilizing alt-Etheria and using the data crystal we found at the First One’s ruin we should have the power to punch through and access the stranded consciousness. And now that I have seen Micah’s laboratory, I know what has been interfering with my ability to interpret the data and I downloaded from the run, and can start to analyze it in earnest!”

“That’s wonderful,” said Catra. “Just be careful. Some of Entrapta’s initial attempts can be a bit...explosive.”

“Oh, explosions won’t be the problem here,” said Entrapa, she continued to draw. “The real risk will be in re-fracturing our reality by bridging the divide and ejecting Angella’s consciousness from alt-Etheria.”

Catra paused with the spoon halfway up to her mouth. Scorpia and Micah both turned to look at Entrapta.

Entrapta looked up. “Well obviously we would run simulations before we would let that happen!”

“Sensible,” said Micah. “Did I tell you about my first attempt at a wind spell because wow, let me tell you I could have done with some simulations before jumping into that one….”

Catra placed her empty bowl near the rest of the washing up and walked back out of the cabin into the night air.

A moment later the door opened and closed again and Scorpia came to stand beside her. They stood there in silence for a long minute before Scorpia spoke.

“He doesn’t know, does he.”

Catra looked away. “Not unless you two just told him.”

“We didn’t. Only because Entrapta’s too caught up in the science of how Angella got trapped in the other universe to think about her own role in all of this, much less yours. But it might only be a matter of time.”

“And you? Are you going to tell him?”

Scorpia frowned. “He deserves to know, Catra. Don’t you think?”

“Why?” Catra threw up her arms and walked a few steps away from the front of the cabin. “It won’t change anything. He’ll just hate me, and I’ll be all alone again.”

“Maybe he won’t? From what I can gather he already knows a lot about your past.”

“This is different.”

“How?”

“He…he has his reasons for giving me the benefit of the doubt. I doubt that extends to destroying his family and almost ending the universe as we know it.”

Scorpia sighed. “I don’t deny it’s a tall order. But I would think after everything that’s happened you would have learned that avoiding your problems just makes them worse in the end.”

Catra turned away. “Are you going to tell him?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Not yet anyway.”

“Thank you, Scorpia.”

Scorpia shook her head and disappeared back into the cabin.

***

Catra dreamed.

She-ra stands over her as she clings to the wall of the cliff. The light of the collapsing alternate world streams up around her lifting her golden hair upward toward a sky filled with tiny dots of light.

“Adora!” Catra shouts. “I’m slipping!” She feels her fingers losing purchase and tries to dig in her claws. She’s met with solid stone.

She-ra walks to the edge of the cliff and looks down. “You wanted this,” she shouts above the roar. “Why should I save you?”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it to go this far.”

She-ra kneels at the edge of the cliff. “But it did go this far.”

“I’ll fix it, Adora. I promise. Together we can fix it, like you said. Just help me, please!”

“It’s too late, Catra.” She-ra shakes her head. “Lives have been lost. You can’t fix it anymore.”

“Adora!” Catra feels her fingers slip again.”

“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” She-ra says as she stands. “I really am going to miss you.”

Catra’s fingers grasp nothing and she feels herself fall.

Catra gasped and sat bolt upright. The cabin was silent aside from Micah’s soft snores and Scorpia muttering something about ration bars.

Catra lay back down and watched the ceiling until morning.

***

“Explain it again more slowly,” Micah was asking when Catra re-entered the cabin from gardening a few days later.

Entrapta huffed. “It’s just a minor setback. You should still be able to talk with her, no problem.”

“I don’t just want to talk to my wife, Entrapta. I want to get her out of…alt-Etheria, or whatever we’re calling it, and back home with our daughter.”

Catra ignored them and poured herself a cup of water just as Scorpia came rushing through the door.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll fix it I promise,” Scorpia interrupted, slamming the door behind her.

Catra sighed. “What happened?”

“Look I just don’t think I’m cut out for anything too delicate.” Scorpia snapped a claw a few times.

“You broke the tomato plant?”

“Maybe I should go back to clearing a new patch?”

Catra pinched the bridge of her nose. “We have enough new patches, Scorpia.”

“What about sending her out hunting?” said Entrapta. “She was very good at getting us tasty tiny critters to eat.”

Fredrich chittered angrily from his perch on one of the shelves behind Micah’s head.

“What if she brought back a bird?” suggested Micah.

Fredrich seemed to consider this with a tilt of his head and then chittered a bit more agreeably.

“Sure! A bird!” said Scorpia. Her eyes darted around the room. “I can do that. I think.”

Catra sighed. “You were doing fine planting and turning over the ground. You can go back and I’ll take over pruning.”

“Oh, thank you Catra. I promise I won’t let you down. Again. Anyway. What’s going on in here?”

“We’ve managed to set up the means to create a temporary bridge between our world and alt-Etheria,” said Entrapta.

“Is that really what we’re calling it?” Scorpia stage whispered to Catra who just shrugged.

“But…?” prompted Micah.

Entrapta let out of a huff of air. “But it’s pretty unstable and we still have not managed to find a means of stabilizing alt-Etheria if we bring Angella back to this plane.” She pointed a hair tendril at Micah. “But also I have not finished going through all of the data from the First One’s ruin so maybe if you were just a bit more patient.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry Entrapta. It’s just we’re so close. I haven’t been this hopeful since I first realized I could reach Angie when the other world collapsed.

“Just because we haven’t found the answer yet doesn’t mean we won’t discover it soon. Science is an iterative process. You can’t give up just because for first simulation doesn’t work the way you expected it.”

“This is our eighteenth simulation, Entrapta.”

“And we are so much closer than when we started. Come on!” She grabbed Micah’s arm and dragged back into the workroom, slamming the door behind them.

“We should head back out too,” said Catra, leading Scorpia back into the garden.

“They’re getting awfully close to being able to talk to Angella,” said Scorpia, settling down at one end of squash row.

Catra went over to inspect the damage to the tomatoes. “Mmmhmm.”

“Entrapta told him about the portal,” said Scorpia. “Not your part in it, I asked her not to, but she explained her own. He took it well.”

“It’s not the same and you know it,” muttered Catra.

“It’s only a matter of time before he finds out, Catra. You can’t really be so far in de.”

“Once he knows what I did, he’s going to turn on me. Just like everyone does. I’ll lose him! I’ll lose everything. All over again!”

“You lied about Shadow Weaver and we saw what that got you. You lied about Entrapta and now here you are. Maybe you should try just being honest for a change?”

