#last landscape for a while i need a break painting at work has been intense past couple of weeks

[thepapermice]

[wangshuus]

love like you | xiao

pairing: xiao/gn!reader

genre: angst+fluff

wc: 4.1k

summary: you and xiao are polar opposites according to him and because of that, he deems himself unworthy. 

note: this is my first time writing for genshin and i love xiao so much so this is essentially a bunch of word vomit i whipped together while listening to love like you from the su soundtrack :’) 

(i’ll have to go in for another proof read after but pls take this for now)

fic under the cut

In the land of Liyue, the Adepti were acknowledged for being the protectors of the sacred land, guarding both it and its people. As most of the adepti resided in their abodes, there was but one that stayed within the vicinity of the Wangshu Inn. Xiao; the Vigilant Yaksha, Conqueror of Demons, Alatus. He went by many titles, many names all of which carried the story of the adeptus himself. Upon the years of history carried through Liyue in its passing generations, it’s known to many that despite having the looks of a young man, the adeptus was not someone you would want to take lightly. The Yaksha carried thousands of years worth of burden, shackles of guilt and terror binding him to unpleasant memories. With every passing day, he is harshly reminded of the way he and his polearm skillfully worked through the bloodied dance of weapons on the battlefield, crimson liquid painting the ground and his very hands. It stains so intensely that it was like an unseen tattoo that reminded him of eons of slaughter he partook in, the lives and dreams he so greedily took from people. It was something only he could see and something he would continue to see for many more years to come according to him. 

He very rarely got close to anything or anyone, devoting his life to duty and the orders granted to him by Rex Lapis to protect the beloved land of Liyue. For this very reason, he never thought much about emotions or the overall concept of it, seeing it as a worthless matter, a weakness even, for it could not help in the slaying of those in battle. All he ever knew at that point was violence, having his purity harshly stolen from his grasp all those centuries ago and being left with not even a single grain of what it was like to feel anything pleasant. Whenever he did feel anything, pain, suffering and agony were the only things that filled his system therefore to him, it was better to feel nothing at all. Needless to say, he was somewhat unapproachable on several levels, but who could blame him? 

There then came a day in which all of this would away as an estranged guest made your way merry when into the Inn. You, (Y/n) were a mere mortal traveler with a dendro vision chained upon your hip, specializing in the field of healing. You stumbled upon the inn, looking to take on commissions and requests in exchange for a room for the time being. Your fates clashed with each other during your first encounter when you were tasked to deliver almond tofu to the adeptus that was specially made by yourself. You could still remember stuttering over your words in embarrassment during your first meeting as he revealed himself to you, commending you for your culinary skills but telling you to leave immediately, saying something along the lines of it being ‘too dangerous for mere mortals to stay in the presence of adepti for too long’. It was accurate to say that you two took an interest in the oddity of the situation. Why did Xiao decide to reveal himself to the simple human, knowing very well his mere presence was already a threat to you. Why did you not turn away in fear just from the adeptus’ profound deathly gaze? There were several unspoken questions between you two at the time but that one fateful encounter had caused a shift.

You had decided to extend your stay at the inn a little longer than you intended to. You went about the daily tasks set out by Verr in exchange for your stay every day that you were there. The completion of your tasks leads to a delivery that had become habitual to you during your stay at the inn. Every day you’d made your way up to the highest terrace in the inn to drop off a plate of almond tofu to the adeptus. On some days, he’d reveal himself and on some others, he chose to remain unseen-- and to you, this was okay. As the days passed, it began to be more apparent how odd this whole shift was for the both of them.

You are an adventurer, someone who sought out to travel the lands, and yet, you remained grounded at the Inn, your fascination and curiosity driving your patience to learn about the distant Yaksha and fuelling your willingness to stay settled at the inn instead of seeking for the thrill of adventure. Xiao was an adeptus, a being that has lived for many years on end, a being that has slaughtered countless, a being that carried an indescribable amount of karmic debt for all the treacherous and ungodly amount of terror he has bestowed upon thousands in the past. He could not explain to himself why he even decided to associate with a simple mortal, thinking that there was something wrong with him at the time because he knew that if he were in his right mind, he would have never even bothered taking a glance at the human. But then again, not all things could be explained. From the days that you had stayed at the Inn for that time, you would find yourself visiting the lone adeptus every evening, delivering a plate of what became familiar to him as your almond tofu, the one that deemed to be the closest to that of the dreams he so greedily devoured all those years ago. 

Months had passed since the first day you first set foot into the inn. You had managed other work and commissions throughout the time but often found herself coming back. you became well acquainted with everyone who worked there, practically making it her second home in fact. Even when you did have to part ways, you would pass by whenever you could, sparing your time and energy at least once a week to come reeling back like a moth drawn to a flame. The reason behind it was very evident to you, nothing that you would ever admit to hiding at this point. You did enjoy the company and atmosphere of the other humans at the inn but at the end of the day, everything came back down to the enigmatic adeptus that resided there. 

Sensing your presence had become second nature to the adeptus, him knowing the very moment you set foot into the Inn. He would never admit it to himself, but he found himself looking forward to the mortal’s visits. He still thought about the first day he decided to reveal himself to you, feeling a little more content about it with every passing day. But something about the whole ordeal scared him to no end. He wished it wasn’t the case but he was well aware of all the changes and feelings that had bloomed since you waltzed into his life. The feeling of bubbling excitement inside of him every time you came back to him, the feeling of embarrassment of when you’d blurt out compliments towards him, feeling more comfortable and daring as the visits continued. The feeling of protectiveness washing over him when you told him stories in which you got even the slightest bit injured. One may view this just as someone showing emotion; but that was the problem for him. He wasn’t supposed to show emotion-- he wasn’t supposed to feel-- according to himself at least. Rather, he didn’t deem himself worthy to feel pleasant emotions.

“Xiao” A familiar voice called out to him, turning to face the direction from where he stood, which happened to be the spot where he viewed the familiar landscape of Liyue.

You made your way towards him, holding out a plate of almond tofu which he had come to admire. He took the plate from your grasp and greeted her with a light hum of acknowledgment before beginning to munch down on the tofu. You let out a soft chuckle before standing next to him and leaning on the railing, staring off into the starry skies you had become accustomed to seeing, though every time, it never failed to amaze you. Your eyes gazed at the twinkling stars in the sky as you began your usual routine of speaking about how your life has been since you last saw each other. You had become accustomed to Xiao’s aloof demeanor at times like this because you knew that despite him seemingly looking uncaring, he was secretly listening to your rambling. You stared off into the distance as you spoke, your attention being stolen by the stars. While at work on the plate of almond tofu in his hands, Xiao took these moments to look at you as he silently listened to your long-winded sentences.

In serene moments like these, it was hard for Xiao to keep his composure. Though the stars in the sky glimmered so beautifully, they paled in comparison to your eyes when they sparkled so passionately when you spoke of your adventures. In moments like these, Xiao was reminded of your courteous nature. He was reminded of how good you are, going about your time adventuring the lands, specializing in the art of healing with the assistance of the beloved vision clipped at your side. You lived for adventure; you lived to help those in need. It was in moments like these when he became painfully aware of how different you were from each other.

It had been so long since Xiao ever considered himself to be good in any way. He was all too aware of the disgusting red that painted his hands permanently, the hands which have slain countless beings in the past. The hands that he did not see worthy to touch anything so fragile in fear that it would break, feeling as if anything would die at even the slightest touch of his fingertips. You see, when he met you, he was so sure that he was far from anything good and you proved himself to be right in his mind; because you were what he deemed to be good in his eyes. And he was nothing like you.

Before he knew it, he was left with an empty plate and a bustling mind full of thoughts as he looked out into the distance along with your words flowing freely with the wind. You turned back to see Xiao in all his glory, taking in his presence, eyes lingering upon him like the first time you met him. There was never a day that passed where he didn’t look stunning in your eyes. The reserved yaksha was nothing short of a challenge for you to get close to. Even to this day, there are times where he was standoffish towards you. In moments like these, you’re reminded of how you’ve barely scratched the surface of his character, being well aware that he’s lived far longer than you and will quite possibly continue to live way beyond your time. Though he hasn’t explained every single detail of his past to you, there have been significant points in time where he has opened up about snippets of his past, to which you grasped and held onto as much detail as you could when he went on. You’ve picked up that Xiao isn’t the most well-articulated when it comes to explaining his feelings but you paid no mind to it, taking pride over the fact that he has yet to slit your throat open with his spear. There have been countless occasions in which you’ve praised Xiao but none of them have truly projected your feelings towards the adeptus.

Xiao was not truly aware of how deeply you felt for him. Sure, he thought that you were interested enough to stick around and pester him for who knows whatever reason. However, it went way beyond that. You admired him so dearly, his presence being one in which you ironically found an indescribable amount of comfort in. You’ve listened intently to his wise words of wisdom, his tales of his bloodstained past that he was willing to share, as well as his little remarks about how peculiar humans are. You saw beyond the seemingly frigid, cold, and distant demeanor of Xiao and instead saw a boy with such a yearning to be tender, gentleness being beyond his reach according to him but to you, he was gentle. 

You noticed the way he would handle the little things involving you. You notice the way his tone has changed in the slightest when talking to you whenever he does, softer than the first time you had initially met. You notice the way he acts when it comes to physical touch, preferring to make little to no contact to you but his touches were soft and fleeting whenever touch was necessary. He’s told you several times in the past that he has a brute touch preferring a distance to keep himself from hurting you. From that alone, you knew he’s gentle, reluctant to admit it though due to the events of the past but nonetheless, his gentleness was hard to grasp but must be cherished greatly and that is something that you have done. 

“Xiao” You called out to him. He turned to face you, noticing how you were staring right back at him, your arms resting upon the railing as you gazed at him.

“Is something wrong? You seem a little more spaced out today.” You spoke out again.

He sighed before clicking his tongue. “It's nothing that should be of any concern to mo--” 

“--mortals like you, I know yada yada yada. You’ve said that far too many times in the past. Now tell me, what’s truly wrong Xiao. I did make you listen to my rambling so it’s only fair that you shoot something my way.” You cut him off. 

Annoyance laced his features as he let out his nth sigh of the day. He turned to look at you, giving you a serious, almost cold look.

“I am already greatly aware of how odd some human tendencies are, knowing you mortals do some strange actions that even I question to this day. But you, you are the most peculiar of ones that I have encountered. You wish to stay with someone as myself, someone who could take your life in a single heartbeat. So tell me, why does someone like you continue to linger?”

Lo and behold, a question that you were surprised to hear from him, though you knew the day would eventually come when he would ask. Why did you continue to come to him time and time around? You let out an exasperated sigh as you turned to him with a lighthearted smile in an attempt to lighten the tension that filled the air.

“I enjoy your company, that’s all. Is it so wrong to spend time with someone when you enjoy them being around?” You stated. His eyes narrowed at your response.

“I do not believe it is normal to risk your life simply for mere company, it is not worth it. I refuse to believe that your motives are as light-hearted as that. Is there something that you desire that is beyond that of human capabilities?” He stated.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your smile faltered at his aloof response. What was with the sudden cold demeanor he decided to put up front? You held eye contact with his warm amber orbs that held a stare ironically as cold as the mountains of Dragonspine.

“It’s because you’re you, Xiao. I come back and spend my time here because you are you. I enjoy the little things about you and the time we spend together, y’know? I enjoy the way your eyes light up at the sight of almond tofu, I enjoy your little declarations of how odd us mortals are, I enjoy hearing you open up about even the littlest of things. You’re special in my eyes, Xiao. You’re strong in so many different aspects, you’re wise in the words of advice you speak and last but not least, you’re gentle. Those are just a few of many aspects of yourself that make you so special to me.”

Xiao’s face contorted to one of bewilderment for a brief moment before morphing to one of disbelief, scoffing at the statement. ‘Gentle’ he thought. When you mentioned him being gentle, he thought to himself that it was a load of pure nonsense.

“Calling me gentle is simply blasphemous. I have told you countless times that I am far anything related to that of a tender nature. I leave nothing but a trail of anguish and regret. You’re foolish to see me in anything of a good kind of special, even more so if you see me as gentle.” He firmly stated as his arms crossed tightly across his torso.

Archon’s Xiao’s mind was a mess. He was in a stubborn state of denial as he refused to believe the words that slipped past your lips, writing them off as lies. He covered the creeping insecurity that arose in him with a stone cold demeanor like he always did. He couldn’t accept it, he couldn't even fathom to believe what makes you think he’s so special. 

“Listen Xiao, you’re being awfully stubborn right now.” You said dejectedly. Despite his current manner, you wouldn’t back down, seeing this as one of the only opportunities where you could truly and openly speak about how you felt towards him. You turned so that you were fully facing him, standing your ground as you spoke to him.

“You think so lowly of yourself sometimes y’know? It saddens me to know that you only ever see yourself like that.” You stated.

“I am stating nothing but the tru--” Xiao spoke.

“Listen to me, Xiao.” You cut him off, him being surprised by your snapback.

“You’re far more than your own past. I’m aware of everything you’ve gone through from what you’ve told me. Forgive me for I’m unable to fully sympathize with you but I can’t let you continue to do this to yourself. I’ve only known you for mere months out of the thousands of years you’ve lived but I’ve been around you long enough to know that you’re not as bad as you claim yourself to be.” You paused for a moment to gather yourself before you continued on, looking that Xiao was very much paying attention, an unreadable look on his face.

“You’ve told me yourself that you’ve been around long enough to capture the knowledge of the world to an extent. You’ve told me that you’re aware of how barbaric and lethal your own strength is but you’ve never told me that you hold tenderness inside you, even after all you’ve been through. You hold such valuable knowledge in the field of strength but you’ve failed to notice that the gentleness in you is not completely gone.” Your own hands stretched out and firmly held onto his gloved ones as you continued speaking. 

“You speak about yourself as if you’re not worthy of feeling anything but the anguish and pain as a price to pay for your actions. You’re allowed to feel vulnerable, you’re allowed to feel curious, you’re allowed to feel happiness. I want you to be more honest with yourself so that you can see that you’re worthy enough to feel good emotions. You can extend yourself out to others and the human world and allow yourself to be free. Still after all this time, I sense you feel that it’s necessary to keep me at an arm's length but that’s not true nor is it something that I want. Though this fact alone proves my statement. The fact you wish to keep me away is a sign that you hold that gentleness within but you can still learn to be gentle without having to lock everyone out. Your loneliness isn’t an inevitable conclusion, and I’ll prove to you that it isn't. I wish to stay with you not only because I enjoy your company but because I found something in you worth cherishing. I want to see you grow from whatever anguish you hold, even if it’s just a little bit. I know my life might be merely a second in yours but please, let me do what I can in my lifetime to make you feel worthy and feel loved, because I truly do love and care for you, Xiao.” Your grip tightened around his hands, fearing that he’d yank them away from you with every passing second. Although you firmly stand your ground, you were internally malfunctioning at the whole-hearted confession to the adeptus in front of you.

Xiao felt as if the wind was knocked out of his lungs, face contorted into that of even more disbelief as he found himself still trying to process this whole ordeal. He took the time in processing the words that came directly from your heart as it went straight into his, a warm feeling erupting inside of him, something that felt to foreign to him that it scared him a little. Though your words held a weight to them, it was much more pleasant compared to that of his past memories, but it wasn’t enough to distract him from the way you desperately held onto him.

He was well aware that he could pull away from you at any moment, knowing that your strength could in no way match his but he couldn’t do it. The moment your hands touched his, even through his gloves he felt the firm gentleness of your grasp. You were no hydro user but in that very moment, he felt as if you washed away the bloody sins that stained his hands for years on end. For once he felt clean; for once he felt pure, rid of all the unpleasantries of the world for these very moments that he spent with you.

You noticed how Xiao stood still. You feared that you might’ve severely angered him from the way you snapped at him, but the look on his face told you otherwise.

The usually serious and stern face of the adeptus held such a soft, perhaps vulnerable look. His eyes were wide and in the moonlight, you could tell that they were glossed over from the way they shone with emotion, mouth slightly ajar, possibly trying to find the right words to respond to you. He didn’t need to say anything though because from that look alone, you got all the answers that you needed.

You slowly let go of his hands as one arm moved to wrap around his waist and the other going towards the back of his head, reeling him in closely for a foreign yet mellow embrace. His hands awkwardly stayed at his sides before they slowly and hesitantly moved to hug you back, leaning in gently to your touch as your hand led his head to the crook of your neck, allowing him to bask in the warmth you so generously offered him. For the first time in archons knows how long, Xiao felt a warm liquid spill from his eyes, staining your shirt. Your hands ruffled through his hair in an attempt to soothe him in his time of vulnerability. His hold on you was still so light, almost as if he was afraid he’d break you if he held on even tighter. The hand that ghosted over his back made its way to one of his arms and tugged at it, encouraging him to hold on as much as he needed.

“It’s okay Xiao, you can hold on tighter. I’m not as fragile as you may think. You don’t have to be scared of breaking me.” You chuckled lightheartedly.

His grip did tighten, as he began to mumble words with his face still buried at your side. Something along the lines of apologizing for snapping at you earlier. Your smile widened as you held onto him even tighter if that was possible.

Xiao knew he wasn’t perfect, he was far from it in fact. He had so many flaws and rough edges but that was okay--that’s what made him Xiao. He never understood until now why you thought he was so special and to be quite frank, he still didn’t understand, but he was determined to understand it one day. He wasn’t good like you but he wanted to start believing that he was good in his own way, wishing to truly do something that he felt was right by you in the future. Though it wouldn’t be the easiest of journeys, he was determined to do something that feared him to no end--for you. He wanted to learn how to love, how to love you even more and openly express it to you but also, learn how to love himself, just as you loved him. 

“Thank you, (Y/n).”

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Saved

Summary- 2.6k Bucky x You. Based on a ASK from anon-Hella Bi Bitch. Hydra tramautized you and you go to Bucky for comfort. Angst/Fluff. Also written for @jtargaryen18​ 4k Challenge. 

“Sweetheart. They are not coming.” Brock leered over your face, his hot breath washing over you, and it was almost impossible to miss the leer in his brown eyes as he cupped your face. If you had the capabilities, you would jerk away, but you were strapped down. All over, even your head was strapped flush to the hard metal table. The only thing you would do that would be satisfactory was work your mouth, draw up that last bit of spittle you had left and spat at him, making him curse while jerking back. 

It would be worth the pain he would cause next, knowing that at least he couldn't break you, just tie you down. Captain would be here soon, Iron Man, Natasha, Bucky… someone, someone would come for you. 

Brock retaliated by slamming an open palm across your face, biting back a cry, a burst of blood interrupted from your nose, racing down your face. 

As parched as you were, you welcomed the hot iron taste swarming your mouth, even through the pain. 

“Rumlow! You will step away from the girl. We need her.” 

Dread filled you as his face went from rage, to a cold smirk, pulling away from you. “Don't worry sweetheart, once they are done breaking you, you and I are going to do great things.” 

Your eyes flickered to the Hydra Agent, laying out his supplies, tools of pain and vials of poison to flood your system. Nauseated, you looked back up to the ceiling, and squeezed your eyes shut, clamping your mouth shut. Tears welled up, you would probably be gone, dead before the team would find you. It was what you hoped for now. 

You would rather die then let them turn you evil. Wasn't there a saying? You either die a hero or turn into a villian. You prayed, prayed for death instead. 

A year you were tested on, preyed on until you became a shell. Moved from base to base, handled by various people. None had a shred of kindness, and Brock especially took joy in your torture. 

He was able to use the various instruments, had access to your cell whenever he wanted. Your personal bodyguard, your personal hell. In these times you sink away from yourself, your body started to work on their command, your mind an empty shell of your former self. Intelligent? Yes, but yourself, no. 

It wasn't complete yet, there was still a shred of you left. Holding on, barely. 

Your rescue happened one sunny afternoon, but you weren't to ever know this. You were deep underground, away from air and light. They had just dumped you in your cell when there coms went off. To weak to pay attention to the Hydra agents fear as they hurriedly locked you in, you crawled to your cot and folded yourself onto it. Another day of survived hell. Squeezing your eyes shut, you really just wished for it to end. At this point in any manner. So much pain. To much.

Alone for a while, you start to drift off into nothingness when metal on metal jolted you awake with a terrified whimper. You heard the clang on your bars and lifted your head up to see Bucky trying to see who was curled up on the cot. 

“B-b-bucky?” You eased up slowly to make sure you weren't seeing things, and then right next to him Steve stepped up, flipping his shield to hang on his back. 

“Doll, we finally found you.” Bucky exclaimed with relief, grasping the bars and wrenching them as hard as he could, the metal whining in protest, but it wasn't strong enough to hold him back from what he wanted. 

Steve kept a watch of Bucky's six, speaking into the com at his ear. “We got her, Bucky is collecting Y/N now, have the jet ready Clint. Nat, you just about done? Sam, cover us when we come up."

“Five more seconds and data is secure, Tony can blow this hell hole to dust.” 

Bucky's arm went around you for support as you went to stand, sore from earlier, he saw you hobble forward and he swept you up. 