Catra gave a short laugh. “And what are you going to do when he kicks me out of his little oasis here? Come protect me from the horrors of Beast Island like you did for Entrapta? Like you did for me in the Crimson Waste? That’s right, because can just choose to do whatever you want. You’ve never had to deal with loss the way I have. You’ve never had to risk anything because no one is going to risk pissing off the Scorpion princess who happens keeps slumming it with the Horde for no apparent reason.”

Scorpia jerked back as though Catra had physically hit her.

“Is that really what you think of me, Catra?” She shook her head. “You know, I thought I could do this,” she said. “I thought I could just forgive you and let things go back to the way they were. But I forgot that the way things were sucked. I’m sick of waiting for you to stop complaining everything that you don’t have and see what is right in front of you!”

Scorpia turned on her heel and started to march back toward the cabin.

“Scorpia, wait!” Catra jumped up and ran in front of her holding both hands up in a stopping gesture. “I’m sorry, you’re right, I’m sorry.”

Scorpia froze in surprise.

“I’m…what?”

“You’re right. You’ve always been there for me and I’ve always been terrible for you and I…I’m trying to change. I swear, I’m better I…just….” Catra too a deep breath. “I’m so scared.”

Catra closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them Scorpia was standing in front of her still waiting.

“When he finds out—if I tell him—he’s going to ask me why I did it. What I was thinking. If I tell him the truth, it will be that when activated the portal, I didn’t care who died or who was hurt. And when I came back and found out that Queen Angella had been lost trying to save the world my first thought was victory. That after everything, after Adora had won yet again, at least I had this one triumph. At least I had left my mark on their perfect little princesses and their perfect little world.”

Scorpia seemed to be looking at something over Catra’s shoulder.

“And now?” Scorpia asked. “How do you feel about it now?”

Catra shook her head.

“Yes Catra. I suppose I would like to know the answer to that question too.”

Catra whirled around to see Micah standing at the edge of the garden holding the cup of water she had left on the table in the cabin.

Catra’s eyes widened. “How much of that did you hear?” she whispered.

“Enough,” said Micah.

“I….” Catra’s mouth worked on nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Catra shot a frantic look to Scorpia. She had no idea what she looked like but Scorpia looked immediately alarmed.

“Catra?” said Scorpia. “Take a breath. Let’s talk this through

“After everything, Catra, why can’t you just tell me the truth?” Micah asked.

Catra looked away. “It’s another long story.”

Micah spread his arms wide. “When have I ever not had time for you?”

Catra squeezed her eyes closed.

“I…I can’t,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to keep it from you.”

“Of course you did,” said Micah. “I know why you did it but….” He shook his head. “I need some time,” he said.

“Micah, please,” Catra looked up as he turned to walk away. She held out one hand toward him.

Micah paused.

“Please?” begged Catra.

Micah shook his head again. “I need some time,” he repeated and walked away.

Catra couldn’t breathe. There was a vice around her ribs, and she could suck the air past it. Her breath came in short gasps and her vision was starting to tunnel inwards.

You’re having a panic attack, she heard Micah say. Just focus on your left foot.

“NO!”

Catra pushed past Scopria and ran back toward the cabin, throwing open the front door. Inside her vision was clearing slightly but the feeling of sucking air through a straw was unchanged. She grasped the edge of the table and tried to slow her breathing but to no avail.

There was a sudden glow behind the closed work room door.

Catra lunged for the door and pulled it open.

Entrapta was sitting cross-legged at the edge of the large bowl of water with her visor down and a small metal tube emitting a flame.

“Oh, Catra! Do you know if Micah is coming back soon? I think we can run the next simulation in a few hours.”

“Send me in!” Catra said, lurching forward. “Send me in to alt-Etheria.”

Entrapta turned off the flame and pushed back her visor, blinking at Catra through her goggles.

“That’s not a good idea. The bridge is still relatively unstable and, as I was saying this morning, we still haven’t solved the problem of needing an ongoing consciousness to hold alt-Etheria open.”

“I don’t care, you have to send me. I’ll…I’ll figure it out. I’ll…do something, anything.”

Entrapta looked nervously from Catra to the door. “Did something happen?” she asked slowly. “You seem distraught.”

Catra grabbed Entrapta by the shoulders and lifted her up into the air.

“I’ve never done one good thing in my entire life and now I’m going to lose everything again and I can’t. Entrapta, I can’t. You have to send me in there. It’s the only chance that I have fix this. To fix anything.”

Entrapta stared at her.

“Please, Entrapta. Do this for me and I’ll never ask you for anything ever again.”

Entrapta furrowed her brow. “Well…we have run enough simulations to say that the bridge should be stable to send one mind across.” Catra set her down and she started to gather up various bits of equipment. “I’ve been wanting to test this for ages and Micah keeps insisting on running further safety simulations.” She grabbed some sort of metal bowl with several circles on it and started plugging various tubes in at various points. “Which I understand is proper protocol and after what happened with the initial portal probably only makes good sense, but this time I know the theoretical risks and they are really far less statistically likely. Put this on your head.” She handed Catra the metal device.

Catra tried to put it on but her headpiece got in the way. With a deep sigh she removed the mask and set it aside before placing the bowl on her head.

“There is not much of alt-Etheria left,” said Entrapta. “So, it won’t be hard to find her. Time is a little different there so you can’t dawdle. As I have calculated it you have about two hours and ten minutes before the bridge becomes too unstable to travel back, but that might be off by a bit so I wouldn’t push it. And you won’t be able to bring her back here yet; there has to be at least one mind there to stabilize the alternate universe and prevent it from collapsing with our world.”

Catra sat down on the floor. “Just do it,” she muttered.

Entrapta hit the switch.

There was a flash of white light. The world around Catra disappeared.

***

Catra is sitting in the middle of a field. There is a large glowing yellow orb in the sky, blindingly bright like the brightest moon Catra has ever seen. It lights up the field an iridescent green with speckles of purple and yellow flowers as far as she can see in front of her.

Behind her, about 100 feet back, is a forest; dense trees with interlocking branches that is reminiscent of the Whispering Woods.

The whole world is silent. There is no sound of wind moving across the grass or rustling the leaves. There are no insects buzzing in the bushes or birds chirping in the trees. In the absence of sound Catra can hear her own heartbeat pounding in her chest and the rush of blood through her ears.

She looks down at herself to sees both hands clearly defined. She runs one hand down the skin of the right side of her face and releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

She doesn’t know what she had expected.

She stands and turns in a circle. She shields her eyes with her hand, blocking out some of the bright light. She can feel the heat from the orb beating down and beads of sweat are starting to form in a line across her forehead.

Far in the distance she can make out a faint pink smudge on the horizon.

She glances back at the inviting cool shade of the forest, but she shakes her head and starts forward.

For a long time, she walks without feeling like she is moving at all. The smudge doesn’t seem to change at all in size or definition.

Once again you let your emotions get the best of you. The admonishment comes in Shadow Weaver’s voice. No guarantee you can even find her, much less in the time allotted. No plan for when you do. No wonder you’ve never been more than second best.

“Shut up, witch,” Catra mutters and just keeps walking forward.

Eventually the smudge does start to take on the form of a figure. Then the figure begins to develop details; a tall slender stature, long hair, large delicate pink wings.

The field ends where the figure is standing, breaking off to form a steep cliff into nothingness. Angella is standing with both arms outstretched in front of her, the sword of protection lying flat on her upturned palms.

As Catra approached, Angella turns to her.

“I wasn’t expecting it would be you,” she says.

“That makes two of us.”

Angella narrows her eyes. “Why? Taunting me doesn’t seem your style. Not with Adora still on Etheria. Unless you trying to get to her through me?”

Catra gazes at the sword in Angella’s arms. It looks…incorporeal.

“I’m not here to taunt you. Or Adora.” She looks up at Angella. “I’m here to fix this.”

Angella raises her eyebrows. “Is that even possible?”

“I think so.” Catra frowns and nods. “I think it’s the only way.”

“There are always choices, child. There is a whole big world out there that needs healing. Sometimes it’s easier to make the big sacrifice than face the day-to-day of trying to make up for your mistakes.”

“I don’t think there is any making up for my mistakes,” says Catra. “I tried to be better, but I’m just…not. I’m not good.” She looks up and meets Angella’s eyes. “But maybe I don’t have to be bad,” she says and reaches out to take the sword handle.

For all it appears wispy and faint, the touch of the metal feels solid. It’s cold, an aching sort of cold that runs up Catra’s arms and forms an aching pain across the muscles of her back. She seizes the sword with both hands and pulls it from Angella’s grasp.

Angella’s eyes widen and immediately she starts to fade out, looking much like the sword had a moment ago. “Catra, no! This was my burden.”

Catra shakes her head. “My fault,” she grits out. “My burden.” She sucks in air and clings to the sword. “You know you’re a lot less terrifying than the Horde made you out to be. You’re lucky I won’t be around to out you when you get back.”

Angella’s laugh lingers as her form vanishes and Catra is left standing on the cliff, clutching the sword of protection.

“Well here we are,” she says to no one. “I suppose I might have expected it would end like this.” She looks around. “I always thought Adora would be here at least.”

She sits on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling over the edge.

Catra waits.

***

Time passes.

Catra isn’t sure how much time. After a while it all seems to run together. The bright orb in the sky doesn’t move. The nothingness before her doesn’t change.

The pain from the sword seems to fade out after a while. Eventually her arms go numb, which initially is a relief, but eventually becomes a discomfort of its own. Then that too seems to fade from awareness.

Initially, she has moments of panic thinking about eternity here. She has moments of regret. Moments of anger. But everything seems dulled and the moments fade and eventually it’s just Catra and sword and the void. And that’s okay.

And then one day (are there even days here?) there is a hand on her shoulder and Catra looks up and sees Micah standing beside her.

“No,” she says. Her voice sounds hoarse and cracked. Her fingers grip the sword.

“It’s okay, kitten,” says Micah. “You can let go now.”

“I can’t,” says Catra. “This is all I have.”

Micah sits down beside her and places a hand on her arm. “That has never been true.”

Tears leak from her eyes. “It feels true.”

“I know. But we’re working on that, right? It’s getting better. And it would be a shame to give up now.”

Catra frowns down at the sword in her hands. “But who is going to stay here.” She looks up sharply. “I won’t give it to you. You can’t take it from me!”

“I won’t,” Micah assures her. “Give it to Sarah.”

“Who is…?” There is a metallic clanking and she turns to see one of Entrapta’s bots sitting on her other side with two arms extended. “How?”

Micah just smiles. “Entrapta figured it out. I’ll explain later. But we’re running out of time. The bridge is still fragile.”

Catra nods and lets the sword onto the outstretched arms of the bot. The pain she had stopped noticing vanishes in a wave of bliss. Catra sways and Micah reaches out a hand to steady her.

Micah takes her hand in his. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

Catra opened her eyes to see the familiar ceiling of the cabin. She was back lying on the bed in the main room.

She turned to her side and saw Micah lying beside her, their hands intertwined. He was wearing the funny little metal hat Entrapta had placed on her head to send her into alt-Etheria. His eyes were slowly blinking open.

“They’re waking up! I think he did it!”

Catra turned her head back toward the rest of the room. Scorpia and Entrapta were sitting beside the bed staring at them. Scorpia was chewing on the tips of her claws.

“Scorpia?” asked Catra. “How long was I….”

“Almost two weeks,” said a familiar, polished voice from behind the two princesses. Catra looked up to see Angella towering behind them. “It took that long for Entrapta and my husband to figure out an alternative consciousness to hold alt-Etheria stable.”

“Her name is Sarah!” said Entrapta.

Catra swung her legs around to sit up.

“Uh…hi. You…uhm…made it out.”

“Thanks to you,” said Angella. “Not discounting of course that I wouldn’t have needed rescuing if you hadn’t activated the portal in the first place.”

Catra scratched the back of her neck. “I’m…uh…sorry about that.”

Angella crouched down in front of her and took Catra’s hands in hers. She looked directly into Catra’s eyes and said, “It was a very brave and very foolish thing that you did just now. And I am very grateful. You have given me my family back. I forgive you, Catra.”

Catra looked away and nodded.

Angella smiled and stood again, ducking slightly to avoid hitting her head on one of the lower beams of the cabin.

Catra felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Micah sitting up on the bed behind her.

“Micah,” she said, eyes suddenly filling with tears as she remembered their last conversation.

Micah just smiled and shook his head. “I was always going to forgive you, kitten. You just didn’t give me the chance.”

“I…I couldn’t….”

“I know. We’re going to work on that, okay?”

Catra nodded, not trusting her voice, and let him pull her into a tight hug. She buried her head in his shoulder and told herself no one would notice all the tears soaking into the fabric of his cloak.