“Just faster this way Doll, come on Steve. Before Stark gets trigger happy.” Bolting for the nearest set of stairs, everything became a blur as Bucky and Steve bolted from the building. Hiding your face in Buckys shoulder, you never did see that sunny afternoon. 

A shadow passed over Bucky and Steve bolting across the ground, and when you glanced up, lifting your head off Buckys shoulder, the flash of red and silver covered out the blue sky above, and you smiled to yourself, between Sam, Steve and Bucky, you were safe. Exhaustion dipped your head back to Buckys shoulder.

It wasn't long till you were back at Stark Towers, which hadn't been your home in a year. Bucky carried you down into the medic bay with Sam close by. The rest of the team went to debrief on the mission, knowing you were taken cared of. Bucky easily set you down on the table, hovering nearby, he seemed hesitant to leave you, you who were so quiet, so shut down. Sam hovered close by, his jaw clenched. Quiet at well. Not knowing what to say or do, You just stared at the floor till Bruce came in. 

“Give us some privacy Bucky? I need to give her a full examination.” Bruce said softly, and your eyes welled up with tears, hiding away from them both. Bucky shook his head in refusal. “I'm not leaving her alone.” 

“Okay, but on the other side of the curtain, if Y/N needs you, she will call you.” Bruce looked over at you to confirm that was okay, and you nodded, still unable to look at any of them. Your shame and fear pounding at you. Sam clasped Buckys forearm, nodding his head to the door. "We will just be on the other side." When Bucky stepped on the other side, you could see the worried look flashing across his face, somewhat in recgonition to your pain. Sam gave you a slight nod, and a smile of encouragement.

Why couldnt you be stronger? 

The start of your recovery was rough, locked in your room a lot. It took some time for you to open back up to the team. Bring a sense of normalcy to you again. Your normal for the past year has been to be tortured. Everyday life was a lot. Things so simple, like going to get a glass of water, took all your willpower to do. The team, they did everything they could to make it easier.  Natasha and Clint immediately made you a part of their movie nights. At first you would sit stiffly away from them, not wanting to be touched by anyone. But soon you loosened up. Curling up against Clint while his arm draped over you, your feet in Natasha’s lap while she painted your nails. “How are the nightmares Y/N?” Natasha would ask, and you could feel Clint tighten his arm around you slightly, listening. It was no secret, your nightmares were a nightly occurrence, often waking up screaming and trying to hide somewhere in the room. 

“They are fine, fewer and fewer every day.” You lied, covering your shame. 

Steve, you often went with Steve out for walks where he would find some subject to draw. You would lay in the sun, while your friend sketched away at some piece of nearby building, sometimes a landscape. Once he even did you while you were sitting a bit away, catching your profile watching the clouds above. Often you two would sit in easy silence, not needing to have long intense conversations, you were just happy to be with your friend. Once in a while you would ask him. “Steve, you think I can join the team soon?” 

The blonde man would hum, and his blue eyes would shift over towards you a moment before going back to his paper. “Y/N, don't rush it. You were there for a year. I'm not putting you in the field before you're ready. Here, what do you think?” He would flip his pad around and of course it was his way of saying, No. Not Now. Maybe not ever.

Sam often had you over to his apartment to help with meals. You figured it was to make sure you were eating properly. At least one square meal. When you asked him, he scoffed. "Actually taking these cooking classes, I make enough for two. Lets face it, your better company then I could ask for. Besides Steve and Bucky are not adventurous like you. They wanna boil everything." Sam snorted, stiring his jambalaya. "Chop this up." He said quickly, handing you a knife. You always felt safer with something, Sam noticed this the first time you joined him, and you flinched when he drew out a butchers blade. From then on, you were set on chopping duties. You began to really look forward to cooking nights with Sam.

"No girlfriends to have cooking dates with?" You would tease when you set to chopping and Sam would give you that grin of his.

"Sure, I just test them on you first Precious. Gotts make sure they are decent enough to feed to others."

"Yea, I'm real Precious if your using me as a gineau pig." You stick your tongue out st your friend, but secretly you don't mind.

Tony, he was more energetic. Often you would be sitting down in his workshop, laughing at his attempts to improve the Ironman suit. It became a habit to keep a fire extinguisher nearby. “Tony, I don't think you should try this.” You said warily as he put on his new thruster boots. “Aww come on, what's the worst that can happen?” He grinned, and winked. 

He ended up shooting around the room like a balloon just untied, crashing into walls and bouncing off the floor. When he finally came to a stop, his feet were on fire. 

Jumping down with the extinguisher, you yelled “Tony!” and covered him with the foam, once it ended and the billionaire blinked it away, swiping the foam off his face. 

“I had it under control Y/N.” 

“Sure you did.” You squirted him one last time to retaliate before putting it away, and holding your hand out to him, helping him up. 

“Payback Y/N, payback.” Tony glared before pulling you into a hug, getting you covered to. At first it was fine, until you didnt feel Tony anymore and you struggled. Tony immediately let go, and you covered your face in shame. “Im sorry, I'm so sorry Tony.” He shook his head and gently grasped your wrist just enough to uncover your face. “Y/N, it's okay to feel like that. I should have asked first.” You gave an apologetic smile and he winked. The good thing with Tony was that he moved on from your attacks like they never happened, and for that you were forever grateful to your friend.

Bucky, he was the only one that you would find wandering late at night, like you were. When everyone else was fast asleep, you would be pacing the tower, afraid of sleep. It would happen, eventually. Your body would give into its demands, and you would go under into your nightmares. But until that happened though, you found ways to distract yourself. Sometimes it was video games on mute, you would bake muffins for the teams breakfast, get lost in Tony's library he allowed you access to. It was in these wanderings you found Bucky, bumping into him in random places. 

Eventually you two started to really get to know each other. Your late nights would be spent together. You opened up more and more, talking about what Hydra and Brock did to you during that year, Bucky making similar confessions while you two sat outside, away from the confines of the building. Quite a few times you both watched the sun start to come up far off to the east, and Bucky's arm would settle over you while your head tipped onto his shoulder. 

“Buck, I don't know if I will ever just be okay. Steve doesn't seem to think so.” 

“Doll, I came back from it.” He simply said, and you looked up at him, giving a half smile. 

“Your stronger than me.” 

His brow arched as he looked down at you. “That's not true. I had help, Steve, Shuri. I could have never done it alone. Why I know you will come back from this. Your not alone.” 

It gave you something to think about the rest of that day. 

You were so tired after two days going, you couldn't help but pass out, exhausted. You fell into bed in your sleep shorts and a tank, curling up while the world faded away. 

The nightmares though, flashbacks of all those times you were helpless, unable to fight back and could do nothing more than hold back your screams. It never helped, they still fell from you till you were horse from it, rolling from your bed as visions of various doctors plagued you, Hydra Agents beating on you, and Brock he was always in the darkness, watching with anticipation. When he would finally step from the shadows, you knew it wasn't just a nightmare anymore. It was hell. It was what sent you hiding while you were still sleeping. 

This night the jarring motion falling from your bed woke you, before Brock could get to you. Covering your head, you sobbed into your knees, so completely at a loss of how to fix yourself. Your shoulders shook, and you huddled there on the floor for a moment till your legs and back started to ache from being hunched over. Sniffling, you grasp the side of your bed and pull yourself to sit on the edge, wiping the tears from your face. The room felt cold. Reminiscent of your time with Hydra. No warmth, dark shadows stretching like they were reaching to claim you, in which you withdraw your feet off the floor, trying to talk yourself through what you felt was another oncoming panic attack. You had to get out of there, there was no way you could sleep in here tonight. 

Grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around your shoulders, you edge around your bed, trying not to let yourself get psyched out that Brock might be hiding in your room, he wasn't. He couldn't. It was impossible to break into Stark Towers, right? Into the living room you went, looking over your shoulder at what was your bedroom. Even your couch felt too close to the memories. 

It wasn't even a thought, you eased into the hallway and started down familiar doors. Steve, Natasha, Wanda… when you paused in front of one. It had no special markings, nothing to signify to any other that it was a special door, but for you it was. Hesitating for a second, you reached out and gave a quick rap of the knuckles, waiting. 

Bucky heard it, that quick knock knock. He never slept deeply, always aware of his surroundings, years of training and his own deep rooted fears that something was going to happen. When he opened his door to you, the blanket you had on you just about swallowed you, and your face peeked out, red rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. He knew you had been crying, were about to start crying as you were standing there. Bucky stepped back to let you in. 

“Sorry Bucky, I just… don't want to be in my apartment tonight.” Your head dropped as you stepped in, and he softly shut the door behind you. 

Standing there for a moment, you didn't know where to go from there, and he stepped in closer, encircling his arms around your cocooned blanket and you could feel the rush of a sob squeaking from you, pressing in against his t shirt. Bucky tucked you in close, feeling his own eyes prick with tears feeling you break in his arms, your shoulders shaking and even the blanket couldn't seem to keep you feeling safe now. But his arms did. They were strong and hard, encircling you. “Come on Doll, your exhausted I can feel it.” 

You didn't struggle as he led you down the small hallway to the back bedrooms, and  expected him to put you in a guest room that you knew all these apartments had. But he didn't. 

He brought you right into his room, and sat you on the edge of his bed. 

“Are you okay unwrapping from this?” He questioned, his hands resting on the blanket where you clutched it around you like a protective shield. You sniffled and dried your face on it momentarily before nodding, letting your grip go. He eased it off, and folded it. Resting at the end should you want it back. 

“Give me two seconds Doll.” He disappeared into his closet and with the door half shut, pulled on a pair of sweats over his boxers, and switched out his tear wet shirt for a dry one. When he came back out, you were right where he left you, feet dangling over the edge of the bed, and your fingers clasped in your lap. When he came around and stretched out, half propped up on pillows, you looked over your shoulder at him. “Can you leave the light on Buck? Just a little bit?” 

“Of course Y/N. '' Reaching to the lamp, he turned it on a softer setting and saw you visibly relax your shoulders as you looked around, and could still see all the corners of the room. Pushing back to get in the bed, you tucked yourself in against your friend's side, letting your head fall to his shoulder. 

“They must have been pretty bad this time.” Bucky said as he lifted a blanket over the two of you, and you nodded. “I kept seeing Him in the dark, coming for me.” Bucky was well aware who you were talking about, having shared with him before some that had happened to you. You lifted Bucky's arm and placed it around your shoulder, his palm pressing against your arm and tucking you in closer, dropping the softest of kisses on top of your head. “Even when I was awake, it was like he was just out of sight, waiting for me to drop my guard.” 

“We won't let him get to you Doll, not again.” 

There was a soft shuffle of blankets as you got comfier against him, and your arm locked around his middle, your voice muffled against his shirt. 

“I know Buck, that's why I came to you.” 

[sophiamargaux]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝕱𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖎𝖕𝖎𝖈𝖊

Hellooo! This is my very first fanfic post and I am incredibly nervous about it lol. I have always shipped Hinawa and Maki so here’s an ode to the HinaMaki ship :) I hope everyone will be respectful and know that you are allowed to ship whoever you want (as long as it doesn’t involve minors, incest, you know the rest). 

BTW the story happened when they were both still in the military.

_____________________________________________________________

The military is not for the soft – hearted. Its hard knuckle fights, intense violence of bombs, guns, and devastating destruction stemmed from a shallow and pointless war, is not for those with kind and gentle souls. Takehisa Hinawa only realized this truth a little too late before he joined the army. His motives?  It was not worthy of an award – winning speech about being faithful to the country. It was not even an illustration of something as heroic as world peace, or to discover the cure for cancer or aids. Motives that most aspiring politicians or doctors would have. But for him, his motives are as blurry as his eyesight. Maybe the military was the only pillar he could rely on for stability or maybe it was merely because he is a second generation pyrokinetic user. Although he only found out about it when he first held a gun during a range practice in his first days in the military. Whatever his motive was, you can say it was tenacious since it made him stay in the army long enough to become a sergeant.

Hinawa was packing an overnight bag for a mission. The night was silent, and it was the customary time where most of the soldiers are already asleep. The mission was mildly dangerous since it required an assistance from two second generation pyrokinetic users, Hinawa being one-half of the assistance. The higher – ups could call someone from the Special Fire Force Department, but they are afraid that it might be all for naught and it would waste their precious time where they could have been protecting the people from infernals. They also reasoned that if an infernal did happen, the second-generation users will hopefully be able to handle the situation just in time for the Fire Force to arrive. But then again, Hinawa is starting to get used to these situations. Especially since he was recently paired with his partner for these kinds of missions. Hinawa and his partner did not have a great start when they were first paired for these types of missions. It certainly did not help that his partner was under his command as a sergeant. But with the aid of time, they started to work in sync with each other. Things would not have worked out if his friend Tojo did not convince him to offer some help to his partner.

 “I’m all packed Sergeant!” A familiar voice rang through the open door.

 Hinawa looked back and saw a young lady dressed in the same military gear and uniform as him standing straight by his door in a salute stance. Private Maki Oze, daughter of the commander of the Tokyo Army and the other half of the second-generation user assigned for the mission. His partner.  To be honest, he was not exactly fond of her when she first joined in the army. During their first drills, she always came last and had no strength whatsoever. He often found her doing extra practice in training rooms, but he still thought all that effort was for nothing. She got in because she was a soon to be heir of the Tokyo Army, so it is safe to say that their partnership did not start off in the right foot. Maki did talk back to him once in a tone that he particularly did not like, and it ended with the whole section running fifty laps because of her. It did not end there. Maki had to run extra five laps and do fifty push – ups. He was not dubbed ‘Sergeant Hell’ by his comrades for nothing. Hinawa was always tough around them, but it was all for their sake. You needed to be hard and unbreakable for a job like this.

Maki specifically was a different story. Hinawa saw the determination and drive. Anyone can grow muscles and be physically strong but not everyone has the mental capacity of a fighter. But he saw that in her. It was not the same fire that he usually saw in other soldiers. It was brighter. It was like her flames were a loud voice in the dark. So, he decided to heed his friend’s advice and helped her. It took a lot of back – breaking drills and exhausting laps to dash the soldier out of her. No matter how much she improved, Hinawa still thought that he is right. She was not meant to be a soldier. Not with a kind heart like that.

 Hinawa zipped his bag and walked over towards Maki, closing the door behind him. He sported his head cap.

 “Let’s go,” he said, as they both started to make their way outside where a military truck awaits them.

 “What’s the mission this time, Sergeant?” Maki asked.

“We were asked to assist Captain Daichi’s troops in their retrieval for military armor and gear from a burnt down building in the south.”

“So why are we needed?”

“They said there might be some bombs in the building that are still active. Just to be safe than sorry, I guess.”

The cold air greeted them when they made it outside. All they could hear was the deafening noise of the crickets and the soft slow rumble of the chilly air that occasionally passed by. If they both listened closely, some mild snoring could be heard from the military truck situated three feet away from them. The military looked peaceful during nighttime. The gloomy atmosphere of the moonlight shone an agenda of rest for the beaten down soldiers. The green light signaled a temporary respite to put down their armors and shields, offering sleep before a new day starts once again. Hinawa would have loved to wave the white flag of defeat and retire to his bed but for now, he needed to be a soldier.

Upon closer investigation of the military truck, Hinawa’s urge to rest grew further. The truck was an old, rundown shackle with a tarp that not only barely covered the last row but had terrible patch work which meant all the good and comfortable spots were already taken. Maybe it was some sort of universal punishment or maybe it just so happened that the other good military trucks were taken but whatever the reason was, Hinawa was too tired to even make a face of disagreement.

“I know, she’s not much to look at but get on.” The vice-captain who was in the driver’s seat bellowed brusquely.

Maki was first to climb on the truck then Hinawa followed. He looked at his other comrades and saw some of them sleeping while the others gingerly engaged in some late-night idle chatter. Hinawa was on the verge of making a bitter face towards the soldiers who first claimed the spots he deemed were nice and favorable but stopped himself before Maki noticed his sour disposition.

“I guess we should have packed and arrived earlier, huh,” Maki said as she sat down, disappointment lacing her tone, as if she just spoke out loud the exact thing that Hinawa was thinking about.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it.” Hinawa sat down, facing Maki on the opposite side. They were hardly being covered by the old, craggy, and uneven tarp in a somewhat crowdy vehicle, sitting at the very last row. The last row was not the most unfavorable of all places, Hinawa thought. The view could be amazing plus the breeze that you could feel while travelling felt refreshing but considering that it is the middle of the night and he had barely any rest, he was not looking forward to the cold air.

He felt a sudden jolt from the vehicle and after a few minutes the truck started moving towards their destination. Tokyo still looked busy and bright even at ungodly hours, Hinawa observed as he looked at the scenery behind the vehicle they were on. All he knew about the south is that the building was in the middle of a field, a couple miles away from civilization. He guessed that maybe it was to guard territory of the country, but he was not exactly sure. But he was positive that the fields of the south nurtured cows, goats, and other animals alike. If the mission went well, the captain might agree to stop by a nearby farm to gather raw ingredients for the army kitchen. He would not mind having the chance to enjoy rest time with farm animals. Besides, he did grow up in a small town.

Hinawa swarmed in his own thoughts when he felt the forces of fatigue and exhaustion pull him closer and closer to sleep. He crossed his arms close to his chest to combat the cold air. It was not long before Hinawa completely fell asleep.

 _______________________________________________________________

Hinawa felt the jostling of the vehicle and the gust of the cold morning air.  He slowly opened his eyes to see the sight of his lap. It appeared that he had fallen asleep with his neck facing downwards, and slowly he started to feel the ache gathering at the base of his neck as he tried to look up. Still groggy and dazed from recently waking up from his slumber, he gazed up at the free sky and the rough edge of the tarp that seemed to be falling apart at the seams. The sky was a lovely pool of lilac, pink, and blue. It was dawn at its most beautiful, banned from the shadows and despair that came with nightfall. The horizon painted a muddy picture of black and white, ambiguity brewing anticipation of a stupendous day. But at last, the world was brand new once again.

He looked behind him and noticed that the scenery had changed. Instead of buildings, towers, and a mob of civilians, what beheld him was a beautiful landscape of the countryside. Rice fields, trees, and far-off sights of the forest. It would not be long until he started seeing the fields of the south. He eyed his comrades and noticed that they were still sleeping soundly. Must be nice to not be affected by the cold air, Hinawa judged bitterly. He peeked at Maki in front of him and observed that she too, was still sleeping soundly.

He felt a small tug of his lips at the sight of her small snoring, sleeping form. She had her head rested at her left shoulder and the top of her head was facing the hide of the truck. He could already predict the look of her pained face once the sore on her neck started to settle. It pained him to see her this way, because she looked so lovely, despite the military camouflage clothing and the armor geared with it. She had grown up to be daddy’s princess, and here, a decade and thousands of miles away from that life, here amid the threats of violence from Infernals’ dissolute and unlovely tasks of the army, here was Maki Oze, asleep, raven hair softly dancing with the wind, radiating a gentle glow.

Her eyes slightly wrinkled as the sun started catching up with the moving vehicle. Immediately, Hinawa removed his field cap and gently placed it on her head, careful not to wake her up. It changed everything somehow to see this new facet of her and to be aware of how eagerly she had sought to be a better fighter. It made going through the mission with her a dangerous endeavor. A strange shiver of devotion passed through him and then a corresponding swell of protectiveness. Not that Maki needed much protection.

Hinawa realized that he had been slightly smiling for quite some time, unaware of his blatant stare towards his sleeping comrade. Instantly he dropped his smile and shook his head to be rid of the intricate thoughts he had of his partner. Such fragile, tender thoughts could cause the beating heart to act on its own that might travel beyond logic. Hinawa had to remind himself of who he was and what he needed to be, a commanding officer.

The vehicle came to a halt to signal their arrival. Hinawa stood up and gently shook Maki’s shoulder. Maki still a tiny bit bewildered, woke up from her slumber and looked at the person who woke her.

“It’s time to get off.” Hinawa said, not making eye contact as he immediately went down first. Slowly getting to her senses, Maki realized that there was something on top of her head and upon instant inspection, she noticed that it was Hinawa’s field cap. Or at least it was what she assumed since the sergeant earlier appeared to not be wearing his field cap. She removed the cap from her head and looked inside to find the tag in it beholding the name Takehisa Hinawa. She felt smitten and grateful as she gazed at her walking partner, smiling at his kind gesture.

 _______________________________________________________________

The sun had a blinding glow. Its fiery rays cascaded down the fields of the south border. Soldiers from left to right were moving armors. Half – way through the mission, another military truck arrived to compensate for the number of objects they have retrieved. Maki looked at the ash and soot that covered the building with disdain and annoyance. It had been three hours of back – tiring, back and forth slavery, climbing up and down the burnt building, carrying the surviving heavy equipment, while staying alert for stray bombs, and Maki has had enough. She had been sweating profusely and her arms were starting to ache. She had experienced worse, and it mostly involved Sergeant Hell’s drills and punishments.