***

Catra dreamed.

She is sitting on the beach of Beast Island watching the moons set.

Adora walks up beside her and sits down. For a while they sit in silence.

“What next?” Adora asks.

Catra turns to look at her. “I’m so tired,” she says. “After all this…Adora, I’m just so tired.”

Adora nods. “You’ve done well. You deserve a rest.”

Catra sighs and rests her head on Adora’s shoulder. Adora reaches up and strokes her fingers through Catra’s hair.

“It’s not over though,” says Adora after another long pause. “Like Angella said, it might be easier to just take on the big sacrifice. But you’re back in the world now. Redemption doesn’t happen overnight.”

Catra sits up slowly. “I just want it to be done,” she says.

“I know,” says Adora. “But there is more work to do.”

Catra looks down at her hands. “I tried…to be better. But I went too far before. Even if I keep trying forever…can you forgive me? Do you think you could ever forgive me? After everything.”

Adora turns to her. “I do forgive you, Catra. But I’m not Adora. I’m just the part of you that you used to punish yourself.” She snorted. “I’d say I’m arguably the more important person to forgive you given that I’m really you but…. If you want to know if Adora can forgive you, I think you are going to have to ask her yourself.”

Catra’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

Adora reached out and pulled Catra’s head back onto her should.

“That’s okay. Rest now. Etheria will be there when you’re ready.”

Fin

[shesquiinnsane-ar]

TRICK OR TREAT. Hey everyone a little treat for you here to celebrate the spooky season. I am working on adding it to my verses page (and I know I need to edit all the edits on there) but you’ll be pleased to know that  I officially have my verse for Justice League: Gods and Monsters that I will probably colloquially rename my ‘Vampire AU’.

This is canon divergent and heavily based upon headcanons due to the fact that in the first episode the Harlequin gets killed. Due to her death this bio is relatively short, ending in speculation. Additions to the bio will be made upon plot developments that have occured in roleplays. Vampire lore where appropriate will be similar to that of Buffy the Vampire Slayer due to Bluebell’s familiarity with this.

After finding one of the Harlequin’s potential victims in a hollowed out jack in a box, Terry McGinnis tried to soothe the victim as she was shaking letting him know that she was behind him. A shadow loomed over Batman as a pig-tailed female and her mallet came swinging. Missing the two of them she hit one of possessions as a giant clown on a spring that came crashing to the floor with a squeak. Dragging the mallet along the ground, the pair huddled away from the Harlequin who’s red and black hair, mismatched socks and suspenders and pale white face came to meet them. Her smile, large and dastardly as she raised the mallet above her head ready to strike again. Missing the victim for the box she’d been hiding in, the mallet rebounded, shattering the box and knocking the Harlequin to the floor. Her victim ran away to safety by the time she was standing again but there was still Batman, and she thought he might still be fun to play with.

Running after Batman into an abandoned storage warehouse, she called out to Batman, telling him off for letting her plaything get away as it wasn’t nice. Her mallet was poised in her arms ready to strike again as she surveyed the room, taking it step by step to not be caught out by potential trap. Just because he was a gloomy guts about her plans didn’t everyone had to act so down in the dumps all the time. Walking down a hall of old mirrors she caught her reflection in the cracked glass, sorting out something she thought she saw in her teeth before proceeding. Talking aloud, although she hadn’t seen him yet. She told him the story of how the girl (“bitch”) she’d captured would go back to her drab little life when she could have been fun forever. Batman had been listening from above and dropped to pounce on the unsuspecting Harlequin. As the male dropped she took a spinning hit at him, sending him crashing into one of the many mirrors in the hall. She took another swing but this time he dodged, only for her to break a mirror. The kept chasing him, swinging and missing until her mallet got stuck on the floor. She stopped trying to lift it up Batman squarely punched her in the face sending her backwards through a mirror into what seemed to be a secret room.

As Batman glanced around he could note that the Harlequin,seemingly killed and kidnapped her own ‘makeshift’ family, having them all reside in the abandoned building. Figures for her mother, father, younger brother and grandma were found at the scene, covered in flies to shown they’d been a while and smiles pinned in place. Her delusions were made even clearer by a spot on the couch labelled ‘sis goes here’ implying Harley herself was the final piece to the puzzle. The room itself was set up like a casual family living room, with a few pretend images of bright blue skies and the wall even donned a family portrait of Harley with all the deceased.Harley interrupted his exploration with a revving chainsaw, making it clear that no super creeps were allowed in her room. Aiming the chainsaw right for Batman he ducks out of the way leaving the blade to cut of the head of the grandma corpse. An enraged Harlequin, made her erratic especially since in her mind, Grandma was gonna bake her cookies.

Trying to take her rage out on Batman the Harlequin destroyed the family portrait of them all, clearly not in control of the chainsaw. Chasing Batman around caused her to cut the corner off the chair her father had been sitting in and had been thrown through the television set, courtesy of Batman. She skidded to a halt before aiming for him again. This time Batman was stood in front of the main sofa where she was meant to sit next to her mother. Instead of hitting Batman, however, she found she’d cut the back of the sofa in half and had gotten the chainsaw stuck. Finally she’d managed to get the chainsaw free, even more maniacal than before. Batman had seemingly back himself into a wall but as she approached him he jumped, the chainsaw going straight into the wall sparking enough to cause the chainsaw to break, snapping the chain itself. The chain flew off and violently slash the stomach of the Harlequin leaving her injured and bloody, something Batman seemed to catch the scent of.

In world Batman wasn’t just Batman, but a vampire and the smell of her blood peaked his interest. She cried out in pain, trying to muster up the kick of adrenaline to keep fighting him back but by the time she turned around Batmain forced her arms away from her wound, keeping her still with her hands up, blood trickling down her gloves. Admitting defeat she sighed, telling him to take her back to jail, calling him a copper even if he didn’t have those credentials. Batman hesitated before smirking as if that was funny. He had plenty of other ideas. Showing her his fangs he dug into her neck as she screamed realising his little secret. A squirt of blood landed on her home sweet home sign and on screen that was where her story ended.

Instead of leaving her be, Batman opted to sire the Harlequin, finding the punishment of immortality to be far more amusing. No one with her madness could live to tell the tale for that long, at least in his mind. The half-head awoke in a daze, stunned and screamed at the mess the Batman had made of her room. It was obviously his fault. The wound had seemingly healed itself as she stood up and looked around licking the home sweet home sign clean of blood. It was an instinct, but she loved it. He’d given her a power he didn’t know how to use and someone as insane as her, with the resources she could possess. Now Gotham was in a whole new world of trouble. Laughing loudly the female headed out into the night, giggling all the way out, especially in the hall of mirrors. Now she had friends to find, the whole world to explore and she quite literally had all the time in the world.