Three hours had also passed since Maki felt nothing but scorn and spite towards her partner. She knew all too well the merry feelings she experienced earlier were too good to be true for Hinawa was stricter than usual and Maki was getting a little irritated. To think that he bestowed her his field cap only to be treated this way. Maki was certain, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Hinawa had her whole respect, but he was treading the line between army disciplinary and blunt rudeness.

Maki grunted and carried the large metal bin, making her way back into the building before Hinawa reprimanded her again about her tardiness – even if it was only a minute, no worse, thirty seconds late. Ever since she woke up, Hinawa was… a touch different. It was not a complete three sixty-degree transformation to the point where he was unrecognizable. It was more like a switch was turned on and out came a side of him that she had never met. She should not interest herself in such mundane and small observations, but she could not help but wonder at the baroque changes that Hinawa was making.  Hinawa appeared as his perfectly normal self to a random comrade at first sight, but Maki would digress. From the first hour of the mission, he had been barking orders at her with excessive intensity than the usual firm but authoritative tone. Lately, it was always Maki, walk faster! Or Maki, pay attention to where you are going! Not once did he even try to make eye contact with her. No matter how hard she tried to keep up to his orders it she was either a minute late or it was not done in the way he would want it to.  

Maki quickly jogged upstairs to where Hinawa was waiting. When she arrived, he already had a pile of different machine guns waiting beside him. She stood up straight and demonstrated her best salute stance while hiding her desperate panting.

“You’re late.” Hinawa said bluntly as he grabbed the bin that she was holding. He promptly dropped the bin and started placing the machine guns inside one by one. Maki swiftly struck her tongue at him when he was not looking, like a little juvenile child.

“Are you helping or not?” Hinawa ordered in firm and harsh tone.

Maki jumped to her feet and started placing the machine guns into the bin as well, scared at the possible return of Sergeant Hell. The mission was already tough on its own, she did not wish to worsen the weight of her burdens. The work was not entirely silent since they could hear other troops outside handling their own retrieved armor. Maki found the background noise pleasant since she could not handle Hinawa’s aggressive aura.

“Why am I always deployed with you?” Hinawa sounded like he was thinking his thoughts out loud after a long time of silence between them. Maki would had given him the benefit of the doubt and assumed the start of his day did not go as great as hers, or he had received bad news, but Maki was not feeling kind after three hours of nothing but boorishness and acrimony from him.

“It’s because we make a good team, you dipshit.” She muttered in her lowest, tiniest voice, silently praying that Hinawa did not catch what she said. She looked up at him just in case, but Hinawa was already staring. Maki’s blood ran cold, and her fingers started to get clammy. It was the stare. It was the look that Hinawa would use that rendered the rest of her comrades meek, frozen, praying for their lives. His face did not contort in any way nor did his eyebrows crease downwards. His face was rather relaxed and devoid of any emotion, but everyone could feel his unwavering motive for severe discipline strongly.

“I-I’m very sorry Sergeant! That will never happen again!” Maki hurriedly stood up and saluted. Without pausing, she picked up the bin and hastily made her way down. The bin was heavy, but she was willing to make that sacrifice if it meant she did not have to witness the wrath of Sergeant Hell. Although, she was fully well- aware that she would face the consequences of her actions when they returned to Tokyo.

Hinawa was left a little bewildered at the sight of Maki scurrying away. He wondered why she would suddenly bolt with the bin knowing very well that it was heavy. He sighed in frustration. He withdrew his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose to release some tension that he had been feeling lately. Hinawa was not known to be someone who was led by their emotions, in fact it was the opposite. He couldn’t even make decent eye contact without getting flustered for remembering her sleeping face. Hinawa felt pathetic at his disposition. It did not help that she was wearing his field cap. He probably scared Maki away when all she ever did was try her best while he was being a pain in the ass. He put his glasses on and went down to catch up with Maki, in hopes of trying to patch the things that he did.

It was not long before Hinawa witnessed Maki dragging the bin with whatever strength she got left. When Maki noticed his presence, she immediately had her back straight and was about to apologize again when Hinawa stopped her.

“You shouldn’t have recklessly carried this all by yourself.” Hinawa said in a calmer tone. An inconspicuous apology. He held the underside of the bin on one side and ordered Maki to do the same on the other, their fingertips briskly making soft contact. In the count of three, they lifted the bin and carefully tread their way down, conscientious of each step they took.

Hinawa cleared his throat and thought of the perfect words to say.

“I apologize for the way I um… acted earlier.” Still struggling to make eye contact he kept his gaze onwards. He felt stupid for struggling over something so regular and casual. Something he was able to do almost every single day. He could even meet eyes with strangers. But Maki was no stranger. She moved past that title long before Hinawa realized it himself. Finally mustering enough grit, he looked at her direction and there she was, looking at him with her bright purple eyes, smiling.

“You’re a weird one, Sergeant,” she said, simply. In her usual sweet, cool tone. Her eyes returned forward and continued to walk in silence with him, her smile not dropping.  

Hinawa did not want to overthink. He did not want to interrupt the soft mumbling of his heart. He had been too hard – like granite, that something as soft as Maki made him feel ominous towards all things that are delicate and gentle. He did not want to think of what will become of him in the future when the comfort that she gives, became too serene that he would no longer look for peace in anything or anyone else, but her.  But that was for future worries. Hinawa knew that the slope he treaded on was precarious, but for once he wanted to bask in the small joy that he found in this old, burnt, and retired building. When they finally made it outside, it was then that he realized the warm smile he wore the whole way down.

Maki stretched her back and groaned at the pain that came with it. She adjusted her cap and looked at the building. Is that all? She thought hopefully.

A sudden loud boom answered her question. The bellowing noise echoed from the top of the building. Large debris sputtered out with ashes and soot, as the soldiers ducked and took cover.  Hinawa looked around, checking for every soldier, hoping that all the troops were present outside, and none were harmed from the explosion.

Hinawa stood up and decided to go inside to check when he felt someone pull his uniform, crumbling to the ground, just in time when a large rock dropped in front of him.

“And to think that could’ve been you.” He heard a familiar voice by his side. Maki had a firm grip on the collar of his uniform and the other on the ground to support her upper body and his weight. Hinawa’s back was pressed against her chest as he lay in between her legs. They took cover when another wave of cinders approached.

Once everything settled, Hinawa stood up and helped Maki along with him. He took notice of the sight that was around him. Everyone seemed fine and no one looked harmed from the abrupt blast. The captain in charge quickly grabbed the megaphone and assured the troops. Orders were made. Everyone gathered around the center and checked. Hinawa could already tell the mission was going to be delayed for another day.

________________________________________________________________

The night was silent. Tents covered the area where soldiers rested after a long tiring labor. Thankfully, no one got hurt from the explosion, thanks to the great Sol’s mercy. Daylight resigned and made room for nightfall. The crescent moon that hung above the clouds were glistening with pride, silently saying good job for a well – spent day. The campfire placed in the center crackled softly as its tiny embers danced in the wind, its serene cacophony bringing peace to the sleeping soldiers.

Hinawa was sitting by the fire, polishing his guns. It was one of those days where sleep did not befall on him, causing him to gun at the blazing fire with thoughts at disarray. This happened once or twice in every two weeks ever since he joined the army. It was the one possibility he was aware of when he signed up. It did not dawn on him that another soldier also shared the same troubles.

Maki had always known that Hinawa had sleeping problems from time to time. It was a speculation she made on their first mission together and confirmed it when she once saw him strolling around the military campus late at night. She did not know why the information stuck with her. Maybe it was because she too, had difficulties with sleeping.  Whenever restless nights occurred, the Sergeant would come to mind. The cynosure of her thoughts often sloped to Hinawa on whether he was awake as well. She did not know how this circuitous way of thinking started, but it was a guessing game that she very much enjoyed playing.

Maki got up and went out of her tent. She looked around and noticed Hinawa all alone by the campfire. Maki was right again.

She approached Hinawa with careful posture, hoping not to disturb his deep contemplation. Hinawa already seemed aware of the approaching footsteps, then glanced expectedly at Maki.

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Hinawa questioned in a solemn voice while continuing to polish his guns.

“Why aren’t you?” Maki asked with the same solemnity.

“I can’t sleep.”

“It’s the same for me too.” She sat down beside him. Happily warming herself in silence.

Maki would not say it out loud, but she had always loved the silence between them. There was no tension, no awkward air, no rigidity. It was just him. His good old eccentric self. The gap amidst them, in vague estimation, was but a hand’s distance yet for Maki, it was more than enough.

“Thank you for earlier.” Hinawa stopped and turned to her.

Maki was a little surprised with his words of gratitude. It was not every day for her to receive a thank you from him, though still, she replied with a soft small nod. They spent more of their time together in gentle stillness, appreciating the campfire and its warmth. Maki observed his face in her own discreet manner. The mischievous shadows of the fire grazed his features. She suddenly got an idea.

“Sergeant, do you want to play a game?”

“Honestly, you and your games –.”

“This will be fun, I promise.” Maki looked at him with hopeful eyes, prying for a yes. It was late into midnight. Hinawa was tired, and it looked like Maki was in the mood to drop any form of formalities. He had been in this predicament more than once ever since he asked her to play a game of chess with him. From that day forth, she had gradually adapted into the habit of asking. Often a game of poker or go fish. It did not help that his fierce competitiveness would get the best of him. So whenever the chances arose, he’d give in.

Hinawa sighed in defeat.

“What is it this time? Poker?” He set aside his guns. Maki’s excitement increased after his agreement.

“I forgot to bring my deck of cards though. But I have an idea.” Maki’s arm reached out to touch the temple of his glasses. “May I?” She asked politely.

Hinawa tried to ignore the sensation of her fingertips on his face but instead eyed her in suspicion.

“What are you planning?” He asked defensively. When it came to his eyesight, he did not easily trust anybody.

“Don’t worry, I won’t run away with it. It’s a game called How far can Sergeant Hinawa see.” Maki looked skeptically happy for Hinawa’s liking. He raised his eyebrows at the absolute ridiculous made-up game she curated.

“And how is this exactly, fun for me?” He asked, reaching with careful ease to her out-stretched arm.

“You’ll get a chance to teach your subordinate about having bad eyesight? It is all for educational purposes!” Conviction laced her tone. “Well… at least it is for me.” She mumbled her words after, trying her best to convince him, but she knew she was not demonstrating conceivable reasons.

Hinawa stared at her pleading face and considered every possible outcome that could occur if he ever gave in. A bad feeling brewed from the very bottom of his guts, creeping up to his esophagus and felt himself enter an unknown territory.  

Maki cowered under his gloomy stare. Her shyness slowly resurfaced like a bad itch, until Hinawa eventually agreed.

“Try to run away and I won’t hesitate to shoot you.” He threatened.

“Yes, sir.” Maki swallowed back her fear.

When Maki detached his glasses from his face, the once bright and brilliant sight of the campfire suddenly shifted to an orange blur. He squinted his eyes on impulse but to no avail. He still could not see. He heard a giggle from where Maki was seated and tried to look at her pointedly, but his eyesight was too cloudy that he could not decipher her face.

“What are you laughing at?” He tried to scold.

“I’m sorry Sergeant, but I can’t take you seriously when you squint like that.” Maki sought an apologetic tone, but she could not control those small fits of giggles that came out.

“If you’re going to laugh at me, I’m no longer playing this ga-”

“Wait, wait, wait! I’m starting.” Maki waved her hands around in compliance.

Maki scooted a few places away from him, not far but far enough that she became a filmy mess of colors in Hinawa’s eyes.  

“Can you see me?” She asked earnestly, quietly, a small call amid the cackling of the campfire’s flames. Maki knew what she meant when she said those words, she promised no other message but the literal. And yet the chatoyance of her eyes and the comely warmth of her face begged to differ.

“No, you’re a blurry mess.” He said calmly, with a cool and collected composure that Maki was a little jealous.

So, he is nearsighted, Maki thought to herself. She scampered a little closer as the sound of her rustling clothes melded with the fire. She sat three steps away from him.

“How about now?” She asked once again. The tender beating of her heart elevated. Step by fragile step. A dangerous distance separated them.

“No.”

She moved closer. Two steps away. The sight of his face grew nearer. Her fast pulse teetered amidst a minefield, taking precise steps, yet fully anticipating the eventual fall, his succeeding notice. Nothing went past Hinawa’s strict observation, and yet, and yet! How his keen-eyed nature toppled in the face of sweet blatancy. Tension seized her deliberate advance. She mustered enough courage to ask once more, despite how her heart opposed.

“Can you see me now?”

“Maki, you have to move closer than that.”

It sounded like a small dare. A miniscule challenge to scoot closer, or so it seemed at first. Maki closed the chasm. Their bodies touched. And there it was, the fatal flaw. And suddenly his face was one breath away. She felt her heart tightened at the gnawing clarity in front of her. This was not the game she expected to play. The once dulcet juvenile idea was short – lived and it turned into a diaphanous duel of the heart. Regret dawned when her chest constricted, a great effervescent demise waited at the sight of his face only inches away.

If Maki had been brave enough, she would’ve taken another ghastly risk closer.

“How about now?” She inquired in a supple whisper, wordlessly urging him to say yes.

To her surprise, Hinawa drew his face closer to hers. Their noses nearly caressed. Her pulse drummed. Her heartbeat soared. The campfire’s amber glow resembled his orange eyes, brilliant like the shiny coppers and pennies in a treasure box, kindling a special flame of their own. She marveled in awe, staring deep into his copper pools.

Hinawa’s stare penetrated. Really looking at her. With enough fervor, passion, and blithe to ignite a golden unadulterated cinder.

“Now I see you.”

Maki knew with most certainty what Hinawa meant when he said those words. There was no code or hidden message. But across this labyrinth of newly planted confessions, burning novelties, and undecipherable sentiments, a fine piece of thread guided a way for Maki. And for a moment, her what-ifs exulcerated, paving fresh roads for more, knowing that she may be falling because just for a short second, she felt the whole world disappear. All she could see was the soft glimmer of his tangerine eyes.

Upon sudden realization of their proximity, Maki hastily moved her head and awkwardly laughed.

“Wow, Sergeant you have really bad eyesight.” Maki lightened the mood and placed his glasses back into his face. She shifted and moved herself away to create a tiny distance between them.

“You should have them checked.” She weakly added, her hands covering the reddening of her cheeks, completely avoiding his eyes.

“I already did but there’s nothing they can do about it.” Hinawa adjusted his glasses as he said so.

Maki cleared her throat and stood, feigning a yawn as she stretched her body.

“I’ll be going now Sergeant Hinawa, it was nice talking to you.” Maki respectfully bowed and quickly made her way to her tent. As she walked, she peeked him, hoping to find answers about the earlier endeavor. Maybe it was the night’s illusion or her sleep-deprived mind, but she could have sworn that his ears were a tinge pinker than ever before.

________________________________________________________________

Maki was lying in her tent, unable to fall asleep. She tossed and turned but nothing worked. For the past hour, her mind continually travelled to the glasses game that happened earlier. She wondered if she could ever face him again without being flustered. Hinawa must have been dense enough, right? There was no way he could’ve noticed, not when she had his glasses in hand.

But after her attempted conviction failed, she began to panic at the idea of Hinawa seeing through her façade. That her rose blush had been blatant enough for his blurry eyesight.

Maki groaned in frustration and turned to her side once more. Hinawa’s field cap occupied her vision. I must return this to him, she reminded herself. She took the cap and stared at the tag that held his name. Out of nowhere, Maki felt a smile budding. She had never been more confused in this predicament, and yet she had never been happier as well. Her feelings were still an unresolved puzzle towards Hinawa. She could not even begin to untangle her thoughts about him.

Maybe it was homesickness or a glitch in the mind. She could not care less either way, only a mellow delight seeped through the fabric of her confusion. Surely, one could never be in the wrong disposition when such odd joy triumphed.

And just like that, Maki fell asleep with a smile on her face that night. Whatever it was, whatever her heart whispered that evening, she’d had enough time to worry later. It can wait till then.  

[astrochiron]

The Signs :: Channel Orange // Frank Ocean

Aries- Sweet Life

“You've had a landscaper and a house keeper since you were born The starshine always kept you warm”

This line refers to an easy life, one of luxury and means. What’s more, this person has had these things since birth, not even earning these things themselves. An Aries rising chart is called natural, as their houses are led by their associated signs, their life tends flows easily and this person has had a similar life.

“So why see the world, when you got the beach? Don't know why see the world, when you got the beach”

Aries is the sign of self and your own experiences that you don't have to reach out for. This person has trouble seeing outside of their world and, in fact, refuses to branch out. They have the “beach” in their own mind allowing them to ignore the things going on around them.

Overall

This song is a challenge to look outside of oneself and your own comforts to empathize and experience the ways of others. Frank wants her to step outside of her privilege and her pretty surroundings to maybe experience something else, something less curated for them. The lyrics imply a sense of immaturity exhibited by the subject, not fueled by the search of fun but by circumstance.

Taurus- Pink Matter

“That soft pink matter Cotton candy, Majin Buu, oh, oh, ohh Close my eyes and fall into you, you, you My God, she's giving me pleasure” close my eyes and fall into you” 

This line provides sensory imagery of softness and pleasure, two things Taurus is associated with. Cotton candy and Majin Buu (a DBZ character) conjuring up safe and comfortable imagery of childhood and happiness. Frank’s moved on to another source of pleasure though, as this line alludes to sex and the pleasure of it. Taurus is associated with the physical pleasure of sex.

“Pleasure over matter” 

Both pleasure and physical mater are associated with Taurus. Taurus is an Earth sign, associated with physical matters like money, possessions, and even your relationship with your physical body. Pleasure is the ultimate goal and that is bolstered by the maintenance of physical means.

Overall

This song’s focus on the body, especially the feminine one, links it to the feminine sign of Taurus. While Virgo is linked with physical health and routine, Taurus shows how we view and worship the body. This song also focuses on desire, another Taurean trope.

Gemini- Thinkin’ Bout You

“A tornado flew around my room before you came Excuse the mess it made, it usually doesn't rain in”

The chaos and air-related tornado is a perfect symbol for Gemini, a restless and powerful force made of fluent thought and free-ranging speech (Air related things). Frank is also lying to this guy, saying his room is messy because of a tornado. I’m not implying Gemini’s lie, but they certainly have fun with the truth more than most signs.

“Since you think I don't love you, I just thought you were cute That's why I kissed you”

This song displays the inquisitive and impulsive nature of Gemini. Frank kissed the guy because he thought he was cute, plain and simple, almost like school kids on the playground. This also displays the dismissal of romantic disinterest (common in the manner of most air signs) for inquisitiveness.

Overall

The title literally has “thinking” in it, which is Gemini’s superpower as the mutable air sign. The whole song is something of a train of thought ramble that Frank is well known for, honestly. The whole song has a childhood vibe, even supported by Frank saying this is about a time when he was 17 or so. Gemini is linked with our formative years and though, 17 is a bit old for Gemini’s range, it’s still cerebrally nostalgic and witty.

Cancer- Forest Gump

“Forrest Gump You run my mind, boy Running on my mind, boy Forrest Gump”

Cancers have a tendency to linger on thoughts, especially the emotional nature of them. I don't think Cancers are crybabies (I'd give that more to Pisces who cry from happiness, frustration and sadness all in the same hour), but they are very emotionally strong and emotionally stubborn. Their emotions are forefront in memory and so is the way Forest made Frank feel.

“Forrest green, Forrest blues I'm remembering you If this is love, I know it's true I won't forget you”

The “Forest blues” points toward Frank being in feelings over a past situation. Whether over something that happened when they were together or over the break-up itself, Frank is sad and a cancer will never forget how someone made them feel.

Overall

This song has a focus on past feelings for someone, not specific memories. Cancers are very subjective and, instead of remembering facts about a memory, they'd be remembering how they were feeling during the time. As a bonus, the song is  named after an older movie which was itself based in nostalgia.

Leo- Super Rich Kids

“Real love, I'm searching for a real love”

Leos are associated with romance and unconditional love. Their search for joy and the uninhibited feeling of childhood makes them crave and seek true love, sometimes at the detriment of their well being, but aways for the better in the end. No matter how unhealthy, these two searching for genuine love from one another, though finding temporary joy in drugs.

“Caddy-smashing, bratty ass He mad, he snatched his daddy's Jag And used that shit for batting practice”

Earl’s whole rap discusses the more self-destructive traits of Leo. This line in particular shows the sometimes self-centered nature, expressing their anger by inflicting pain on others. Leos are very expressive and, despite their genial nature, are still passionate fire signs. This also a very childish expression of emotion, and our inner-child is linked with this sign.

Overall

Immaturity is often a negative trait associated with fire signs. Leo’s exhibit this immaturity when they may make bad decisions trying to seek love and acceptance, as well as looking for fun and enjoyment in the wrong places. And while not outright said, the subjects of this song seem to blessed (or cursed) with the fame and fortune associated with Leo.

Virgo- Lost

“And I just wanna know Why you ain't been going to work Boss ain't working you like this He can't take care of you like this”

This line display’s Virgo’s focus on work and duty. It also exhibits their often gently direct nature. This is very much a line a Virgo would say to their out-of-work partner, “This place is a mess! And I just wanna know; why you ain’t been going to work?” Virgos also take great care of their partner, even to the extent of being servile at times. He’s taking care of her and giving her a job.

“Hand me my triple weight So I can weigh the work I got on your girl”

Frank’s weighing out his product, showing the minutiae of his drug life. The song could focus on all the stuff he could buy for her, selling all these drugs, or even getting high on them himself, but instead he discusses weighing it up and strapping it to her. Frank employs this girl as a drug mule, being her boss and her lover; providing her employment and care (6th house).

Overall

Frank shows Virgo’s tendency to get caught up in work and the money coming in as opposed to the things that can be done with the money. Frank is always selling to give himself and the girl a better life, every drug run aways being the last one, but never really being the last one. The woman shows Virgo’s dedication to their partner, disregarding their own safety or comfort for their love.

Libra- Pilot Jones

“You're the dealer and the stoner With the sweetest kiss I've ever known”

This line represents the dichotomy of the user and the supplier. She’s both the source of his addiction and she enjoys the outcome of the addiction herself. This shows’s Libras’s tendency to be all things to all people. The last part also points toward Libra’s geniality and tendency to cover up ills and pains with kisses and sweet words.

“But if I got a condo on a cloud Then I guess you can stay at my place”

Despite all the bad decisions and toxicity, Frank is sayin that if he’s in a good place, she will be too. If he gets a raise, she benefits; if he buys a cheesecake, she gets a slice, if not half. When Libra’s are happiest, they want their partner there too, even if their partner was the reason for their unhappiness sometimes.

Overall

This song equates drugs with love, a metaphor I'd definitely associate with Libra. They don't need to be in a relationship, don't get me wrong; but it feels good. Librans lacking in self-expression or happiness or even stimulation, may turn to relationships just out of habit, even if they’re not with a “good” partner or one that is ultimately good for them. Frank is laid back in this song, allowing her to guide his high and really the whole relationship, taking Libra’s laid back and often lax attitude.

Scorpio- Sierra Leone

Spendin' too much time alone (And I just ran outta Trojans) Horses gallop to her throne

We all know about Scorpio’s focus on sex and the intimate connection formed behind it. This includes the first part of this line, as Scorpios tend to have intense relationships, often most intense in solitude with partner. This obviously doesn't involve only sex, but the intimate moments shared between two lovers when by themselves. 

“And a new day will bring about the dawn And a new day will bring another crying babe into the world”

Scorpio is linked with self-transformation, and the imagery of the new day bringing the dawn paints the picture of the whole world being renewed, as well as specifically the characters of this song and their evolutions. The last part of this line points to the birth of the characters’ child. The ultimate rebirth and the ultimate result of Scorpio’s sex and alone time, is a birth itself.

Overall

This song discusses an alternate Frank that got a girl pregnant young. It focuses on how different he’d be and how his life would be. This hypothetical thought experiment is very a very Scorpio thing to me, analyzing “what ifs” and “might be’s”. This song also focuses on the transformation of the characters, especially Frank, from stupid teenaged lovers to responsible parents by the end.

Sagittarius- Monks

“Mosh pits and bare chest Stage diving sky diver Spray the crowd with cold water Now it's mosh pits and wet tits I think I need a cold shower”

This whole verse gives Sagittarian vibes. Sag is ruled by jovial and beneficially social Jupiter. Each line exudes freedom, fun and physical exploration. The parties, lewd behavior, and stimulating music would all be perfect for Sags huge energy and need for experiences.

“African girl speaks in English accent Likes to fuck boys in bands Likes to watch Westerns And ride me without the hands”

This song represents the foreign interests of Sagtttarius. They love accents and different cultures and foreign people (romantically as well as platonically). There’s actually a hodgepodge of cultures represented with the African girl and her English accent with an interest in rock or grunge bands who watches American western movies and an... expansive physical repertoire. 

Overall

This song chronicles a meeting with a groupie, which gives to Sag’s rockstar vibe. Traveling countries, writing songs, and positively affecting masses are all things that Sagittarius is interested in. The groupies, they also probably wouldn't mind. As for the title, a monk, as defined by Oxford is “a member of a religious community of men typically living under vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience.” While the latter art of this definition sounds more like a Capricorn, evolved Sag’s are very monk-like once they’ve found their cause and their moral path.

Capricorn- Pyramids

“We'll run to the future, shining like diamonds In a rocky world, rocky-rocky world Our skin like bronze and our hair like cashmere As we march to the rhythm on the palace floor”

This line represents Capricorns focus on the future. Frank aims to be decked in gems, sun kissed and confidently walking even in a rocky world. Like Capricorn, he aims to dominate his environment and get the best out of it to his own benefit. He’s focused on improving themself and being presented as prestigious and as a king.

“The way you say my name makes me feel like I'm that nigga but I'm still unemployed You say it's big but you take it, ride cowgirl”

Capricorn’s get off on respect. Capricorn is one of those signs that has a link to sex, but primarily because of the power of it. She says his name like he’s the best, she compliment’s his assets, even if they’re still not too big for her. Even though he’s unemployed, he's still the head of household while they’re having sex. This points toward Capricorn’s sense of joy coming from others’ good perceptions of them, even if it’s not the right one. He’s broke, he may not have the biggest penis, and he may not even be the only one, but she makes him feel like all of those things aren't true.

Overall

Though metaphorical, this song focuses on history and royalty. Cleopatra may have been a Capricorn by some calculations and her outright rule of an empire as woman would support that. She was intelligent and business-minded and well-known. This song also shows a shift in status typically associated with Saturn and Capricorn. Though Saturn typically brings slow-but-sure progression, if the lessons it presents us aren't learned from and taken into account, it can take us down as high as it would drive us up. The character in this song goes from queen Cleopatra to Cleopatra working weekends at the Pyramid. Both demand attention, beseech respect, and accumulate wealth, though society sees them so differently.

Aquarius- Bad Religion

“And you say "Allahu akbar" I told him, "Don't curse me" "Bo Bo, you need prayer" I guess it couldn't hurt me “If it brings me to my knees, it's a bad religion, ooh’

The “bad religion” here shows the Aquarian distrust of religion. The driver tries to bless him, but he isn't interested in spiritual intervention, even though he did mention demons earlier in the song. Aquarians aren’t necessarily interested in or focused on religion because of the typical outright devotion involved in it. It’s a turn off for Aquarians and Frank is associating this with the unrequited love he's experiences with his crush.

‘This unrequited love To me, it's nothin' but a one-man cult”

I have a long analysis behind this next statement that I’m willing to back up one day but: Aquarians are attracted to odd social constructs especially things like cults. Every Aquarian I know has expressed interest in cults, dictatorships, or supreme leadership in the New World Order. That being oddly said, this line points toward Frank seeing himself as a worshiper in one of those cults and he wants the hell out. 

Overall

In this song we see how Frank made his love for this person his God and having it unrequited either caused or further proved his own negative feelings toward the whole idea of devotion and love. Aquarians also aren’t known for expressing their feelings in a conventional sense. Instead of going to a therapist and having to discuss feeling or going to a confidant and having to burden a friend or expose yourself to them, Frank chose to make his taxi driver his shrink, since he’s paying him anyway.

Pisces- Crack Rock

“You don't know how little you matter until you're all alone In the middle of Arkansas with a little rock left in that glass dick”

I’ve noticed that Pisceans have a bit of an inferiority-complex. This is typically portrayed a martyrdom but can even be expressed as. complete feeling of inadequacy and ineffectuality. This is due to their more tendency to outwardly exude peace even if they are in distress. This line also explicitly mentions crack, an extremely addictive substance. Pisces does have a link to addictions, though crack is bit extreme. We could replace crack with any momentarily-good but terminally-bad thing like constant sex, alcohol, less deleterious drugs, or even sleep and food. 

“Don't no one hear a sound Don't no one disturb the peace for riot Don't no one disrupt nirvana Don't no one wanna blow the high”

This line points out how Pisces tends to zone out and escape, especially when the world is a bit too much. Sleep is a common one, as Pisceans tend to have amazing dreams that likely beat a shitty or stressful life/situation. Nirvana, the ultimate escape, is associated with Pisces. They’re constantly trying (whether purposefully or subconsciously) to connect with the Great Other or the Universe or God. Anything blowing their high or disturbing their nirvana is cut off.

Overall

Frank said that he sung this song so it would sound like a smoker singing it. He wanted the fractured breath to show a long past and pain, as well as the self-abuse often an unintentional result of substance abuse. “Crack Rock” could also speak of a physical crack in a rock, separating from himself from the ones he loves due to the addiction. Isolation is common theme for Pisces.

check your moon sign (for the song that makes you comfortable and puts you in your emotions), sun sign (the song that makes you happy and the one you ride around to) and venus sign (the one that speaks to your inner artist).

[tarithenurse]

If I succeed - 8

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x fem!Reader Content: Oh the TENSION! Feel free to cheer and curse and gasp and fret. A/N: Thank you all for the patience <3 Want a tag? Send an ask or reblog! I’d love comments and feedback – even if it’s corrections on language or whatever. I’m not picky as long as I know my work brings joy too.

8 – Cloudy Hours

...   Jaskier   ...

Everything is wrong. Uncomfortable. Chilly, hostile, and downright exasperating.

Leaning against Roach for a bit of warmth (badly needed even though it is noon), the bard is running out of subtle ways to work romance into the lives of the (human) travel companions and with each day the group is getting closer to the Pass of Terrors (not an official name but one Jaskier is intent on coining).

“What ‘m I gonna do?” The horse merely nickers before resuming to nibble on the sparse vegetation. “Well’s your turn t’ come up wi’ something! I spend half o’ yesterday pretending to���ave the runs...even drank that...that...bleargh!” He shudders at the memory of an undoubtedly healthy concoction.

Yes, the situation is as bleak as the weather. Once or twice, Jaskier had believed there was hope – when they sparred for the first time and when Geralt presented the still rank albeit magnificent pelt to her – but nothing else happened. It is as though the universe is playing a cruel trick on the bard, preventing what is meant to be from happening and often tempting him to tell them outright what blind fools they are.

“Should I do that?”

Roach ignores him, something Jaskier has taken to mean “no”.

...   Reader   ...

You can hear Jaskier playing his lute from the other side of the little ridge, undoubtedly attempting to complete the latest song of the Witcher’s bravery when faced with a monstrous wolf. Bards. Little of what you have heard so far has resembled reality.

“Is he normally like this?” you ask the monosyllabic Geralt.

Amber eyes find flicker across the landscape. “No. More chatty. Always...close by.”

Oh. A lump which has been tightening in your gut grows larger still as you have to consider that you are the changing factor guilty of the change in the bard. But...why? Nothing else has hinted at any animosity between the two of you.

“He’s said nothing t’you?”

The question appears to catch Geralt unprepared. His large hands stop working on the silvered sword, resting the grindstone on a knee to allow him to sit silently for a moment, absentmindedly scratching at the bandage hidden beneath his tunic and you are reminded that you cannot postpone at least one task any longer.

“Stop that,” you order him, “lemme have a look instead.”

You allow him a sliver of privacy to put aside the tools and shirt while you find a new roll of bandages and the poultice needed to treat the wound from the wyvern’s stinger.

Fuck. It does not seem fair to create a being so perfect in appearance yet so unattainable in heart and mind. Although you have cared for his wounds many times it is the memory of a sunny day that resurfaces each time you look at him and the knowledge that all the strength he possesses serves to highlight the gentleness of his touch. Don’t stare, girl!

You kneel before him, hesitantly nudging until wedged between his knees. His eyes are boring holes in you as the old dressing is unwound and discarded onto the ground for the time being. The intensity of the gaze heats your cheeks, sends the beating of your heart into a mad dash until you have to bite your lip to prevent your hands from shaking. Carefully, gently, you wash away the remains of crushed herbs and sticky liquids which now smell of the venom they have drawn from the wound. Well, calling it a wound any longer is an exaggeration as the penetrating mark is reduced to little more than bee-sting sized welt. Bending closer, you prod carefully to test the tissue, gaining a hiss from Geralt as reward.

“I’m sorry!”

You would have snatched your hand back were it not for the large, calloused palm that holds it in place. Almost reluctant to meet his gaze, it feels as if everything has slowed to a standstill by the time the world is reduced to a silver-framed face with golden eyes. His lips (somehow closer than you expect) part slightly to allow his tongue to sweep out and wet them. That tongue. Oh, the wonders it can create warms your core even now, long after -

“Do wyverns use campfires?” Jaskier’s voice breaks the spell that has eliminated the distance between Geralt and you.

Pulling back, neither looks at the other as the bandages are reapplied in a rush. None of the silent reprimands are enough to convince you that it is a good thing the bard accidentally interrupted a situation you dare not label; instead, you feel as though a wonderful prize had been snatched from right out of your hands.

“I’m not sure other travellers up here are a good thing,” the bard offers his astute insight, earning him a roll of the eyes behind his back. “Who’d travel this way?”

Busy packing the remaining supplies away, you glance up at the jagged peaks and spot several smoke columns spiralling towards the low-hanging clouds. “None. We’re the last bit of civilization ‘fore the mountains and desert beyond.”

“Hm.” Supposedly, that means Geralt agrees.

No one mentions that some of the rising clues are different from the whitish smoke of cooking fires but polluted with a sickly green or a shade of purple so inky it borders black. No one mentions it because whatever the cause may be it is undoubtedly nefarious in origin.

“How far to where...where the two of you were injured?”

“Less than two days in good conditions.”

Even less if travelling downhill. There is an itch at the back of your knees spurring you to move albeit preferably away from whatever host has staked its ground up there. But why these mountains? Not once have there been tales of people crossing the great desert, Korath, as none who have ventured to do so have survived to tell of their exploits – the Far Lands are only known because it is possible to circumvent the scorching graveyard via the north.

As if reading your mind, Geralt weighs in. “These ranges are rumoured t’ hold a vast population of wyvern...greater than ‘ny other place in the world.”

“Quite a ways to go on a rumour,” the bard objects.

You hold back a scoff. “People’ve done more for less.”

None of the men deny that, choosing instead to resume the travels with a newfound severity painted on their faces – Jaskier even refrains from humming.

[animeniacss]

A Palette of Emotions - Artist!Taehyung x Teacher!Reader - Chapter 21 - My Muse

Synopsis: Taehyung dreams of being a professional and famous artist one day, but finds that the sea of creativity can be lurking with blood hungry sharks, as well as bland, motionless starfish. Swimming through the sea of opportunities somehow washed him up onto the shore of Bright Star Preschool, as an art teacher. This wasn’t where he expected to be 4 years into his career, but anything to get his big break though, right?

Feat. BTS, TXT, ITZY, Jisoo (BlackPink), Taeyong (NCT)

Genre: Romance, Slow Burn, Love Triangle, Drama, School Setting, Working!AU

Length: approx. 5.9k words

Chapter 21 - My Muse 

“Your apartment?” you asked softly, staring back at Taehyung. He nodded. 

           “Yeah. It’s a lot closer to here than your apartment is, so we won’t get as wet. The rain is only supposed to last for a little while, so maybe we can have dessert there. I think I have some chocolate cake in my fridge my friend Jisoo made for me.” He offered you a small smile. You blinked, looking down at the half-eaten burger in his hands. “Only if you’re comfortable with it.” He added quickly. 

           “Well…” you sighed. “Maybe it’s a good idea. I don’t want to run all the way home and risk getting a cold. Maybe the rain will at least lighten up in a little bit.” Taehyung felt his heartbeat just slightly faster in his chest. He didn’t think you would agree, however, he was very excited at the thought. It took most of his energy to not jump directly out of his chair and head straight home. However, he kept himself calm, simply leaning back in his chair and pressing his drink to his lips, taking a sip of the soda as he watched you finish up your drink and meal. “Just promise me something, okay?” 

           Taehyung raised his eyebrow and hummed in curiosity. “Yes?” he asked curiously. 

           “You’re not trying to be sneaky, right?” you asked. Taehyung pressed his tongue inside his mouth, offering you an amused grin. “I have to ask.”

           “Of course not.” He said simply. “I simply want to make sure you don’t get sick when you don’t have to. Well, that, and the chocolate cake.” That one made you laugh, and you nodded. 

           “Then let’s get going. I need to know how this cake tastes.” Taehyung nodded, both of you standing up and exiting the restaurant. When you reached the door, Taehyung turned to you, pulling his jacket up so that it once again was resting up against your head, shielding you from the rain that continued to plummet towards the pavement. “You promise it’s not far?” you asked. “I’m already starting to feel cold.” Taehyung looked down at you, gently taking your hand into his. 

           “Promise.” He assured. “As long as we run~.” You pouted. However, your pout of disappointment was left unnoticed as Taehyung quickly led you into the storm. You immediately felt heavy droplets splash onto the jacket and soak into your head, and you groaned. Taehyung had a few inches on you in terms of height, and he had much longer legs, so you were finding it difficult to keep up with him for a few moments while simultaneously clutching onto his jacket to ensure it wouldn’t fall off and leave your head exposed. After running for what felt like forever, you saw Taehyung make a quick right, and suddenly, you no longer felt water coating your head. Looking up, you caught sight of an awning that was covering the both of you. When your eyes turned to Taehyung, he was buzzing you into the apartment building. “This is the home stretched. We’re just going to have them take the elevator up a few flights.” Once he was buzzed in, Taehyung quickly took your hand and led you inside. 

           Almost immediately, the warmth of the inside of the apartment building overtook you, despite how wet you had become. It felt as if the light alone was practically drying you off simply by standing in the foyer. You sighed, pulling the jacket off of your head and tossing it over your shoulder. When you looked over, you saw a small foyer with a small sitting area, one that might have acted as the common area for various tenants, directly to the right of you in a separate room. You caught a glimpse of a young teenage boy, one who must have just gotten in as well, and was grabbing a drink from one of the vending machines. When you looked over in Taehyung’s direction, you saw him heading down the hallway and in the direction of the elevator to head up to his apartment. You were quick to follow, not wanting to be left behind. 

           The trip up the elevator was silent, neither of you speaking. Looking down at the jacket in your hands, you decided to focus on watching the few droplets that rolled towards the tip of the sleeves, pooling into droplets and plopping down onto the floor of the elevator. As the elevator rocked both of you, you tried to keep your mind calm. Tried. 

           I cannot believe I agreed to go into his apartment so late at night! You thought to yourself. I shouldn’t be here; this goes against everything I told myself I wouldn’t do…. As your mind continued to race, you glanced up at Taehyung. His hands were in his pockets, eyes straight ahead as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. He said he has no ill intentions…I shouldn’t be so anxious about it. As you thought more about it, you thought back to something your sister would say to you if you happened to voice your concerns to her. 

           “If you didn’t want to go into his apartment, you would not have accepted.” 

           “She’s right…” you mumbled under your breath.

           “What?” he asked curiously, his eyes turning directly to you. Your eyes widened, looking up at him as the realization set in that you had said that final part out loud. “Who is right?”

           “Nobody.” You sighed. “I’m just thinking out loud about something else. Don’t worry…” Taehyung nodded, turning back to his positioning straight ahead right as the elevator dinged, ending the conversation just before he could try to pry for any more information on your little white lie. A soft sigh left your body, and you quickly followed Taehyung into the hallway and down to his apartment. With a click of the front door, his door swung open and Taehyung led you inside. 

           “Make yourself comfortable.” He said happily. Gently taking the jacket from your grasp, he set it aside, draped over a chair at his dining room table. “I’ll put some tea on to warm us up.” 

           “Oh, okay. Thank you.” You offered Taehyung a small smile as he disappeared into his kitchen, and you found a home on his couch. Curious eyes wandered around the immediate vicinity, and it was almost immediately that you caught a glimpse at all of the paintings that were plastered on the walls. They surrounded the television, the windows, every piece of furniture that was placed against the wall. You even noticed some pictures propped up against the wall, as if they were like furniture. They were pictures that you had seen posted from start to finish on social media, ones you had seen at each art show you had attended for him. However, seeing them all together, piled one on top of the other and hung on walls like various sized Tetris pieces, you began to really how many Taehyung still truly had. 

           A deep voice pulled you back from your distraction, and you turned to see Taehyung set a cup of tea down in front of you. “Here…” he said softly. You lifted the cup, and quickly took a sip. The warm liquid spread across your body in a way that made it feel as though you were floating. Your fingers tingled from the heat coming out of the cup, but you could care less. It felt good. “Do you need…something warm to wear?” he asked. When your eyes flickered up to him once again, the blush on his cheeks was ever so noticeable. 

           “Thanks.” You said, setting the cup down on the table once again. “But I’m okay. You, on the other hand-.” You motioned to his clothes, soaked with rainwater due to the intense exposure he experienced as he shielded you with his coat. “You’re soaked to the bone. If you don’t change now, you’ll catch a cold.” Taehyung blinked, looking down at the clothes he wore. They were sticking to him, clinging for dear life. He felt the uncomfortable way they glided across his skin when he moved ever since he got into the house. However, he was so busy getting tea for you, change was the last thing on his mind. “I’ll wait here.” You smiled, once again holding up your teacup. “I have my tea, so I’ll be fine.”