[theguardianangel-fanfiction]

Once Bitten, Twice Dead

Summary: It’s been two years since the beginning, and only five days since Clementine met them. But somehow, things got so much worse, and Carver was just the beginning. [Season 2 AU/canon divergent. New situations, characters, etc.] Chapter 26: We Hope For Better Things Author’s Note: I’m either manic, hyperfocused, or I’ve had too much coffee today. [Main Blog] [AO3] [FanFiction.Net]

“Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger. Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.”

Clementine leaned against the back of the couch that she and Kenny previously sat on as the song’s lyrics reached her ears again. Sarita had softly gone through the song at least twice already, though she had at least taken a break of about a minute between each time. It was a long song, Clementine thought, and Sarita knew every single word.

She raked her fingernails against her backpack and tried to distract herself with this in order to avoid catching anyone’s attention. Part of her thoughts remained on that can, and her thoughts about cutting her hair again, though the others wandered to various things, like Kenny and the others, or Carver. Clementine peaked up briefly and realized that Sarita had stopped singing quietly, and was instead speaking with Sarah.

“What song is that?” Clementine perked up at Sarah’s question. It was the same question she herself had been wondering as well. “It sounds nice.”

Sarita looped a small, plastic hanger into a metal clasp on the top of a green, circular ornament. “’Good King Wenceslas’. It’s my favorite.” She placed it onto a branch a few inches over her head, Clementine suddenly understood exactly why the ornaments were only half-way up the tree.

Sarita grabbed another ornament, this one red.

“I’ve never heard it.” said Sarah, crossing her arms. Clementine looked up again. “I think I’ve heard the tune, but not the song. What’s it about?”  

“It’s…” Sarita looped another plastic hanger into the red ornament, and stood on her toes to hang it up. “… about a king that brings food to a poor man. He and his servant march all night through a winter storm.”

Clementine glanced down to the beaten up box, and debated jumping in to help. She could, if anything, get Sarah to hold her up so that Sarita wouldn’t have to constantly try and fail at hanging the ornaments at a height taller than her.

“The storm is very strong… and after a long time, it gets so cold that the servant can’t go on.”

Sarah reached down and grabbed an ornament for herself, but then looked up at Sarita without immediately hanging it. She scrunched her eyebrows and appeared to be about to speak, but Sarita unknowingly cut her off with, “But the king tells the servant to just… step in his tracks.”

She sang another verse quietly.

“Mark my footsteps, my good page. Tread thou in them boldly. Thou shalt the winter’s rage Freeze thy blood less coldly.”

“I don’t… get it.” Sarah murmured, and Clementine had to agree. It was a nice song, but she found the lyrics to be confusing. Why, she wondered, would stepping in the tracks of the king keep the servant from freezing to death?

In response, Sarita smiled. “It means that doing good things for other people can be good for you, too.”

“But the servant wouldn’t have been out there in the first place if the king hadn’t made him.”

“Good point.” Sarita suddenly looked over her shoulder, and Clementine met her eyes. “But I’m not sure if it’s meant to be read into like that. Would you like to join us?”

Clementine looked down at the cardboard box, then over her shoulder at Walter (who was now speaking to Matthew), and then back up at Sarita. Slowly, she nodded and said, “Yeah, sure.”

She took an ornament that Sarah extended out to her, as well as one of the plastic hooks, and began to loop it into the top of the ornament. Sarita spoke up, glancing back to Clementine.

“It’s probably been a while since you’ve seen one of these.”

Slowly, Clementine nodded. She grasped one of the branches in her fingers, originally expecting to feel the texture of sharpened, plastic spindles – like a fake tree. But it felt completely genuine, and, judging by the pine needles littering the floor, it was genuine. It was smaller than the trees she walked past in the forest, but it still stood at at least fifteen feet.

“I haven’t seen a real one in a while,” she answered, bending down to grab another ornament, “A Christmas tree, I mean. There’s plenty of trees out here.”

Sarita turned towards the window and into the direction of the other trees, then looked back up at the Christmas tree. “Matthew found this one.” She bent down and began sweeping the clumps of pine needles into her hand. “It’s smaller than all of the others. He said that it would be better to bring in rather than leave it outside. He was right. It makes a good Christmas tree.”

“How do you reach the middle?” The specific area of the tree was high enough that none of them could reach it, but too far from the staircase next to it for one to lean over and string up the decorations. Briefly, Clementine imagined someone standing on the railing. And failing at standing on the railing. And falling and hitting the ground with a thump. That, she thought, would be her and her luck.

Pausing, Sarita also examined the area that Clementine pointed to and then scanned the other half of the sitting room.

Her voice sounding unsure, she said, “I thought we had a ladder around here somewhere…”

Sarah stood up as tall as she could; she, being even shorter than Sarita (yet still taller than Clementine), couldn’t reach much higher than Sarita could. She smiled to herself, then looked over to Clementine.

“I can’t reach any higher.” she informed Clementine. Sarita didn’t respond, and instead walked over to an area closer to where Walter was previously cooking; Clementine assumed that she made it her new mission to find that ladder.

Clementine shrugged. “You could hold me up. I’ll do it.”

Sarah paused, but then shook her head. “I…” She looked up at the tree, the landing of the stairs, and the railing, then shook her head for a second time. “I don’t think that’s safe.”

“It’ll be fine,” Clementine smirked, crossing her arms. Quietly, she teased, “You’re just weak.”

“No, I’m not!”

“Then pick me up.”

Both girls stayed silent for a moment before Sarah broke the silence with an indignant, “Okay, fine.”

Clementine stood still long enough for Sarah to wrap her arms around her waist, but she squirmed when Sarah lifted her only a few inches off of the floor. It was too tight and definitely not the best way to pick up someone Clementine’s size, something she immediately decided when she felt Sarah squeezing her by the stomach.

“No – just – put me down – Sarah, you’re squeezing me!”

“Can you reach it?”

“Sarah, I’m gonna pee if you keep squeezing me!”

Immediately, Sarah put her down, her shoulders hunched and eyes wide. “Sorry,” she murmured, watching Clementine, “Did I hurt you?”

Clementine shook her head, and nearly answered before she heard a soft chuckle from Sarita.