           A chuckle escaped his lips as he hopped up from the couch. “I’ll be right back, then.” With that, he exited to his room in the back of the apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your tea. The door to his room clicked shut, and you were quick to lift yourself from your spot on the couch. You wanted a good look at these paintings, it felt like such a rare opportunity for some reason. As you walked over to the wall to your right, you immediately noticed tons of different styles of artwork. Oil paintings, watercolor paintings, abstract paintings, landscape paintings, portraits. It was as if Taehyung owned a museum all his own within the confinements of these 4-walls and limited square feet. Your hands lifted to your arms, rubbing them gently as a slight chill ran through your body. Maybe you should have agreed to at least change your shirt, but it was too late now. 

           As you walked beside the walls, you continued to take in each and every painting that came into your view. Each color, each brushstroke, it felt as if the set up of the paintings told a story all on their own. It was masterfully done, but maybe you were being a little too awestruck by what you were looking at. You must have been because somehow, you accidentally bumped into the large table that rested in the corner of where this wall ended and the one leading to the bathroom began. You quickly glanced down to your ankles and saw various crumpled up pieces of paper roll nearby, shaken from the impact of the contact. “Ow…” you huffed, scolding yourself for the lack of attention you had while walking; the kind you try to instill in your ever distracted students. As you turned to the desk and got a better look at it, you noticed not only was it a desk, but it was a desk covered in tons of smaller papers. Cups scattered the top of the desk, and various artist utensils sat in them; pencils, paintbrushes, markers. You hummed, glancing back up at Taehyung’s room. The door was still closed, and it sounded as if a muffled speaking voice was coming out of his room. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a little peek. You thought to yourself. Maybe I can say I saw his magnum opus before it was even created. That would sure be something. 

           Curious hands followed the actions of a curious mind, and before you knew it, you had gently lifted a small stack of plain white paper. Some of them had hints of drawings on them, promises of works that had yet to be completed. However, as you continued to flip, you noticed more and more of them with an intense amount of sketching, and an intense amount of color. You were absolutely beaming as you continued to shuffle through them. Your curiosity only grew as you turned towards the desk once again, and now, some new sets of drawings came into your line of vision. The difference with these, however, was upon seeing them, you noticing something very familiar. Leaning forward, you scooped them into your hand. 

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

           “Jimin, what do I do?” Taehyung whispered as he pressed the phone to his ear. He was digging in his closet for a warm shirt. He wanted to still give you something warm to wear just in case you needed it when you left. “As we speak, she’s sitting in my living room!” 

           “Well first off,” Jimin began. “Don’t try to panic like that. She’ll notice when you come out of your bedroom.”

           “Well yeah, I know. But I didn’t expect this. Inviting her over just came into my head and spilled out of my mouth without realizing it!” He sighed, finally grabbing an older grey sweatshirt and closing his closet. “I don’t want her to think I’m trying anything funny.”

           Jimin let out a sigh, and Taehyung scratched the back of his head. “Then don’t do anything funny with her…” 

           “Oh wow.” Taehyung rolled his eyes. “Jimin, I am so happy to have a friend with such infinite wisdom to provide me with such well-needed advice…” the dryness in Taehyung’s voice made Jimin snort out a laugh on the other end. “Come on, do you know me or not?” 

           “I know, I know.” Jimin coughed between his laughter. “But if you don’t do anything weird, then she won’t think you’re doing anything weird. Just enjoy the time with her and make it count.”

           “Right…”

           “And call me when she leaves. I need details.” Taehyung smiled a bit. 

           “Talk to you later then. I should get going now before she starts thinking I left out the window.” 

           “But…it’s your apart-.”

           “I know it’s my apartment, bye.” Taehyung hung up quickly without waiting for Jimin to say anything back and headed out of his room. He opened the door and stepped back into the living room. Almost immediately, he saw you standing by the desk, paper in hand. Taehyung felt his heart stop beating at that moment, and he gulped. He knew exactly what you were looking at. His hands buried into his pockets and headed in your direction. The footsteps easily alerted you, and you looked up quickly. “Oh uhm…” Taehyung mumbled. “I see you found my…” 

           A smile graced your lips as you turned the pictures in his direction. Taehyung’s suspicion of what exactly you found on his desk was confirmed when he saw your face sketched ever so carefully on the paper, the smirk on your face practically paralleling the one in the picture. “Your pictures?” 

           “Heh…” he grinned shyly. “Yes.” You nodded, your eyes casting back down as you once again went back to examining the pictures. “I uhm….” Taehyung tried to find the right words to say in this situation. You smiled. 

           “You really are talented.” You said softly. “Being able to turn truly anything into a work of art.” Taehyung’s lips pursed together, and he took one of the pictures in his hands. One of you offering him a frustrated pout. There were so many times he had that face given to him that he could not pinpoint the exact time or scenario in which it happened. 

           “I draw exactly what I see each time.” He said simply. You looked away, feeling your face heat up as Taehyung shuffled through the pictures. “I have one of you blushing.” He smiled, holding it up. “I hope this doesn’t seem weird…” he said softly. “I didn’t know what your reaction would be if you saw a stack of drawings of your face in my apartment, you know?” 

           You grinned. “I think they’re really well done. I’m honored you take the time to draw me.” 

           “Well, I can’t choose when I get to feel inspired, you know.” Taehyung set the pictures down. “I was going to give them to you as a gift on your birthday, too. Surprise…” You pressed your hands together shyly, glancing up at him. “For some reason, even when I had my worst artist block, for some reason I never had a problem finding inspiration when I get to draw you.” 

           “Well, I guess I’m honored.” You chuckled. You turned your head to look at the paintings that were hanging up on the walls around you. “I’m happy to be drawn by the same hand as these paintings.” Taehyung smiled. 

           “I wanted to put one of them onto a canvas,” Taehyung said simply, and you quickly turned back to him. “I was just trying to pick the right one. I think they’d all turn out nice. But I want the one I pick to be perfect. It represents you, after all…” 

           “Oh gosh.” You quickly covered your cheeks and turned away. “Stop that.” 

           “I’m serious!” Taehyung grinned. “Even if I wasn’t trying to…ask you on dates, if I made something that represented you, I would want it to represent you well.” Slowly, you leaned forward to look at the papers that were fanned in Taehyung’s hands like a deck of playing cards. He looked at you as you glanced over the pictures once again. 

           “I like this one.” You said softly, pointing to one picture of you in your work clothes. You were smiling, most likely sitting in your work chair as you worked with the children and Taehyung acted as an extra set of eyes to monitor the children’s behavior. Well, now you knew that was the last thing he was doing. “It looks really cute.” Taehyung nodded. 

           “Okay…” he said. “Can I ask you a crazy question?” he asked curiously. “Since it’s still raining, would you let me…sketch you right now?” Your eyes widened a bit, and Taehyung felt his heart begin to race. “Y-you don’t have to! I swear you don’t, it was just an idea. You look beautiful and I want to-.” 

           “I would love to…” you said softly. “Only if you think I could.”

           “Of course.” Taehyung smiled. “It’s just a sketch, so it won’t take too long. Plus, it’s raining, so maybe it’ll stop or lighten up before you go.” You nodded. “Uhm…okay…hold on. I didn’t plan for this.” You chuckled a bit, watching as Taehyung scrambled towards the couch. Quickly, he pushed his coffee table out of the way, pressing it up against the wall. Once it was there, Taehyung headed towards the dining room chairs, grabbing hold of one and bringing it in place of the coffee table. He set it down in front of the couch and motioned you over. “Is this okay?” 

            Nodding, you walked towards the chair, sitting on it. You placed your hands on your lap after tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and glancing up at Taehyung. He stared at you for a moment, and you could see the pink in his cheeks. It made you smile. “Taehyung…is there anything you need from me?”

           “Need from-. Oh no, no,” he said quickly. “You look…perfect, actually…” As Taehyung took a seat on the couch, he grabbed a piece of paper and a pencil. He looked across at you, and all you could do was offer a smile back at him. He nodded. “It doesn’t take me long to sketch.” His deep voice assured. 

           “Take your time if it means I’ll come out looking good.” You grinned, and Taehyung laughed a bit. He looked down at his paper, and you saw his hand begin to move. 

           You weren’t sure how long you had been sitting there before you had to shift a few times in your seat. When you glanced back up at Taehyung, you saw his eyes fixated on the page. His hand was flying from side to side, occasionally flipping the pencil around and pressing the eraser down to fix a mistake or removed a guiding sketched line. His tongue stuck out slightly when he did that, and it made you smile. After a moment, you saw Taehyung look up at you, and you quickly glanced down at your lap, a sense of embarrassment washing over you. Despite not looking at Taehyung, you could hear him chuckle. 

           “Can you please look back up?” he asked curiously. “I can’t see your face if you’re staring at your lap.”

           “R-right…sorry.” You said, lifting your head in his direction. Taehyung’s lips slipped into a slight frown and you suddenly felt nervous. “What’s wrong?” you asked curiously. 

           “You uh…your hair, it…” Taehyung glanced down at the paper in his hand for a moment, before looking back up at you. He set the paper down on the couch, before getting up and walking towards you. Your eyes followed him as he got closer, and your neck craned up to meet him before he knelt to meet your gaze. “May I?” he asked, motioning to your hair. You nodded. 

           “Yea, okay…” you said softly. You watched from the corner of your eyes as Taehyung’s hand lifted and brushed some hair out of your eyes, tucking it behind your ear. He continued to scan your face, looking to see if any other hairs fell out of place when you lifted your head back up from your lap. You had to admit, your heart was racing at how close Taehyung was to you at this moment, however, you tried to keep your composure, slightly gripping the fabric of your pants and averting your eyes back to your lap. Despite this, you could still see Taehyung shifting in front of you. His hand was still gently gliding around, moving hair from in front of your face, tucking down any flyaway hair strands, and setting your hair in a way that he must be envisioning for his picture. Every time one of his fingers grazed your skin, you could feel the area tingling, almost as if it was on fire. You had never felt something like that before from something as simple as a touch. You were curious, and you glanced back up at Taehyung as he knelt before you. 

           Dark eyes met your gaze, and his hand stopped midair. He scanned you for a moment as if to make sure through facial features that he was not crossing any boundaries. “…Almost done.” You could only nod, not having the strength to speak. Taehyung smiled softly at you, before quickly setting his hand on top of your head, gliding his fingers through your hair until he had some of it resting in front of your shoulder. You continued to watch his eyes as he worked, and once he pulled his hand back for good, you could have sworn you saw his eyes sparkle. “Beautiful…”

           The comment took you by surprise, and you felt your ears heat up. “Stop…”          

           “I mean it. Just stay like that for a minute, okay? I’ll sketch the hair right now.” He stood up once again, but your eyes did not follow him this time. They simply stayed in one place, straight ahead as you watched Taehyung take his spot back on the couch. Lifting his paper and pencil back up, he stared at you once more and got right back to work. Carefully, you felt your hands relax and release the fabric of your pants. Your heart began to slow down, and you were finally able to relax again, allowing Taehyung to finish. Despite these intense feelings that were rushing through your body, you felt a slight twinge of anxious excitement for the final product. Knowing that you had been a small source of his inspiration all of this time, a place where Taehyung was able to release any creative freedoms on, made you feel a bit special. Silence filled the room, minus the scratches of Taehyung’s pencil. Once you felt your body come down from what you could only assume was some form of fight or flight, you decided to speed things up with a conversation. 

           “How is it coming?” you asked curiously. Taehyung glanced up at you, smiling. 

“Excellent.” He said simply. “This might end up being my favorite sketch.”

“How long have you been sketching me anyway?” 

“Remember when President Kim made you apologize to me?” he asked. “You pouted when I agreed to only accept a deep bow, and for some reason, that pout stuck with me for a while, and the next thing I knew I had a sketch of it.” You smiled a bit. “You promise it doesn’t creep you out?” 

“Why would it?”

“Well, I guess some people would find some person, especially someone they’ve only had a positive relationship with for a short period of time, drawing them at various times for really no reason and keeping them in their apartment might be seen as stalkerish.”

“You don’t strike me as a stalker.” You said simply, giggling a bit. Taehyung chuckled, quickly erasing something on the paper before going back to fix it. 

“Well, thanks.” He hummed. “Let’s see if you still think that after I show you the shrine with the candle and blood sacrifice I keep in my room.” 

Despite wanting to stay still for Taehyung, that comment made you cover your mouth and laugh a bit. Quickly realizing, you attempted to fix your hair and set your hand back on your lap. “Sorry.”

“No worries. I finished the hair.”

“Is that the reason I heard you mumbling inside your bedroom before?” you asked curiously. Taehyung cocked an eyebrow at your question, though he didn’t look back up. “Because you were praying to the shrine.”

“Oh yeah.” His matter-of-fact response made you once again giggled, thought you remained still. “I was praying I would make a good impression tonight.” Nodding your head, you couldn’t help but giggle again at the thought. “I’m almost done, just sit tight a bit longer, okay?”

“I’ll try.” You teased. Taehyung only snickered, and silence filled the room once again. 

After another little while, you could hear the sounds of the rain outside dying down, decreasing from buckets of rainwater to a simple and almost rhythmic tapping on the window. You closed your eyes, taking time to find a beat within those droplets, a rhythm you could play over and over in your head in hopes to make time move faster. There was only so long you could sit in one spot within wanting to shift a little bit. However, you couldn’t, as Taehyung’s deep voice poked through your thoughts. 

           “I’m finished.” You quickly opened your eyes and looked at him. He was smiling down at the picture. “It came out very cute.”

           “Can I see?” you asked curiously, standing up from your seat. Just as you did, your knees buckled slightly, having locked from their long and stagnant time being bent as you sat patiently, and most likely from all of the times, you felt your body tense up, especially when Taehyung was up close and fixing your hair. You let out a sigh. “Aaah, my legs turned to bricks. How long did I sit for?”

           “Almost an hour.” He said simply. “Sorry, normally sketches don’t take me that long. However, I also usually do it from memory. This time I had you sitting for me, so I made sure I got every important detail.” 

           “Well, can I see then?” you asked again. Taehyung shook his head. “Why?” you pouted. 

           “I want to surprise you with it when it’s done.” He replied simply. “So, for now, it’s a no.” Walking over to his desk, he set the picture into one of the drawers. You sighed. “Thank you for that, though. I think it came out nice, and it’ll look good when I paint it.”

           “It was kind of fun getting to be a model in some way.” You admitted sheepishly. As you began walking, your legs loosened up and you approached the balcony window. “It looks like the rain has cleared up.” You said softly. Taehyung looked at you as you stared out the balcony window. 

           When he did, his mind flashed back to just a little while ago, when he knelt in front of you to fix your hair. He remembered how shy you looked at that moment, a look he had yet to really see from you. He saw you get sheepish; he saw you get embarrassed, but at that moment, it looked as if you were the new girl in class preparing to introduce herself to 20 strangers who had plans to judge you solely based on the first words that came out of your mouth. 

           At that moment, Taehyung felt his heart beating in his chest and ears so hard he thought they would burst! Right there, he wanted to tell you exactly how he felt. He wanted to spill his heart out all at once, right on the floor, so you finally knew exactly what he was feeling. However, he held back. He knew if he did it then, he may never get to finish his sketch, and this was one he did not want to complete only from memory. The entire time he was sketching, he was wondering if tonight would be the night he’d finally get the courage to do it. He felt the atmosphere between you both was good enough…that he could at least try. His thinking was cut short when you said “I should probably head home.”

           “W-wait…” he said gently when he saw you turn from the balcony. He walked over to you, a piece of paper in his hands. He quickly handed it to you. “Since I can’t give you the one I did tonight, you can take this one to keep. If you want.” It was the picture of you grinning in work clothes, the one he sketched as you guys watched a movie to distract the kids from the storm raging outside the daycare. Taking it into your grasp, you looked up at Taehyung and smiled. “Thank you. I had a lot of fun tonight. Thank you very much.”

           “I did too…” he said. He motioned you to the door, walking you over as you looked down at the picture in your hands. When he got to the door, he turned back to you. “Can we do this again soon?” he asked. You nodded happily. 

           “Absolutely…” Taehyung glanced up at the door, knowing once you left, he would have officially lost his chance to do what he so desperately wanted to do every time you were in earshot of him. You slid your shoes on and turned back to him. “Thank you again…” you said softly. Taehyung nodded. 

           Do it, do it, do it…. Chanted in his ears and the back of his head as if he was being initiated into some kind of cult. As he watched you fix your shoes, he gulped and quickly reached out, taking your hand gently. You looked up at him, curiosity in your eyes. You only saw him before you for a second, because he was quickly leaning towards you. Your eyes widened, and your mind quickly flashed back to nights prior, standing outside Namjoon’s car, his lips pressed against yours for mere seconds. You gasped, instinctively pulling your face away because Taehyung could do the same. Taehyung immediately recoiled to, covering his mouth. “Oh God, I’m sorry! That’s not what I wanted to do, I wanted to tell you…”

           “Why does everyone try to kiss me out of nowhere?” you asked, covering your mouth. Your comment didn’t even register, and Taehyung was panicking. Oh God, he fucked up and he fucked up hard. He needed to fix this, or things may just go back to how they were before, and he could say goodbye to any chance of being friends with you, much less winning your affections. 

           “I’m sorry.” He repeated. “I wanted to tell you instead, but I panicked because I didn’t have enough time to get it all out before you left. I had a lot in my head I wanted to say…” 

           “I don’t deserve this kind of attention, you know…” you breathed, and Taehyung could hear your voice crack. “Why couldn’t you all throw yourselves at the feet of someone worth it? Like my sister.”

           “Wh…” Taehyung blinked. “That’s not true.” He said quickly. You sighed, glancing up at him.  

           “I’ve never been in a situation like this before…” you admitted. “With three people in my life who actively try to win me over. I don’t know what to do. I kept saying I would never date a coworker or a parent but…I can’t lie to myself like that anymore. I’ve just never been in this situation before…” it was almost as if you were muttering to yourself, and not talking to Taehyung. He watched as you ran a hand through your hair, eyes shifting from your feet to the floor, to the window, then to the door. When you finally looked up at him, you sighed. “I like where this is going…I just-.”

           “I understand,” Taehyung said quickly. “I promise, I do. Don’t say stuff you don’t me for my sake.” 

           “Can…can I have some time to think?” you asked, finally looking up at him again. “I want to figure all of this out before I accept any more dates. That goes for Namjoon too…”

           “Of course,” Taehyung said quickly, though it pained him knowing he would have to wait longer. “Don’t rush just for us.” You nodded. 

           “I’m sorry I just spilled all of that out now.” You said softly.

           “I’m sorry I tried to kiss you.” He smiled softly. He quickly turned around, grabbing a jacket, and handed it to you. “Here. Take this so you don’t get wet on the way home, in case the rain picks up again.” You were hesitant, but did end up taking the jacket into your hands. “I’ll see you at work…”

           “Right…” you said softly. “Bye…” Nodding your head, you turned around and headed out the door. Taehyung watched you head to the elevator and waited until the doors closed behind you before closing his door and locking up for the night. Once he was alone in his apartment, he let out a frustrated sigh, pressing his forehead against the wall. He stood there for what felt like forever, finally prying himself off and heading into his room. 

           He had to call Jimin, he promised to tell him the details. However, he wasn’t sure he even really wanted to repeat what had happened.

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

           “Taehyungiiiieeee~!” a high-pitched voice chimed through the halls of Bright Star Preschool. Taehyung quickly looked up from his door as he shuffled through papers to see Hoseok walking down the hallway. His grin was wide and noticeable, even from a distance. “Good morning!” 

           Taehyung offered a small smile to his Hyung. “Good morning.” He returned. Despite Hoseok’s attempt at a cheery atmosphere, he was not in the cheeriest of moods. Ever since the night you were at his apartment, the night he tried – and failed but he tries not to remember that part – not to think much about it. He had no choice to accept your wishes and wait until you were able to sort out your feelings. It sounded easy in theory, but…

           “Hoseok!” The door to your classroom flung open, and both men turned around to see you staring at them. You clutched a coffee in your hand, and you looked exhausted. “Please stop screaming, I had almost no sleep last night preparing for my evaluations, and I…” your rant was cut off when you saw Taehyung staring at you much like Hoseok was, and you blinked. “…I just need to focus.”

           “Oh right, sorry.” Hoseok grinned playfully. “Here, I’ll come to help you. See you later, Taehyung!” he grinned. Taehyung waved back, watching Hoseok head back towards your classroom door. You offered Taehyung a quick smile. 

           “Good morning.” You greeted. Taehyung felt his greeting catch in his throat, only able to nod his head just slightly. You quickly retreated inside, Hoseok skipping behind you. 

When Taehyung was alone in the hallway, and with a heavy and frustrated sigh, he muttered out a small “Good morning.” 

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[kyberphilosopher]

Seven: Chapter Ten

ChaP^ter T3n 

         It feels really good to watch Cal chew Celeste out.

          He’s been doing it for 6 minutes and 38 seconds now. Practically nonstop. Even with the door to the break room closed, you can hear Cal’s muffled yelling through the glass. Not that you’d need to hear the conversation to know he’s upset, but still.

          It is currently 9:47 pm. The only people left in the precinct are us and Officer Blackwell, who stands guard near the entrance awkwardly. He cringes every time Cal raises his voice, which makes me even happier. I sit at Cal’s desk, upright and proper while trying to keep my patient smile off my face. My hands ball and unball themselves against my knees anxiously.

          Cal is completely furious. You should’ve seen him in the car ride back here. Absolutely fuming, he gave Celeste the dirtiest look I’d ever seen and snapped at her. Fuming, he yelled “Why didn’t you cover the exits?!” while Celeste’s overly glossed lips struggled to form an excuse or words of any kind. The tension in the car after that was so thick, you could’ve cut it with a knife. We all sat in silence though. Celeste had a trembling lip, I had a hidden smile, and Cal had one hand on his head while he neared having a heart attack. He sort of looks like he’s about to have a heart attack now.

          “I asked you to do this one thing… Are you a fucking moron? I… The Android even knew what to…” are snippets of his yelling that comes out more clear. Celeste stands silently, still looking like a painted whore and trying not to collapse in on herself or yell back.

          It’s 9:53 when the yelling stops. Cal throws the break room door open, storming outside, still fuming. Celeste stays in the room, turned away from me to hide her shame. I stand up as Cal approaches, at the ready for anything he may need.

          “Can you believe her?” he says loudly, too angry to realize he’s actually talking to me willingly. “I mean I give her one job and she just blows it off, completely costing us the whole fucking operation!”

          “It’s my fault too,” I offer, a little nervous. My hands meet each other behind my back, playing with the others fingers in anticipation. “I should’ve been faster.”

          Cal’s piercing gaze meets my eyes crisply. Despite his increased heartrate, I can tell his sharpness is out of intensity instead of rage.

          “No, you saved my life,” he says, almost like a promise. “We would’ve caught them if it weren’t for Celeste.”

          There’s a silent exchange between us then. A wordless agreement, a quiet thank you. Cal isn’t aggressive towards me because I’m an Android. It’s almost like he’s talking to another person, and he’s grateful that they saved him in peril. Cal walks past me and takes something from his desk. I don’t turn around to look, instead taking the opportunity to run a quick diagnostic. I am in optimal condition.

          “You gonna be hear in the morning?” Cal says from behind me.

          “I believe so, though there’s always a chance for unlikely things to occur.”

          “Like what? An Android snatcher sneaking in?” Cal chuckles to himself quietly. I keep the recording of it in my memories, because it’s the first time I’ve heard Cal chuckle and I like how musical it seems.

          “Always a chance,” I repeat.

          “Guess so.” Cal closes his door with a muted slam and fumbles with his clanking keychain. “Night Tin Fuck.”

          “Goodnight,” I mean to say with a friendly tone. It comes out hoarsely, like someone whose insatiably nervous.

          I watch Cal walk away for the night, out the doors and past my field of vision. Then, it is just me and Celeste Amora, who is trying to contain her tears in the break room.

          I don’t feel like standing upright while I power myself down. Instead, I go around to my desk and sit down in the chair. I use my arms as a sort of cushion for my head. This is something I’ve seen humans do when they’re very tired. I’ve seen Cal come close to doing so once or twice, but he never does. He just sips his coffee with a zombie-like expression on his face.

          I let my led cycle yellow and my vision go black.

          “Aleksandra,” she greets coldly. Her outfit is white today, and she’s turned away from me. Of course she is. I still can’t manage to enter into our scape the correct direction.

          “Hello, Adelicia.”

          She says nothing to me for 37 seconds.

          “How would you say your investigation is going?”

          “It’s progressing,” I say slowly. I can feel her disapproval, her frustration, her patient demeanor expand with my words. “I’m learning a lot about the Exceptions.”

          “Why don’t you tell me what you’ve learned?” Her voice is so cold and sinister. She’s challenging me. Has she seen my memories? No. No she couldn’t have. But… there’s always a chance.

          “I’ve learned that many Exception Androids seem to go astray because of an emotional shock. A child model that killed its parents showed signs of PTSD from a history or memory of sexual abuse.”

          “What else have you learned?”

          “The Exception Androids I’ve encountered have all chosen to hide immediately after their deviation. The child model stayed in a closed shower, and two others squatted in abandoned buildings. It’s like… it’s like they want to avoid confrontation.”

          “Merely an emulation of fear,” Adelicia tells me.

          “Of course.”

          For some reason, I begin to compare Adelicia to a rose. I’ve seen her in every shade a rose can take- white, red, yellow, blue- all of them in the form of a pantsuit or blazer and skirt. She’s pale and prim and proper, with elegant manners and a tone like ice. Her mind, sharp as ever, never stops working. But like a beautiful rose, her thorns jut out and slice open your thumb whether you’re expecting it or not. You may think you’ve said the right thing, over for her disapproval to nick you and make you bleed. Beautiful, but dangerous, Adelicia is all too similar to the overly sweet flower.

          “And your relationship with Detective Kennedy?”

          “I-he… He seemed grateful I saved his life.”

          Adelicia whirls around to face me. “Grateful?” she hisses, like a cat who doesn’t want to be stroked any longer. “I wasn’t aware you had saved his life. When did this happen?”

          Don’t answer. Don’t answer. Don’t answer. “Tonight. He was going to fall from a building. I helped him up.”

          “I see.” The disappointment oozes from her tone like poison. I’ve been noticing that more and more lately. “Aleksandra, if you don’t make progress in your mission by Christmas, I will consider replacing you.”

          Something in my biocomponent sparks. Immediately, the word ‘no!’ pops into my brain in response to her words. It’s almost like… it’s almost like I don’t want to be replaced. I don’t want to be shut down.

          But there’s a problem with this line of thinking. I don’t ‘want’ anything. I’m an Android. I am completely replaceable and the idea shouldn’t bother me.

          That’s what I decide to tell Adelicia. “For the sake of the mission, that might be best. I am of no importance and the investigation should come first.”

          Adelicia’s features soften in their own way. Like a wash of approval finally comes over her at my words. Her pupils dilate slightly, her shoulders wearing down in a type of relaxation. Despite this, her grey eyes are cold and steady, frozen like the rest of her.

          “You have until Christmas.”

          I open my eyes. This time, it is not a smooth, swift and soft motion. It is startled, almost clumsy as I do so. I’m certain my led runs red with it.

          It’s 4:17am. I can see the darkness of the sky outside, and a faint sprinkle of stars dotting above. The moon is still visible up high, like a shiny, vanilla colored crescent. It’s going to rain soon. A dark purple color will fill the sky and replace the midnight blue currently present, and the sun will rise in the east.

          I sit up, not taking my arms from their position on my desk. It seems so… calm. Calm and quiet. Even with the occasional airplane overhead, and the distant sound of drills and smoke and party music, it’s a silent night. I can see the space needle, and water and even a faint picture of mountains way in the distance. Skyscrapers and other sleek buildings stand tall in the landscape.

          Today is Tuesday, October 19th. The temperature today will be 48 degrees Fahrenheit, with suspected showers in the morning. The day after tomorrow, Cal will turn 27 years old. I wonder if he’s excited about it.

          It dawns on me now that I am still wearing my stakeout outfit. My hat had fallen off in my sleep, but my jacket and jeans and shirt are all still present. I put the beanie back easily and turn my attention elsewhere. The leather of my baggy coat is still warm with Cal’s scent. The black turtleneck would’ve gotten itchy against human skin by now, but I don’t mind at all. It’s soft to me.

          I watch the sky for a little while. I really, really like it. I like it even more when at 4:28am, drops of rain start hitting the windows outside. It’s not strong, like bullets or hail, but gentle, like flower petals. It’s so lovely, wonderful even.

          Somewhere, above the moon and the stars, some humans believe there’s a heaven. Supposedly, the clouds there roll in shades of brilliant, blinding whites, pale oranges and rose pinks. The sun rises in the West and sets in the East, and the moon appears as lilac and periwinkle. You can see the planets and all the planets moons. There are corners with lush greens and trees so tall you’ll never see the tops, and others with white sand beaches with jade waves and jewels buried deep down. The sky changes colors depending on the angle, like an Opal. There is no real end, only serenity and breathing.

          I would very much like to see this thing someday, because the humans all describe it so beautifully. But this heaven is only attainable after death, and I doubt there’s a heaven for Androids.

          I push myself out of my chair, and shuffle down the way to the elevator. I push the button for the roof and begin up. The sultry elevator voice tells me I’ve arrived and the doors slide open smoothly, revealing the dank hallway I remember. It hasn’t changed since the last time I was here, and all the trash and other effects are still in place. I’m about to step out, but then I press the button to go back down. Cue the voice alerting me of my destination, cue the doors opening. The next time I press the up button, I’m holding a small, dark trash bag in my right hand.

          I clean everything in the hallway to the roof. Beer bottles, chip bags, a handful of old light blue pills in the corner. They all disappear down the trash bag, which I tie up and leave by the door. When I emerge outside, the biting air hits my synthetic skin. I don’t react to it in the slightest.

          After 43 seconds, I walk to the edge of the building, and sit. My legs dangle over the side, hanging over the pavement below. The rain drops spring and pop on my shoulders. My hat protects my hair from getting damp. Petrichor fills my nose and I’m drowning in the smell of spring. In contrast, the Autumn leaves in the distance are falling in orange, brown, and crimson dots.

          And, maybe for the first time ever, the city of Seattle is still. It all reminds me of a painting- perhaps one that Cal Kennedy himself has painted.

          I doubt there’s a heaven for Androids.

Software Instability^^

     At 10:03am, I move myself from my position. The sun has risen, the rain slowly ceasing out. Several officers and detectives have entered the building, ready to start their day. I even see Captain Ericson share a kiss with his husband while his two children sit with earphones in the backseat.      

          I rouse myself up and grab the trash bag. When I get back to the main floor and the bullpin, there is a man sitting at Cal’s desk. The man is, in fact, Cal. This takes my by surprise. He’s never been this early before. Still, I put the trash bag in the bin by the break room before making my way over.

          A few steps away, I pause. Cal doesn’t have a coffee cup with him today, and his form is more hunched than usual. He must be exhausted. I turn around before he notices me, return to the inside of the glass room and poor him a cup of steaming black coffee. I put a top on so he doesn’t sip it too fast and burn his tongue, and then carry it out to him.

          I put the cup on his desk softly, as to not alarm him. The Detective looks up at me, and his eyes are glinting in the light.

          “Didn’t I tell you I hated you?” he croaks tiredly. His voice is husky and slightly sleepy, but I don’t mind. It’s low enough for only me to hear it in the commotion of the plaza.

          “Multiple times.”

          Cal breathes out with a quick smirk. “And you’re still bringing me coffee?” I don’t say anything, because he seems like he has something more to tell me. “For a bunch of freaks who seem to be demanding freedom, you sure do like slavery.”

          “I bring you coffee because I want to,” I correct, quickly. Cal’s eyes dance with curiosity at my statement. “At least… I think I do.”

          His eyes look me up and down. I like it, I think. “You’re still wearing those old clothes?” he half asks, half observes.

          “So are you,” I counter. Though slightly wrinkled, he is still dawning his dark blue shirt and normal brown jacket.

          Just like last night, there is a silent exchange between us. We can both pretend that Cal’s hostility towards me doesn’t exist for the moment. His still eyes are nearly kind, and his lips are soft and slightly upturned in a relaxed way. I reciprocate, making note of all the little details on his face. He has a freckle I never noticed before, under the right side of his jaw. His face is slightly more clean shaven today, though not by much. It seems stubble and five o’clock shadow are his signature look. I don’t mind, because it suits him and he looks handsome, just rough.

          After 10 seconds, I turn away and walk to the other side, seating myself in my desk.

          Throughout the rest of the morning, Cal and I share a few words.

          “Did you sleep well last night?” I ask as he sips the coffee.

          “Yeah,” he replies. He then gives me a rather unexpected line of dialogue. “You?”

          Androids don’t really ‘sleep’, though I suppose what I was doing was the equivalent. Even so, it wasn’t my most friendly encounter. The more I encounter Adelicia in my thoughts or even just in the white room, the more icy she becomes to me.

          “Yes,” I lie.

          A few minutes later, we have another verbal interaction.

          “I have not seen Officer Amora this morning,” I say aloud. I meant it mainly to myself as I glance around the room, but Cal heard.

          “Yeah, me either.”

          I lean forward on my shoulders, my curiosity taking the best of me. “I don’t mean to impede,” I begin slowly. “But what exactly is your relationship with Officer Amora?”

          Cal rubs the back of his neck like he has a crick in it. I can tell he’s thinking of an answer, because maybe he doesn’t even know himself. “Heh,” he chuckles shortly. “Well there certainly is one.”

          “I-I just mean..” don’t say it. Don’t you dare say it Aleks. “She seems a little… bitchy.”

          Cal freezes in place, watching me. I’m scared for a moment that whatever relation he and I have is ruined, all because I ignored my Social Relations program. But then a smirk smile spreads across his face. His brows ease up and his eyes sparkle with charisma. A quick laugh escapes from his lips.

          With that, my own features soften. My shoulders ease as the tension melts away, and a smirk of my own emerges on my lips.           “Well, you’re certainly not wrong,” Cal says lightheartedly as he looks back at his computer.

          I watch Cal sip his coffee between our short bursts of dialogue. As time goes on, he does seem to come more alive with the caffeine. He types faster, opens his eyes more, takes shorter blinks. The darkness and bags under his eyes don’t just evaporate into thin air, they remain, but I can’t define how I feel about them.

          I don’t think I like that they mean he lacks a healthy sleeping schedule. But I do think I like how much character they add to his outward appearance. He looks entirely unique from everyone else here, maybe everyone else I’ve ever seen. He lacks a uniform, a clean image. He doesn’t mind just being. I wouldn’t understand that. It’s far too outside of my programming.

          At 12:10, Cal disrupts the air of silence between us.

          “Hey,” he mutters. His eyes are averted, stuck to something on his desk nervously. “I uh… I wanted to thank you. About yesterday, I mean.”

          I know he really didn’t like saying that. I run my tongue along my lips inside my mouth, nodding my head sincerely. I can’t help the words that fall from my lips after that. “Of course.”

          “No I mean you… you didn’t have to do it. You choose me over the… never mind.”

          I’ll never forget it. One, because I physically can’t, unless my memory gets corrupted. Two, because I think it’s important for me to remember. Still, the only thing more to that conversation is a quiet “sure” from me.          

          “Actually, I did want to ask you something.”

          Cal looks in my eyes this time. They’re not as relaxed or lighthearted as they were, and his eyebrows are more scrunched down in their usual position. Still pleasant enough to look at according to the golden ratio, though.

          “I was going to ask Celeste but, well- you know…”

          I dip my head slightly, urging him to continue.

          “My birthday’s in a few days and I’m going to see my father.”

          “You mentioned that. Your brother too, correct?”

          “Yeah,” Cal clears his throat with a cough. “Well, my father’s been bugging me to get a girlfriend and I was wondering it you’d… you know… come along?”

          My led flashes red so fast you wouldn’t be able to see it. But then it goes yellow as I try to make sense of the proposition. “You mean as your girlfriend?”

          “No- kind of. Like a fake girlfriend. To trick my family for the night.” Cal watches my led as an indication as to my answer. He’s so anxious about this. I can see his heart rate only increase. “You can say no,” he adds quickly.

Registering Request…

Creating Pro and Con List…

Pro and Con List Created.

          “I can do that,” I tell him. “It’s no trouble. I will have to research things that girlfriends do, however.”  

          “Fine, that’s…” Cal waves his hand, leaning back in his chair. His heart rate decreases, slowly but surely. “That’s fine.”

          My led stays yellow. I can’t define the feeling in my biocomponents, sparking against my synthetic skin and making the fake hair on my arm stand on end. Anxiety? Anticipation? Anguish? Or just plain Aleks?

          “My dad lives in Spokane, so we’ll have to take a half day tomorrow.”

          My led swirls green as I confirm my schedule. “I have no issues with that.” A new idea runs into my mechanical brain though. “I don’t have any suitable clothes, however.”

          Cal lets out a joking scoff. “Clearly.”

          “Hey, this is your jacket,” I retort.

          “And it looks better on me,” he quips slyly. I wonder if he’s forgotten I’m an Android when he jokes with me like this, if he’s so focused on the comedic value he doesn’t care who it’s with. Maybe that’s what everyone who hasn’t shown hostility towards me have been like. Shovelman, Tom, even that woman who smiled at me- Sophia. Were they so intent on being themselves and being in the moment that they didn’t register how different we are? Or is it because they were so aware of our differences that it was a sort of mercy to show me a kindness. I know Cal isn’t doing the latter, but maybe the others were.

          “That’s your opinion,” I decide to say jokingly, typing something into my computer with a smug look on my face. I didn’t even realize it was there until the memory of Cal making the same expression comes to mind. I must’ve learned it from him without realizing.

          “You know, if you’re going to be my girlfriend, you’re going to have to be nicer than that.”

I doubt there’s a heaven for Androids.

Software Instability ^

taglist: @omg-we-really-doo​

hope you enjoy, S. happy fourth.

[saltyfilmmajor]

Questions

My mother barely holds back her tears as she delivers the eulogy for my father. The church is silent, with only the tears of the congregation to break it. There’s a beautiful glass-stained window behind her, at the top of the altar, illuminated by the mid-morning sun.

“My husband was a loving man, he worked hard for me and my daughter…” my mind begins to wander, not that it was really all there to begin with. It all feels like a bad dream, all muddle up with scary emotions and surreal imagery. You know, like the ones where your teeth fall out in front of everyone. I just want to get away from this place. Full of mourning people who knew my father in different ways. Coworkers, church members, family. And then there’s me. I step outside, no longer wanting to sit idly by as my mother begins to cry, the mascara staining her face.

I stand outside the church wrapped up in my winter coat. It’s been years since I’ve seen some of these people. Cousins and aunts and uncles. People who watched me grow up. It’s funny how time drifted us all apart, we all used to be so close. Was it time or was it me? Mm, perhaps we both share the blame. The cold air nips at my skin keeping me from collapsing from exhaustion. The tiredness of grief I suppose. Still, my eyes begin to droop as I reminisce the last time the family was together about three years ago. They are fond memories, but they all start to blur after a while so I can’t differentiate them. I can hear myself talking.

The syllables roll around like marbles in mouth. My tongue emphasizes the wrong accents, my r’s and double l’s mispronounced like a beginner. I mix up el and la constantly only to be corrected by my father immediately after. Both in our home and amongst family my voice speaks a broken Spanish. I am an outsider to them. The Spanish that rolls off the tongue of my relatives is quick and fluid, like a well-oiled machine. They never need to second guess themselves. They speak with confidence while I speak with shame. Still, I smile and nod.

When my family gets together, we are all crammed in a small apartment. Small children run around, screaming and laughing. Sounds that come with the carelessness of childhood. The smell of food wafts from the kitchen at the other end of the apartment. My aunt and cousins are preparing dinner fussing over pots and pans on a hot stove, making sure that there will be enough for the 30 of us.

Because the apartment is so small, the heat from the kitchen reaches the living and dining rooms. The adults sit around in the living room, with a tv that is somehow too loud and too quiet. They all speak animatedly about sports and work, and old memories of their youth. The children make trouble and I am sitting in the corner observing.

My cousins are older than me, married with young children. They are vulgar but also full of warmth. We joke like teenagers, but I am the youngest of them at 19.

“Prima, what are you going to school for?”

My eyes shift to my father, he is talking to one of my cousins’ wives. He is beaming and joking. I can’t help but think that I am a burden on him. I smile politely and tell them I haven’t decided what I want to major in. That placates them for now.

After a few minutes, dinner is finally served on cheap paper plates and plastic cutlery. The food, however, is made with love and care and I readily devour it in seconds. I sit next to my father; he is already eating his third tamale. I’m glad he is able to enjoy himself. My mother laughs and says, “Remember when my daughter would eat like that?” The comparisons begin again, like at every family gathering. I don’t mind them much. My father and I are alike in temperament and in appetite. However, I suddenly excuse myself from the table and hide in the bathroom. I feel as though I’m failing my father. In a room full of uneducated people, they have their lives set in order. They work, they live, they take care of their families. They aren’t tied down to expectations like I am. I’ve worked my whole life to get into a good school, and now that I’m actually there, I don’t know what to do. This is the first time I realize I was raised with a survivalist mentality. The memory fades back as I remain standing by the entrance of the church.