“I suppose we will have to find that ladder, or just resign ourselves to being short.” She had, evidently, been unsuccessful in finding that ladder.

Clementine simply wondered if Kenny took it with him when he went outside with the others. She shrugged, then murmured, “… Well, my life’ll have been meaningless if I’m not at least a little bit taller than you.” At the most, Sarita was only about five-feet, four-inches tall. Clementine remembered her mother being at least an inch taller than that – and her father was probably closer to Luke’s height.

Surely, she would be taller.

“You’re gonna be like, five-one when you finish puberty.” Sarah teased, turning away to grab another ornament.

“At least I’ll be taller than you!”

“I’m five-two, Clem.”

Clementine’s shoulders sagged. She walked right into that one.

She was thankful that Sarita almost immediately steered the conversation from Clementine trapping herself in that insult, when Sarita pointed to the part of the landing that lined up with the top of the tree. “There’s a box up there with some other decorations,” she spoke, then looked over to Sarah and Clementine. “I can either put an angel or a star on the top. Until we can find the ladder. What do you think?”

“… I don’t know.” Clementine admitted, gripping her left wrist with her right hand. She turned to Sarah, who seemed to be having a similar dilemma. “We always had a star. What’d you guys have?”

“An angel.”

“Why?”

Sarah paused for a moment, as if she were trying to come up with an actual answer to the question that wasn’t simply because. “I… don’t know. I think it’s a Catholic thing. I can ask my dad if you want.”

Clementine also paused. Her parents were never particularly religious, despite the celebration of Christmas. They never really went to church, except for when she was younger, and despite the fact that she had previously heard the word ‘Catholic’, she wasn’t at all familiar with what it actually meant.

“What’s the difference between being Christian and being Catholic?”

Before Sarah had a chance to answer, Sarita spoke up. “Catholicism is a section of Christianity. They have slightly different beliefs than most Christian groups.” She looked the Christmas tree up and down for a moment before she continued, “I’m not Christian. My family never celebrated Christmas… but I always liked the culture of it. What do you think, angel or star?”

“Um…”

“Angel, definitely.”

Clementine turned to her side, where a small end-table held a white and orange, wooden duck the size of a small dog. On its head laid a Santa hat, and around its neck was a small wreath. She knew exactly who had placed it there and why. She picked it up carefully from the table – it was heavier than she had thought – and showed it to Sarita.

“We could compromise and put a duck on the tree.”

Sarah’s face lit up as she looked at the wooden duck. “Aw, he’s got a little hat!”

“I don’t…” Sarita chuckled, just as she had before, “I don’t think it will stay on top. It’s probably too heavy for the top branch.”

“That sucks.” Clementine placed the duck back into its previous spot on the end table. “Kenny would find it funny.”

“He would,” replied Sarita, bending down back to her own cardboard box. She pulled out one of the few non-bauble ornaments – a glass hockey stick – and strung it on a lower branch. “Kenny thought it would be funny to put the hat and the wreath on it. I thought it was cute.”

Clementine was right; of course it had been Kenny to come up with that idea. After knowing his son, she found herself unable to look at anything with a duck on it without thinking of him.

“I’ll put the angel on the top, if you want.” She said this to Sarah this time, who’s eyes lit up again.

“Really?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Angels were nice, Clementine thought, though she had never previously had one on a tree. If it made her friend happy, then what the heck? She would put it on there, even though she truly did want to put the wooden duck up there for comedic effect.

She raced up, gripping the railing to avoid slipping on the slick, carpeted stairs, and found herself on the landing. What Clementine didn’t anticipate was Alvin’s voice.

“It’s crazy! Why would they follow us this far?”

Clementine stopped at the top of the stairs. A few feet ahead of her, Alvin, Rebecca, and Carlos seemed to be in an intense conversation, though Rebecca, who was sitting down on a padded bench, seemed to be less involved.

“We can’t be sure.” This reply came from Carlos, while Rebecca simply sighed. Clementine stopped in her tracks at the tense conversation that she had just walked into. She looked over to where Carlos was standing, which was right in front of the cardboard box that she assumed held the tree toppers. Without saying anything, Clementine pressed herself against the railing of the top stair.

“It’s been a week, man!” exclaimed Alvin, crossing his arms, “We gotta be outta the woods by now!”

Clementine assumed this was a saying, though part of her wanted to pipe up and let him know that, yes, they were in fact out of the woods… and in the mountains. But she, again, stayed quiet and allowed them to speak.

“We can’t be sure. They might be tracking us.”

“Tracking us?” Alvin leaned against a bookshelf next to Rebecca’s stool, then groaned. “What d’you think they are, ninjas?”

“No.” Carlos spoke in a firm voice, folding his arms. “Ex-Army. And Dunlap was Special Forces.”

There was silence between all three of them. Rebecca shot a glare up at Alvin, while Alvin clenched both his jaw and one of his fists.

Clementine inched herself closer to where Carlos was standing, planning her quick snatching of the angel tree topper without having to interrupt them. But by this point, she found herself slightly more curious about the so-called ex-military people in Carver’s group – and the aforementioned Dunlap (yet another name she would be kept in the dark about) – than she was worried about getting the tree topper. They seldom spoke of the intricate details of what happened with Carver – why he was after them, why he targeted them specifically –

“Are you trying to get behind me, Clem?”

“Hmm?”

Her gaze snapped up from the box to Carlos, who moved over to the side and away from the box.

“Sorry.” Clementine muttered as she snatched the angel from the box. She peered over the railing to see Sarah and Sarita both continuing to place the heavier, glass ornaments towards the bottom of the tree. Carefully, she stood up on her toes and reached over the landing to grab the vertical branch at the top of the tree, then placed the tree topper onto it.

Sarah’s attention was attracted by the rustling of the tree. “It looks so pretty!” she exclaimed, taking a step back in order to see it better. Sarita also looked up from her place at the bottom of the tree, more pine needles clutched in her hands, and smiled.

Clementine flinched at the grip on her shoulder, and turned to face Alvin, who took a step back.

“You talked to that Kenny guy, right?”

“Yeah…” she spoke, backing against the railing, her eyebrow raised.

“What did he say?” This response came from Rebecca this time, who leaned forward, as if in anticipation.

Clementine shrugged, holding onto her wrist. She paused for a moment, attempting to gather her thoughts. Well, they “caught up”. He teased her about her hat. She told him where she had been and he glazed over his own story. It wasn’t particularly in-depth.

“Not… a lot.” she admitted, looking Rebecca in the face this time. “He’s… kind of… the kind of person who stays closed-off unless he’s angry.” Rebecca looked away from Clementine, who looked up to see the reactions from Alvin and Carlos. Gone were the days from the Motor Inn, and the moments where Kenny’s arguments with the other group members could shake the paper-thin walls while Clementine attempted to sleep. But Kenny’s group was much smaller – maybe he didn’t argue with them as much as he argued with the group from the Motor Inn. She hoped.

Slowly, Carlos nodded, then sighed. “Do you trust him?”

“He’s not a bad guy.” Clementine crossed her arms. She repressed the urge to look over her shoulders in the direction of the windows that lead outside.

“I didn’t ask if he was. I asked if you trust him.”

“Yeah, I do.”

There was a silence between them again, as Carlos processed that answer. In Clementine’s mind, she found herself doubting that he would take her word for it, seeing as she wasn’t even sure how much he trusted her in the first place. Enough to be around Sarah? Maybe. Enough to take her word for it?

Clementine thought, once again, about Kenny’s escapades back in Macon. And Peachtree City. And Savannah. Georgia, in general.

The answer was most likely going to be ‘no’.

“What about the other guy?” Alvin exchanged a glance with Rebecca as he said this. “Uh… Walter?”

“You didn’t tell him anything about us, did you?”

Once again, Clementine shrugged. Walter seemed nice. Matthew seemed pretty cool. She liked Sarita well enough. She was at least on speaking terms with Kenny – though more elated today, given the circumstances.

“He said he was a teacher,” she began, peering over the banister. Walter was at one of the counters now, away from the portable stove. Just a few inches away from him were a few stacks of ceramic bowls. “He used to teach kids my age. I think he’s cool, but he’s definitely still stuck in teacher-mode.”

She received three bewildered stares in response.

“What does… that mean to you, Clementine?” asked Carlos, raising an eyebrow.

It was one of those things that Clementine could tell, but that she wasn’t one-hundred percent sure how to put into words. Maybe she should have just described Walter in a different way.

“… I don’t know. You can just kind of tell he was a teacher. It’s not a bad thing.”

Carlos sighed, then shook his head. He looked up to Alvin and Rebecca. “We can figure this out later, but… I’m not sure about these people yet. I’m going to find Luke.” With that, he passed Clementine and retreated down the stairs.

Rebecca held her head with one hand, looking down at her lap. She wrapped her hand around Alvin’s wrist and muttered, “Honey, I don’t feel good.”

“What’s wrong, Bec?” Alvin kneeled down as Rebecca hung her head, then began to knead her forehead with her fists. Clementine turned from the railing and the tree, eyeing Rebecca. She could smell the cooking peaches and beans from downstairs, and so could Rebecca – maybe it was just the smell making her sick.

“I…” Rebecca faltered for a moment; she took a deep breath, covering her mouth. “I just need somethin’ to drink.”

“You got it.” Alvin stood to his full height, towering over his wife. “I’ll be right back.”

Alvin retreated down the hallway and into one of the nearby rooms.

Rebecca again pressed her hand against her mouth as Alvin left her and Clementine alone, then clenched the tissues she held in her other hand. Slowly, she raised her head up and looked ahead at Clementine, who eyed her in a cautious fashion.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m just a little dizzy.” Rebecca spoke nearly in a whisper, lowering gaze down to her lap. She pressed against her left temple with one hand while crushing a small tissue in her other hand, her gaze pointed down at her stomach, her legs, and the floor.

“You’re sitting down.”

Clementine grasped her left wrist, leaning against the railing as she spoke, watching Rebecca’s mannerisms. She looked nauseous, though Clementine found it hard to tell, as she hadn’t exactly known Rebecca very long; Christa used to get sick, something Clementine could easily remember, when she smelled Omid cooking meat of any kind over the fire. At least until she started showing. In the later stages of her pregnancy, Christa didn’t have any sickness or dizziness. But maybe Rebecca was different.

“I know, Clem…” Rebecca twisted the tissue in her hand, her gaze remaining on the floor. “It’s just somethin’ that happens.”

Shifting in her spot, Clementine found herself backing up and leaning up against the railing, just as she had earlier. She gazed over her shoulder after taking her eyes off of Rebecca and looked down at the tree, just long enough for Rebecca to sigh and place a hand over the large bump.

She shook her head before she murmured, “Ugh – I can’t even take care of myself.” Clementine looked up from the tree, silent, only as an acknowledgement that she was listening (after all, Rebecca wasn’t the kind of person who liked to be passively ignored), and focused on Rebecca’s bump rather than her face.

“How am I supposed to raise a child?” Clementine met Rebecca’s eyes. “How can anyone?”

Clementine slowly nodded, but immediately switched to shaking her head as she watched Rebecca’s eyes dart from her own stomach to the hallway, as if eagerly awaiting Alvin’s return.

Crossing her arms, Clementine spoke in a low voice. “I don’t know.” She hesitated, but then sighed as she thought of herself. She was still alive. But she thought of Duck – the only other child that she spent longer than a few hours with after the beginning of the outbreak – and she thought of his end, and how Kenny couldn’t protect him.

How Kenny couldn’t protect Katjaa, either.

She thought of Christa and Omid. She thought of their child.

“I’m still alive.” Clementine found herself shrugging as she stepped forward from up against the railing. “Maybe… it’s possible?”

The pause between them lasted several seconds, as Rebecca looked down and as Clementine watched intently, wondering to herself if she had said something to set the woman off. Pregnant women, as Clementine (in her expert opinion and experience) had seen with Christa, could be emotionally unpredictable.

Rebecca’s outstretched fingers stroked the outer side of her belly as her lips curled into a small smile as she spoke. “You’re right. But… it’s hard, I’m sure.” Clementine’s gaze focused on Rebecca’s hand as she watched Rebecca stroke her pregnant stomach. “It’s exciting to meet someone new. I’m already a little less lonely…”

Clementine nodded, her thoughts drifting back to Christa. She wasn’t going to deny her thoughts about Rebecca’s baby, or about the similarities that she saw between this group and just about every other person that she had ever met who died or were otherwise destroyed in some way.

She hoped for better things.

“She’s kicking.” Rebecca suddenly spoke, removing both hands from her stomach. She used one to push herself forward, and the other to reach out to Clementine. “Wanna listen?”

Clementine froze in her spot, still staring Rebecca in the face. Rebecca’s expression didn’t change, and she instead reached for Clementine’s hand, but Clementine’s mind was elsewhere.