“Did you get to enjoy your life?” I ask out loud, wondering if he was able to live and enjoy the fruits of his labor. I walk back inside; someone is bound to notice my absence. I’d rather not have gossip run around the walls of the church. Heathens they are, grabbing onto anything that’s unseemly and passing their judgments, even at the funeral of one of their own well-respected members. I feel their eyes stare on at me waiting for me to slip up. Once school began I stopped congregating here. I couldn’t stand their hollow smiles. Sincerity among the church is not a common trait. It is hypocritical of me to judge them, but it’s not like I’d tell them directly how I feel. They won’t know.

I drive home with my mother after my father’s burial. An American grave, against his own wishes. But he’s dead now I don’t think he’d mind. How much is an American grave worth, compared to one from Guatemala? Does it mean the possibility of a better status in the afterlife?

I don’t say that out loud, I don’t think my mother would appreciate it. I can’t help but be flippant otherwise I have to think about my feelings. Reminders that despite my best efforts, I am still a vulnerable human. Grief can cloud your perception, and as horrid as it sounds I’d rather be in my mother’s shoes.

My father’s death leaves questions in its wake I’d rather not contemplate. I’m an over-thinker by trade. I think humanities majors are required by law to be. My mother has fallen asleep and I try to drive carefully. She hasn’t slept in about three days, spending them crying and

eating. While I sleep and have lost my appetite. I wish I could do more for her. The love of her life is gone, and it destroys me inside. But all I can do is drive her home and heat up the leftovers in the fridge. My thoughts go back to my father, even if they never really left him.

He wanted to be buried near his father back home in rural Guatemala. The gravesites painted with colorful hues of purple, pink, and orange, contrasting with the vibrant green of the landscape. Death, at least in the aesthetics, is much more of a celebration in his homeland. Given the incredibly intense Protestant culture that is embedded in the country, I understand why. Death is never the end, twenty years of Sunday morning sermons drilled it into me. Yet now, I find myself questioning it. An American gravesite, making his corpse part of the land that rejected him and his kind. Still, he had managed to find work. Work, work, work. That’s all my dad did. Even in death, all I can think about is how he worked. Worked for our house, our food, my schooling, everything. He took pride in being a breadwinner and being able to be the man of the house. He didn’t have much growing up, so he learned to survive.

As a survivalist you must use the tools available to you. It didn’t matter that I was his daughter and not his son. Gender roles mean little when you aspire for your only offspring to thrive.

I helped him around the house, I helped with the yard work, the heavy lifting, learning how to work on cars and handle money. Along with cooking and cleaning. My status as an only child meant I become much more well-rounded than I otherwise would have been.

My father valued education above all else. Perhaps because it was not available to him. At the tender age of eight, he began to work the land and by thirteen he left school altogether.

He had no childhood. No room to enjoy being a dumb teenager. He passed that on to me, every time I brought home a test grade or a report card. I’d come home and run up the stairs happy to show him the ninety-two I got on my algebra exam, a subject I had struggled in.

“Ok good, but next time you get a one hundred.” He was satisfied, but that was it. No beaming pride, no congratulations. My smile faltered and I’d show my mother, telling her what my father said. We’d laugh about it, but deep down it hurt. He tried to teach me to do better but what he taught me instead was dissatisfaction. It wasn’t good enough. I had to get straight A’s, to get into a good school, to get a good job, to become successful.

I graduate soon at the end of the semester. Four long, hard years capping off a chapter I’ve spent almost my entire life working towards. But now after working so hard for a degree he spent my entire life telling me to aspire towards, he’s just gone. Dead, never to rise again.

All these years of pressure to get a piece of paper that says I went to college and he has the audacity to die.

“Are you proud of me? Were you ever proud of me?”

The question stirs in me and I am frightened by the fact that I truly don’t know the answer. Understanding my father’s motives does not bring me closure and asking questions just makes me angry. He taught me everything he could, but I still feel unprepared. What do I do without him here, telling me to aspire for more? All he ever wanted was to do was survive but he wanted me to want to live. Grammar nerds would say those words mean the same, but linguists would beg to differ. Although I side with the linguists I’d rather not argue about the semantics in my head, especially not while my mother is still fast asleep.

The sun has since set and the front of our house is cold and uninviting. My father’s car is in the driveway, so I park in the street. Even in something so innocuous my father is still

influencing my decisions. The more pertinent decision to make is will I choose to live or merely survive? Will I be like my father or will I become his expectations of me?

Maybe I’ll take the third option and just stop asking.

[agirlinhell]

A few late Mother’s Day headcanons in general ( as I was quite occupied yesterday and the day before ) - about Diana, Clementine’s own mother, as she has no backstory in canon at all - so have this instead!

Diana Cree, affectionately nicknamed Dee, DeeDee, or Di, was a woman who faced the world without fear, she took her life in stride and from a young age, she was a confident, proud and intelligent young woman with a heart of gold. She lived her life to the fullest and desired to live a life without regrets regardless of what anyone else may have told her, as growing up, racism against the black community was far more severe than usual in her neighborhood of Savannah, Georgia. Dee grew up in a Black and Asian household, and thus, the culture clash was something she’s been conflicted with in her adolescence, until she learned to accept that it was perfectly okay being descended from both races ( although her family were mostly of African descent. )

Diana adored music, love, the occult and the arts, something that her daughter would later inherit. She loved to watch classical movies and dream of all the beautiful things that could come her way, and she was quite the artist, as well. Clementine recalls her painting flowers and beautiful landscapes before placing her portraits on her bedroom walls. Diana was also a Pagan and Afro Witch and named Clementine after Clementia, the Roman goddess of clemency, leniency, mercy, compassion, forgiveness, penance, redemption, absolution and salvation, and not the fruit, on the contrary to popular belief.

Diana fell in love with her future husband Edmund DeCaruso in her highschool years after she’d managed to pull him out of a local mafia and had stitched him up in a room in the Marsh House after he’d been shot. Edmund was once a member of a gang in town and with Diana’s love and support, he grew to stray from this life and fell in love with the girl who sang him sweet lullabies in his ear as he slowly fell asleep. Clementine can still faintly remember her lullabies, she often hears her voice in her head while lulling her to sweet slumber when she is too tired to carry on. Clementine can no longer remember her face nor her name, but she faintly recognizes her lovely voice, as smooth as honey, and the lullabies she would sing to her whenever she’d have nightmares. Diana and Edmund graduated together and went on to college and then university together, a strong and powerful pair in their own right, and later, with love and acceptance, they married and spent their honeymoon at the Marsh House in Savannah. When Diana became pregnant with Clementine, she was truly ecstatic and so very happy that she was having a baby. She predicted it would be a girl, something she’s always wanted. Clementine takes more after her mother - both appearance and personality wise. Dee taught Clementine several traditional African hairstyles and how to speak Italian, though Clementine barely remembers any remnants of Italian, yet she hopes to recite it again.

Diana, although she was swamped at work due to being a doctor at the local hospital, did her utmost best to be the best possible mother she could be to her only daughter, Clementine, and wished she would’ve spent a lot more time with her. It’s a regret that clouds her mind, especially after her husband had been bit by a walker. She often stared out the windows, longingly hoping that her daughter was alright. Before the outbreak, Clementine was raised in a mild Christian household. Her family only ever went to church on Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas for the sake of tradition on Ed’s side of the family, and thus her parents were never truly were insistent on pushing Christian beliefs onto their daughter.  When she was very young, Clementine would cry if neither her mother or father were present and would hug her stuffed animals at the end of watching Barney, Care Bears or The Land Before Time as either one of her parents would have to come in and hug her by the end of it. 

On Diana’s birthday, Clementine and Sandra prepared a cake for her - her mother was ecstatic. Clem adored baking and sometimes, Diana would teach her how to bake when she had the time. Whenever Clementine would help Edmund make her breakfast with pancakes, apples and orange juice, Diana was truly pleased and happy.

In a time before she knew heartbreak or death, Clementine was teased even as a little girl by her classmates because of her so-called wild hair, her timidness, her “odd” ideas and of course, being the smallest girl in her class. Some other children, although much rarer, were even racially biased against her merely for the color of her skin and her ethnicity. Her parents worked arduously with their daughter to try and boost her confidence, and gave her a diary, but they tragically hadn’t lived long enough to teach her how to love herself enough, even though they both tried really hard to be good parents. Clementine was also left at home often due to her father being an engineer and her mother being a doctor at the local hospital in Georgia, and thus Sandra served as a surrogate parent of sorts, even though she was only a babysitter and thus cherished her parents and wanted to do things with them whenever the opportunity allowed itself to. Diana remembered her sweet little baby coming home crying because the other girls in her class were so mean to her, they hadn’t invited her to any of their birthday parties or to come over to their houses to play with them. Some of the boys used to pull on her hair, too. Clementine had very few friends at school and many of them had moved to other schools and neighborhoods. This is one of the reasons why Clementine is more quiet and timid than most children her own age, even upon meeting Lee Everett in A New Day. To this day, Clementine still does not believe she is beautiful or let alone even “pretty” even though she may put up a bravado, a facade, that she believes this to be the case; she does not like her hair or the fact that she is small.

Edmund and Diana were expecting another child on their way home from Savannah - essentially speaking, Clementine would have been a big sister - and in a modern alternate universe, this comes to pass as Diana gives birth to a son, Sebastian Valentin Felix DeCaruso. Diana fought tooth and nail to find answers when she and her husband were put in quarantine by the military. When given no answers, she eventually sank into a deep depression... until an offer from a man named Crawford Oberson to join his group, Crawford, came to her one night, when she was watching over her dying husband, and as the loving and devoted wife she was, refused to leave his side, not knowing the doom that awaited her. Diana never told her husband the news, even though she had wanted to, Edmund had been bitten. Diana lost her baby shortly after the incident due to intense stress and grief and she was in the beginning stages of her pregnancy. Edmund reanimated first then bit Diana and even though she was suffering and felt as if her body was aflame, she made one last call to Sandra, and then to her beloved daughter. 

Her first message was at 5:43PM on July 19th, 2003 where she tells Sandra about Edmund being in an incident with some “crazy guy” and going into  the ER at the hospital to get it checked out and therefore they’d have to stay another day and she tells Sandra not to worry and that they’d be back home before her Spring Break. The second message was at 11;19PM on July 20th, 2003, where she says that the calls are being dropped and the doctors wouldn’t tell her anything about Atlanta, and she pleads with Sandra to leave the city and to take Clementine back to Marietta and that she needs to get back to the hospital and to let her know when they’re safe. During this timeskip in between the second and final message, she was attempting to break the other people who were put in quarantine free and to stage a riot against the military in the hopes that those detained would have a chance of freedom. The third and final message was at 6:51AM on July 21st, 2003, where she tells Clementine to call the police and tells her that her parents loved her. Diana died shortly after and reanimated. Her last thoughts were of her daughter’s bright smile.

Clementine never received her message.

Edmund and Diana both died together for the second and final time the night Lee Everett died, when Clementine, not wanting to see them suffer and turn, shot her own zombified parents in the head with trembling hands and heartwrenching sobs escaping her before running for her life outside of the city, never to return again.

[lisetteaman]

Sonder

Monday, December 17, 2001

A woman is in labor. She is young and heavily influenced by her parents’ unfolding resentment over her stupidly throwing her life away for a boy and becoming pregnant. He stands guard in the waiting room while his parents stare apathetically at the pages of a Time magazine that is ruminating on the Twin Towers. They sit, indifferent towards the current situation of their son having knocked up a teenager. Her parents barge into the waiting room and start an intense discourse in which each parent is screaming at the other, but no one is listening. Each forcefully playing his own disconnected word as if in a game of Scrabble, borrowing bits of the others’ anecdotes, while trying to see who can increase his score. Amongst all the squabbling, the young woman gives birth to a son, Jack.

Across the hall is a second woman in labor of identical age but antithetical descent. Her parents were extremely loving and unconditionally forgiving, but now deceased, while his are globe trotters who never stopped to watch him grow up. With neither involvement nor surveillance of an upper-hand, they wander into a territory much too young for a couple to embark upon and wind up with a kid, whom they name Olive.

Monday, December 17, 2018 Jack

5:30am His alarm goes off, and he hops into the shower. It’s the only part of his morning routine that he actually enjoys. He takes his showers in complete darkness, the lights off to further exemplify how much his heart craves to slip into the morning air with the steam and melt into the black sky just behind his skylight above his shower head. He looks up and sees the vapor condense to the cold glass of the window-pane. He draws a dick in the fog and goes back to playing with himself. Don’t be fooled: he’s a good kid, even with an immature and slightly inappropriate brain. Don’t blame him; blame his biological sex organ. There’s a pounding in his head. Nope, it’s his father on the other side of the door hammering him to hurry up. Time is always official business in his household. His parents are strict and conservative, of the affluent, conceited type. Jack has no say in this life. It was as though his parents put him in a box once he was born and slapped a label on it, saying: “elite, sophisticated aristocrat” and put no room for failure in with him. They had to. They needed to organize their life somehow, as their parents were hounding them to get their shit together if they wanted some semblance of a successful life. But proof be known, Jack’s parents are now exactly what they wanted to be: rich and famous. It is only fitting that they teach Jack the exact same way to live—with your head up your ass and your ego two sizes too big.

It’s about the hundredth time his father has started this conversation with him. It’s always about the law firm, and how Jack needs to keep his grades above everyone else’s in the class if he wants to get into Yale, like his father, and become the next business partner in the firm. “The board only wants to see Ivy League graduates, Jack…” Jack tunes him out and starts drifting into thoughts that are too conceptual for an early morning without coffee, but that’s how Jack likes it. He likes his brain and all the corners it takes him to. It just never seems tangible enough for Jack to get out of this barricaded city and plan the contours of his life—to go explore the world’s abyss for all it offers in releasing the fantasies that remain dormant inside his head. He’s a hopeless romantic. He has never loved anyone, but his heart, as fragile and malformed as it is, is too gentle and graceful to share with others. He protects it and its sentimental value.

6:45am Although Jack is mostly undisturbed by his parents’ lineage of condescension and economical influence, he does assume the role of a private school boy with wispy, blonde hair and a sophisticated veneer. His driver, Stewart, is parked outside to take Jack to Bradley Preparatory Academy. The limo turns and drives past the Lexington Avenue street subway. Jack turns his head and stares out the window at all the passersby in the subway street car, and thinks of how they all ride around town with their newspapers and their sweaty palms stuck to the subway car poles and their gum shoved under the seats, living in such frustration and haste. He turns his attention back and buries his head in his book, The Catcher in the Rye.

Olive

6:53am She sits smushed between two obese men in overly large, black wool coats, who are clearly failing in their attempt to hide their stress-induced eating habits. She looks at the kid sitting across from her take his gum out and stick it under the seat. She’s sweating and reaches her palm out for the pole to get up and stand somewhere else—not worth the body odor and loss in blood circulation. She hates this route. The Lexington Avenue stop, with all the men who aren’t wealthy enough to drive to work, but just arrogant enough to make her upper lip curl as they eye her up and down before disembarking the subway car. Most people take quick glances at Olive but are too skeptical to trust in how stunningly beautiful she naturally is. She dyes her curly, long hair pink and wears an excessive amount of black eyeliner. She has a septum nose ring in the shape of a butterfly and a pretty bold tattoo of the letter A on the side of her neck below her ear—her mother’s first initial, but some look at it and think of The Scarlet Letter. She’s on her way to work. Her parents passed away last year, and now she lives with her aunt in a tiny apartment in Queens. Her aunt made her a promise that she didn’t have to go to school this year as long as she got a job. So naturally, Olive picked a coffee shop in Midtown. “It’s where all the assholes are, Aunt Grace. The meatheads, the hoodlums, the tourists—they all congregate at my coffee shop.” Aunt Grace is not the biggest fan of having her 17-year-old niece travel right into the raucous of Time Square. She sees through Olive’s chill veneer—her hurt and big brain masked behind makeup and a stellar performance of “I don’t give a shit.” Olive is quintessentially brilliant. She was tested at a young age for an IQ score and found out she was in the top 2 percent of the world at her age. She refuses to get tested again, not for fear that she will have fallen behind, but for just the opposite—for fear that her score will be even more impressive and “they” will sit her in a think tank or ship her off to do long division somewhere until all of her brain cells die. She has read just about everything that has a spine or a library code, and yet, she is rarely amused by any of it. If Olive had it her way, she’d be a starving artist—hitchhiking her way to some rural landscape, finding earthly materials to paint with, and blogging her experiences with people from different cultures around the world.

3:45pm Olive usually walks down to Central Park when she gets off of work. Sometimes she runs, but it’s a cold day out and kind of gloomy. She loves these days—the days when the people seem to be more capricious than normal and she can find a nook somewhere she can sit and watch the melancholy mood dissipate into the grey air. It always seems quieter on these days, more people with their headphones in and their caps on, blinding their focus from the inherit craziness singing in the background. She remembers it’s her birthday. It’s been a whole year since her parents died. She dials her mom’s phone number and listens for the voicemail message: “Hi, you’ve reached Abagail, sorry I can’t come to the phone right now, probably doing something fantastical with Olive right now. I’ll call you back when I get a chance. P.S. if this is Grace, you know where to find me.” Olive is not a crier. She rarely shows her emotions, especially to the people around her. But right now, she sits alone on a park bench, bawling her eyes out, wishing time and memory flowed backwards. What a perfect moment to start questioning everything around her—how time keeps getting faster, how babies are being born but others are dying. How the world seems to be constantly growing, and yet, this city has bolted her down and she can’t escape to see what’s out there and who’s living as vivid and complex a life as she is. She starts getting stuck inside her head, trapping her beautiful, yet damaged mind inside. She feels swallowed in a sea of thoughts and tumbling emotions that are rising like a maverick. She can’t contain it anymore. She erupts—she opens her big mouth and screams. Silence. No one is around her. The world has just stopped—frozen in time and place. She turns her head to see if she can move. Nothing happens, no sounds, just silence. Then, wham! A cab flips over and smashes into a tree.

Jack

4:13pm Jack usually gets picked up by Stewart after school, but he decides to ditch his driver and catch a ride in a cab downtown to Central Park. The clouds are hanging especially low, blanketing the city in its sorrows—these are the kind of days he likes. His driver slams on the breaks. However, the car beside goes flying through the intersection, but it doesn’t make it through the red light in time. The cab is hit by a fast moving semi, is vaulted into the air, and strikes a tree upside down. Jack tells his driver to go ahead and turn around to take him back home. The road would be closed soon, and if he stayed at the park, there would be too much traffic to ever get back home in time for dinner. Dinner’s always at a hard 6:00pm, after indoor lacrosse practice, but he skipped today…didn’t have the heart for it.

Jack’s birthday has always weighed on him, but this year has been especially heavy. His parents have pressured him more, his friends are mostly heroin addicts, and the girl he has been inconveniently crushing on for the past three years is stuck like glue to the hot glow-up from sophomore year. He turns his head out the window and watches as the people dance about the street, always rushing—places to be, people to meet, busy lives to attend to. For the rest of the cab ride home, Jack ponders the irrevocable power of freedom and silently cries in the back of the cab. He wonders if there is a person out there that will make him dance.

Olive

11:34pm Olive walks through the front door. Grace jumps up from the kitchen table and runs to her. “Where have you been? Don’t you do that to me again!” Grace has tears in her eyes. She grabs Olive and holds her in her arms. Olive explains that there was an accident near the park, so she walked for a couple miles before calling a cab the rest of the way home. “Hun. You have to be careful. It’s a zoo out there this time of the year and I HATE the idea of you being alone, especially today.” She plays with Olive’s hair. Olive looks into her eyes and starts sobbing again. She can’t hold it back anymore. It’s been a year since she cried—that’s how tough Olive’s cover-up has become, that’s how much time she has spent packaging all of her emotions into a tiny box and burying them deep into a pit in her soul. No longer, she has freedom from her pain at that exact moment. It’s fleeting though. Olive snaps back to reality and pushes Aunt Grace off of her. She wipes her tears and tells Grace that she isn’t hungry and just wants to be alone, again…a ploy to start hiding her true self from those who get too close to her.

She lies flat on her back on her bed and stares at the ceiling. Her mom was a fantastic artist and used to paint with Olive all the time. When her parents passed, she went digging under their bed for the boxes of old school supplies and random crafts until she found these paintings. She had stapled them to the ceiling. Aunt Grace was against Olive putting holes in the ceiling, but it didn’t bother Olive one bit. “What’s it like up there, mom? Is it colorful and just all that you hoped it would be?” Olive has the particular feeling that no matter what she does, everything will always go wrong. It’s like everyone around her is just living such a normal and simple life, but she has these powers to see the future and know that something—her passions, her love life, her job, her cares, her worries—will always go wrong. She’s coped this past year in her own silent, painful way. She wears threaded friendship bracelets and rubber bands over her wrists to hide the pain from the naked eye, but what the eye can’t see is that she is secretly scabulous. She is proud of her scars, of the character and the meaning behind where they are and how they got there. She plays with them like autographs on her body that she doesn’t share with the world. They remind her of her identity and how she got to this particular place of hell in her life. They speak of her brilliancy, of her broken mind and damaged heart. She gets out her phone and dials her mom’s number again. She can hear it ring in the box that she keeps it in, tucked away on the top shelf of her closet. It’s her namesake, and she must never let anyone take it away from her. Aunt Grace doesn’t know she has it for fear she would rip it away from her on a forced path of closure and acceptance. But, Aunt Grace, how the FUCK ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO ACCEPT THAT YOUR MOTHER WAS FUCKING KILLED?