Can you feel her kicking, Christa?

I don’t think she has feet yet, Clem.

Blinking, Clementine retracted her hand from Rebecca’s grasp and slowly shook her head.

“Can I… just… feel?”

Rebecca’s lowered smile was subtle, but she nodded anyway as Clementine reached out again, her fingertips barely close enough to feel the fabric of Rebecca’s shirt. Carefully, she placed her palm flat against the area that Rebecca guided her to; immediately, Clementine felt her heart racing.

The smallest thump against Clementine’s hand made her slowly pull it away again.

“I think it’s the smell,” Rebecca peered down to her bump and slowly rubbed it, savoring the remaining moments that the unborn child kicked, “That smells good, huh?”

Clementine crossed her arms, but only to hide the sudden lack of feeling in her fingers as they trembled. Slowly, she asked, “Do you think she’ll be okay?” Just as soon as she spoke them, Clementine regretted it.

And just as soon as Clementine spoke and regretted speaking, Rebecca’s eyes became wide, her eyebrows scrunched. Clementine crossed her arms tighter, her shoulders arched as she did so, and mentally scolded herself. She shouldn’t have said that. She should not have said that.

Just because what happened with… Clementine’s thoughts were cut off when Rebecca spoke in a hushed voice.

“Yes. Yes, of course.” Clementine watched Rebecca’s eyes as they began to look lower than her face, and instead took focusing on Clementine’s hands, which she was desperately trying to hide the trembling of between her arms. In a low voice, Rebecca asked, “Are you okay, Clementine?”

Clementine quickly nodded. “Yeah – sorry.”

For only a few seconds did Rebecca’s gaze linger on Clementine as she sighed, looking back down to her stomach. She looked up for only a brief second, peering in the direction that Alvin had gone off to, and then resumed her gaze down to her stomach.

“What’s wrong…?” The sudden reversal of their previous roles didn’t surprise Clementine. It wasn’t the first time in her life, and it would no doubt be the last.

“It’s not his.”

Clementine froze, her bewildered expression fixed on Rebecca, looking the woman straight in her eyes as she processed the bizarre statement. The words had been in a whisper, as if it were a secluded secret that should be guarded closely. And yet, despite that, Clementine had very little idea as to what the words meant.

Rebecca looked down again.

The realization fell on Clementine like a ton of bricks.

“… Alvin’s?” she murmured, barely audible to herself, never mind Rebecca. But to her surprise, Rebecca nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca shook her head, crushing the tissue in her fist yet again. She looked up. “But I trust you. And… you’ve got some secrets of your own.”

Clementine felt her mouth go dry. She had spoken to exactly one person about anything in any serious detail related to her life before the cabin that involved her parents, Lee, or Christa. And it had been Luke, unless Kenny said anything. She hadn’t even talked to Sarah about it; not about that.

“What do you mean?” The response was probably way too quick for her own good. Rebecca would easily figure out what the hell Clementine meant by this – it was practically code for I have something to hide.

Rebecca flinched at the sheer suddenness of the response.

“Nothing,” Clementine didn’t believe her at all. On her list of things to do, along with take a pair of scissors to her pigtails (and possibly Luke’s arm), was to go and punch Luke right in his face. She knew that there was no way that he hadn’t said something to the others. But Rebecca continued with, “I get that there’s things that you don’t want to tell us.”

Of course there were. There were always things that Clementine didn’t want to talk about. Hell, even talking to Christa became a difficult thing after Savannah and then after Omid’s death and then after… well, as Clementine thought before, there were many things that she didn’t want to talk about.

The last time that she told someone her private business, she ended up in the locked closet of a crazed man who talked to his wife’s decapitated head.

Clementine found herself beginning to walk away. It was neither intentional nor expected, but the sudden pounding in her chest began to start up again as she stopped approximately five feet away from Rebecca, her back turned as she let her previously trembling hands fall to her sides.

“I’m… I’m not trying to be weird.” Clementine turned back to Rebecca, “I just… I don’t know.” Once again, she crossed her arms and peered over the railing. Both Sarah and Sarita had abandoned the Christmas tree. “I was just… thinking.”

“About what?”

“Christa.”

“Your friend.” Rebecca placed her hand on her bump and looked into the same direction that she had before, as if expecting Alvin to walk back into the room at any moment. “Why?”

“She was pregnant for a while.” Clementine paused, biting the inside of her mouth and her tongue. She avoided Rebecca’s face. “And I don’t like thinking about it.”

Rebecca opened her mouth to speak, but instead suddenly smiled and turned as Alvin walked into the room. Clementine perked up, feeling herself tensing as she thought of the implications that came from Rebecca’s previous words – before Clementine had allowed herself to become so emotional.

“There’s my man!”

Alvin pushed a plastic water bottle into Rebecca’s hands as he asked, “You all right, baby?” He looked from Rebecca to Clementine, and then back to Rebecca with the same smile.

Clementine couldn’t help wondering how much of their previous conversation that Alvin had heard. Hell, Clementine didn’t even want to hear the conversation, and she had been a part of it.

“I’m fine, you big dope.”

Clementine’s gaze focused on Rebecca’s bump just as much as she focused on the words that Rebecca spoke earlier – It’s not his. As in, it wasn’t Alvin’s. Rebecca wasn’t carrying a baby that was her husband’s. If Clementine’s very limited education on the art of where babies came from was any less, then she wouldn’t have even believed Rebecca. Yet, here Rebecca was, pretending that nothing was wrong. Flirting back to her husband.

Her stomach hurt, and Clementine locked her hand onto her opposite arm as she weeded through the other possibilities. Clementine knew that Christa’s baby girl (as much as it pained her to think of that cold, dead face) was Omid’s. She had looked just like Omid, after all, with very little of Christa.

But Rebecca? Rebecca knew. She really, honestly knew.

Clementine immediately thought of the others – the men in the group. If it wasn’t Alvin, had it been one of them? But they all seemed to have something about them that would have immediately put a dent in any ideas that Clementine had.

The sick feeling in her stomach surfaced again as she thought of Carver and his strange way of speaking about Rebecca, all the way back at the cabin. A pretty little pregnant lady, he had said. Pretty.

Clementine turned back to Alvin, wondering if he had any idea.

“You alright?” Not for the first time, Alvin’s voice nearly made her jump. It was more of a flinch, but it didn’t matter.

“Yeah,” Clementine lied straight through her teeth, putting on a fake smile. “Don’t worry about me.”