Aunt Grace knocks on the door, and Olive lets her in. Grace apologizes, but Olive knows it’s not her fault. She pats the bed for Grace to come and lie down with her. They stare at the ceiling while Aunt Grace tells old stories of Abagail and the crazy, stupid adventures they would have as kids. How Abagail fell in love so young and then had Olive.  How Olive was such a tiny baby, born 3 months early, yet grew up to a be such a feisty, resilient, and brilliant young woman. The world seems to be spinning slower tonight with Aunt Grace sharing her memories about Olive’s mother. This whole year has seemed, to Olive, to be growing faster in time, as though the moon has been gravitating farther from this earth, and so she was spinning faster and faster until now. Now, it finally stops. The moon returns, and there is a brief moment of clarity for Olive. “Aunt Grace, do you ever feel like you’re stuck in one body, occupying just one space and it will never change? That people around you will continue to live freely but you will essentially never grow up to understand the world and what it has to offer? That you’re just a gawky kid from Queens who has lived the same day over and over again and nothing about it will ever change… “And that maybe you’re supposed to meet someone who will change your world? That there is somebody perfect out there, just for you and you’re supposed to spend eternity together, because he is the cosmic balance to your failures?” Aunt Grace doesn’t have an answer for her. So for the remainder of her 17th birthday, they lie together, with Olive’s head resting on her aunt’s shoulder. Olive feels safe for the first time in what seems like ages. She likes it and holds on to that feeling for as long as she can.

Tuesday, December 18, 2018 Jack

10:00am There’s a school trip to the Met to see the new exhibit on Art and Conspiracy, how everything is connected—public policy and the expression of artists who explored the hidden operations of power and the symbiotic suspicions between government and its citizens. However, Jack’s class is comprised of kids who spend their time vacationing in the Hampton’s and whose parents are politically powerful in the Republican party. Therefore, they aren’t interested in artists who unveil how the government is hidden in webs of deceit.

Olive

9:00am Aunt Grace wakes Olive. “Let’s go to the art museum today. C’mon girly, call off work this one time. We didn’t get to do anything for your birthday yesterday, and it’s the perfect day to go. It’s raining and you looove the Met. You can’t deny it.” Olive smiles and already knows the answer. All Aunt Grace had to do was say the word “Met” and Olive would be snapping on her shoes and out the door.

10:00am They arrive with a huge crowd of prep boys from the Academy down the street. Olive looks at them with disgust. “Look at them with their perfect hair and pocket squares in their suit jackets, so precise and perfect. Their lives so plain and planned—destined for wealth and authoritative power.”

Jack

10:38am Jack is drawn to the stunning expression of freed meaning and colorful revelations. He approaches an especially extraordinary depiction of Gerald Ford being pulled by a puppeteer behind the stock mark exchange. It’s exactly how he feels. Someone is pulling on him, his heart, and he can’t see who. He walks towards the art piece. There’s a tall white wall separating the room into two sides. He leans his right shoulder against the wall as he looks at the picture. He stops and feels the wall with his hand.

10:41am The hopeless romantic questions, “Is it her?” The woman who is tugging on his heart and pulling him along. The woman who has been dragging him around the city, pushing him to think that there is more of the world out there than what his school has taught him and his parent have preached to him. More than the uniform thought that people live such boring, regular lives, but that there are people who claim a dynamic life of excitement, complication, and vividness. These thoughts come flooding in; he can’t imagine anything else but that there is someone with just as beautiful a heart and complex a mind as him. A woman who will flip him upside down and change his world.

Olive

10:41am She stands with a white wall on her left side as she stares up at two black and white paintings. One is an alien, and she knows that’s exactly how she feels. An out of body experience occurs. She is lifted up out of her body. She feels pulled along, with increasing thoughts that there is more to this world, to this universe than this one place that she has stayed all her life. There is more out there, a reason her parents were killed by a drunk driver. A reason they left this earth and flew into the sky. There is a person who lives at this exact moment who is drawing her in, her heart, her mind. Then…

The Meantime

10:42am Nothing. A moment of tangency flees from the mind; the simple sample size of the original thought that the people of this world stand still and their lives are of no real meaning, just random commotion, comes back into focus. Jack turns to his left and walks away. Olive turns right and tells Aunt Grace she should leave.

10:43am A failed occhiolism: they never became aware of the smallness of their perspectives, in which they could never draw a meaningful conclusion about their worlds, and how they could have crossed paths and added to the complexities of the world’s great culture. A moment so innocuous, but with a chance for it marking the diversion in a new era of life. Like they just missed their cue. Two people who share a parallel story, harmonizing in what could have been a wilder experiment if she just turned the corner and crossed his path. But life is an unrepeatable anecdote. A universal flaw that the epiphanies of Jack and Olive were imperceptive and fleeting, until nothing was left but the echo of what might have been.

[detectivefoxyroxydpd]

━ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴡʜᴇɴ ɪᴛ ʙᴇɢᴀɴ

         private thread between @blackcoffeefumes and officerfoxyroxydpd ♡

     “Remind me again why everyone back home would want snow?” She murmured, arms tightening the hold she had around herself in an attempt to warm-up. She had only encountered snow at the Grand Canyon, if that even truly counted as snow. There hadn’t been much of it, after all. Not to mention, it had never been freezing at the Grand Canyon. Her arrival in the Midwest begun her first experience with snowfall...and blizzards. It would be a lie if Roxy said she hadn’t wanted to experience her own White Christmas, but looking at her current landscape -- cloudy skies, grey slush lining the roads, clearly miserable people -- she decided was contemplating taking that sentiment back. Still, she found herself fascinated with the fleeting glimpses she could steal of the snowflakes painting the passenger-side window. It was a much-desired distraction from the figurative snowstorm in the pit of her stomach.

“The grass is always greener on the other side, right? You get used to it...or not. Just think -- Now you get all four seasons!” A hum came from her sister, her eyes not straying from the road as she continued on to the station. For one reason or another, she had insisted on driving her younger sister to her first day of work. It was probably their mother’s doing, unable to see her little girl moving on to other opportunities -- This would be the next best option. As much as Roxy appreciated the thought, she wasn’t exactly fond of being babied at twenty-four. “Rox, for someone who wears the exact same hairstyle every day, you sure seem occupied messing with it.” Roxy turned away from her compact mirror, sending the older an icy glare, but sighing in defeat. She wasn’t wrong, per se. “I swear I will teach you how to do your hair, yet...Then again, you did climb up the ranks back home no problem, even if your hair was an unprofessional mess on a daily.” Corrine snickered, ignoring her sister’s stink-eye as it grew in intensity. “What I’m trying to say, Rox,” she began as they pulled into the precinct parking lot, “Is that you are going to be just fine, messy hair or not. You’ll be at the top of the food chain in no time. Now. Go show those boys what you’re made of.” 

Roxy hadn’t expected her sister’s reassurances to calm her nerves as much as they did. Nonetheless, she appreciated them...even if the feelings only lasted as far as the entrance to the station. Adjusting the grip on the cardboard box she was carrying, she stepped through the sliding doors. Despite it being her first time in the precinct, she couldn’t help the sense of deja-vu washing over her. These nerves -- Navigating an unfamiliar station and knowing her place at the bottom of the food-chain...she had only experienced the once, long ago. Yet, they felt all too familiar. 

You’ve earned your place here, Roxy. Now, prove it to everyone else.

It didn’t take much time to find her respective place. In fact, there was already a desk with her name on it. There was a quick swelling of pride in her chest as she set down the box on her desk. She strode to the other side, her fingers tracing the back of the chair before digging into the box. However, she didn’t get far into setting up. Her gaze was drawn to the sound of footsteps approaching. Recognition crept its way up her features, and she swiftly moved to meet the man halfway. “Captain Fowler.” They had communicated via video a handful of times starting from her acceptance of the employment opportunity to discussing the transition process. “It’s a pleasure. Captain Morgan back at the PPD tells me only great things. I’m honored to be working for the DPD.” 

“Likewise, Miss Gutierrez. DPD is lucky to have an officer of your caliber on our team. With these deviant cases piling up like this – We need all the information we can get on these androids.” His words didn’t match his hard expression, but the sincerity in his words allowed her another sense of pride. She noted his slight distraction as he took in her appearance -- specifically, her eyes. While he had seen them several times through the lens of a camera, she wasn’t surprised or offended by his intrigue. After all, a pair of eyes like hers were rare to come by. “I know we’ve discussed placing you with a partner. Based on what Captain Morgan has told me, you clearly can handle yourself. However, given your new position here in the precinct--”

“There is no need to explain, Captain. I’d be grateful if someone showed me the ropes.” While she wasn’t exactly lying, she wouldn’t deny the slight irritation at the realization that she would be getting babysat. Still, the route being taken made sense -- It was imperative she knew the in’s and out’s of this place. If moving up in the ranks meant putting aside her pride and following behind someone else -- Then so be it. After all, this would be just another opportunity to prove herself. Giving him a reassuring smile, she went on, “So, who exactly is this partner of mine?”

Roxy grew curious as the Captain’s expression turned almost apprehensive. “Again, given your rank back at the PPD, I’m confident it won’t take long for you to be off on your own. That being said, I’ve decided to place you with one of our own accomplished...I will warn you, he isn’t the most...amiable.” She swore he grimaced as he motioned her to follow with a nod of his head. “He’s probably in his usual spot.” It didn’t take long for her to realize he was leading her toward the break room. Before entering, Captain Fowler called out, “Reed! Could you pay attention to something other than your coffee for once? There’s something we need to discuss.” It took everything in Roxy’s power not to show any signs of amusement -- Especially a laugh. The two approached a the gruff male standing before the coffee machine. While his appearance was overall clean, he definitely was on the rougher side. If Roxy hadn’t seen her fair share of men like him, perhaps she would have been intimidated. “This is Officer Roxanne. Gutierrez, the new transfer. We already spoke regarding your temporary partnership. I expect you’ll be nothing, but cordial, Reed. She’s quite accomplished already, so I expect you’ll be back to being solo in no time. Are we clear?” Before she knew it, the tense exchange had ended. Fowler excused himself back to his office and his duties, leaving the two alone.

Just from the conversation alone, it was obvious he would be her biggest challenge to begin with. Nonetheless, her expression gave no clues as to her thoughts. She simply extended her hand, flashing him a coy smile before teasing, “I suppose you’ll be babysitting me for the time being. Call me Roxy. I look forward to working with you, Detective Reed. So...where do we start?” 

[liugeaux]

Congratulations we won, now what?

So, the United States of America elected a new President this week. While I don't know if new is the right word to use we definitely elected a DIFFERENT President. Congratulations, right now depending on who you voted for, you’re probably experiencing intense joy or bitter disgust. While this seems like a big change for both sides of the political scale, I feel like it’s definitely a positive election for both parties. Here are a few things we as a country need to do as we dive into 2021, to ensure the best future for our country.

Let me break this down by party.  

First off let’s talk to the Democrats.  

Number 1: Congratulations you should see this as a victory. Joe Biden, while not the ideal candidate, was at least good enough to defeat a republican candidate that dabbled in tyranny and is compulsively selfish. He will actually work with his Republican counterparts and help regain our respectability abroad. He’s not the Trojan Horse for socialism the right paints him to be and much of the left isn’t happy with his centrist ideals, but he’s a professional who knows how to do this job. At the very least he can begin the healing process we need so badly.  

Number 2: Calm down! Sure we will have a blue president for 4 years, however, the silent minority of this country has spoken and it's very obvious they are not ready for the progressive ideas that are currently being floated by a large portion of left-wing politicians.That doesn't mean this isn’t a shift in the right direction, it absolutely is, however what we should learn from this is that we have a long way to go. Force-feeding far-left agendas like, is not going to get us where both you and I think the country should go. Keep fighting the good fight, understand that there are people who will just not agree with you and that doesn't mean they're wrong it just means they have fundamentally different ideas of what this country is about. We’ve been finding middle ground for centuries, we can continue to do that in the 2020′s.

Next Let’s Talk To the Republicans, oh wait, I’m sorry, the GOP. 

Number 1: Congratulations you should see this is a victory. Sure you lost the presidency, however This election should serve as an opportunity for the conservatives of this nation to purge themselves of the Trump energy that has been driving their political landscape for 4 years. Conservatism, Republicans, and anyone who considers themselves “right wing”, are not inherently bad and the preference for small government and self-reliance is a respectable ideology that had a large hand in building this country. However, the Trump juice that has been fueling the red of states for the past 4 years has done more damage to the idea of conservatism than anything else in the past 30 years. This is your opportunity to move forward and re-establish yourself as a party for the people and not for a narcissistic pseudo billionaire that was only ever out to benefit himself and his friends. 

Number 2: Calm down! Sure we will have a blue president for 4 years, however thanks to the current Commander in Orange Julius, the Supreme Court is stacked in your favor for the next generation, and somehow the hatred for Donald Trump didn’t bleed over into the Congressional races. In fact, it looks like you're going to pick up some seats in both the House and Senate. Politically speaking, the conservative agenda is still alive and well in Washington, and arguably in the hands of smarter and more well-intentioned Americans than Donald Trump. Effectively, you guys are still in charge. When we inevitably have another conservative president, hopefully it will be someone that America can be objectively more proud of..

Now let me talk to both of y'all.

Please use this moment to galvanize the country. Media outlets, Public Figures and Social Media are actively pitting you against each other and while both sides believe it's to advance their agenda all it's really doing is crippling the whole system. Many people weren't voting FOR Trump they were voting against a liberal agenda that they fear, don’t understand or have been fed propaganda about. Do I want Universal Health Care? Absolutely! Do I want higher education to be more affordable? Absolutely! Do I want more wealth equality? You bet! Do I want to overhaul the entire criminal justice system? More than you will ever know! However, the current approach, and might I say “cancel culture” narrative that is so prevalent in liberal politics right now would doom any legitimate attempt at creating a better America through any one of these measures. 

Like it or not, conservatives aren't going anywhere. They make up nearly half of this nation, and for any social programs to truly work effectively, conservatives have to agree to put in a legitimate effort to back them. While I appreciate the gusto and energy that the modern liberal movements have been channeling, I don't see your current approach making any headway any time soon.

Conservatives, I get it, you don't like change. Our country, since its founding, has always adopted the more progressive mindset as generations pass, it's the natural progression of things. Whether you want to believe this, many of these “fringe liberal ideas'' are inevitable. Abolishing Slavery and Women’s Suffereage were once “fringe liberal ideas” and we see what happened with those. What you think is far left now, in 2-3 generations will be commonplace and considered moderate. The slow march to the inevitable progressive future isn't something you should be stopping, it should be something you are monitoring and regulating. Make progressive work within your ideals of individual freedom. Use your scepticism to ensure these progressive ideas are done right and fit in with amendments in the Constitution. The way I see it, Progressives are there to throw wild pro-citizen ideas at a wall, and Conservatives are there to adjust those things into a usable state. It’s the natural order of things. Both sides have to realize that at some point, you must reach across the aisle for anything to work. 

Side Note

I'm happy with the outcome, but the last 4 years have pulled a mask off of the American people in a way I never anticipated. A lot of our problems stem from inherent cracks in the foundation of our origins and we can’t ignore those cracks anymore. We aren’t a perfect nation, we never were and depending on the metric you’re looking at, one could argue that we've never even been that great. As a millennial, I've been told my whole life that America is the greatest country on Earth and that I can have anything I want if I just put my mind to it. We are the land of opportunity, and a beacon for the rest of the world to envy. As I’ve grown up, Millennials have gotten the reputation of an entitled generation that expects everyone to cater to their needs, often referred to as the “everyone gets a trophy generation.” That’s not who we are. Millennials are a generation of Americans that were sold a bill of goods only to find they were built on half-truths and hollow platitudes. Instead of just accepting it for what it is and letting the inevitable cynicism of adulthood take control we understand that we have a voice and that the bill of goods we were sold is obtainable. The fight for that may sound like entitlement, when in fact it's an optimistic hope that we can make things the way they should be. Don’t feed us propaganda and then be surprised when we believe it.

Once millennials are done, we will have the country you promised us, the way we were always told it would be and ironically, we will make America great, FINALLY.

[awed-frog]

The Season Finale/Bye, Boys

I know I'm late - I had to work all day yesterday and today, and when I first got those jobs I’d anticipated I'd be frustrated about missing the finale live, but, well - after last week's episode, I mostly wasn't interested at all. When I sat down tonight to watch it, I almost didn't want to. I was highkey convinced I wouldn't like it, and, yeah, I didn't. Not particularly. I've suspected for a while that Supernatural lost its grandeur and sense of tragedy years ago, and all that's left is a bunch of occasionally magnificent, but mostly unconnected, monster hunts - that they're grasping at straws to avoid going down paths that would actually make sense because they don't want to go there - and this finale confirmed all that with the subtlety of a badly driven tank. 

(Really - I was hoping things would be different, but they're not. As much as this show held my hand and made me laugh and cry in difficult moments and distracted me when real life was plain unbearable, the magic is no longer there. I watched the finale with that same awful weight in your stomach you feel when faced with that one person you no longer love - when you look and look and you don't understand how you could ever love them in the first place, and then your eye catches something - they way their mouth curves into a smile, perhaps, or the once beloved lilt in their voice, and you realize that oh, that's how. 

But still, it's over.)

So, what happens next?

The honest answer is, I don't know. I've been mostly off tumblr for a week, and while I missed chatting and talking with you guys, this self-imposed break really brought home just how my world has shrunk. I tend to be very intense in what I like, and over the last year, 90% of my free time has been Supernatural. Writing stories, writing metas, creating the odd graphic, reblogging other people's posts and ooohing and aaaawing at their creations and insight - that was great, but it also cut my mental landscape into a tiny little postcard. And this past week - I did things. I discovered new stuff, I read real books, I faffed around weird Wikipedia pages, I lost myself in other series, I planted beans and basil and edible flowers. And I liked it - a lot. So whatever I do next, I'll be on tumblr a lot less, because - I’m sorry - I’ve been fearing for a while that Supernatural simply wasn't worth this level of devotion, and this finale pretty much confirmed that. So - really - I’ll keep reblogging gifs and I’ll probably write the occasional headcanon and feel free to ask me things and come talk to me and everything else, but please know that I'm not that positive about this show anymore, so if you want rainbows and ponies, my blog's probably not the best place to get them. I'll definitely keep writing, and I hope I've got enough love left in me to finish my DCBB, but other than that - I think I'm done. It's likely I'll watch the show next year, but I'll certainly not anticipate new episodes and squeal at the screen and bleed my own blood all over it or anything. And maybe this will hurt at some point - God, I loved this show so goddamn much - but for now I'm just numb. 

So, here goes - quite possibly, my last meta. 

Cas: Yes, They Went There

This is what we’re all wondering, isn’t it? Is Cas really dead? 

No, he isn't. If Misha was leaving the show, we'd know about it. Like, of course they'd keep it under wraps until the last episode, but it'd be out today - no reason it wouldn’t. Plus, from a narrative point of view, Cas' death doesn't make any sense. He just died after fucking up - again - and he never got to make his Big Choice between Heaven and *coughs* humanity, plus they're having so much fun jerking us around with that yeah so maybe he and Dean they're in love thing, why would they stop now? So, honestly, his 'death' was his only good moment during this season finale. Like, he obviously wasn't brainwashed brainwashed, so it didn't make any sense he wouldn't involve Sam and Dean in his overly simplistic scheme, plus he's been acting stupid and out of character the whole time he was on screen - and, I get Cas is hard to write, but come on. Renting a cabin under the name James Novak when he can hypnotize it out of some guy without leaving a paper trace? Reading books and taking online classes about childbirth? This from a guy who's not a guy at all and has instinctive knowledge of physics and whatever and knows perfectly well that thing inside Kelly isn't a human child, anyway, so he might as well take woodworking classes for all the good that would do him? Uh. Not to mention his random snooping into alternate dimensions he knew nothing about when he was supposed to be taking care of Kelly - if AU!Bobby had killed him, or if he'd fallen into a pit or whatever else, Kelly would have remained alone in that cabin basically waiting for Lucifer to find her. Honestly - why do they bother writing Cas at all if they can't get him right?

Destiel: Still Subtext

And more bad news: five seasons of queerbaiting - and counting. This season finale had to be the one with the least amount of UST or pining or any kind of fuckery between them since, I don’t know, ever? Sure, there were moments, and I could list them, but why should I? Look at Cas doing his own thing, and what does it matter if he was staring at the water (possibly thinking about that fish which started everything, and by everything I mean Cas’ love for humanity, and by humanity I mean Dean), and what does it matter if Dean, as usual, is the one fretting about Cas and worrying about Cas and being all undignified and unmanly? It's been years, and Dean was unusually chatty during the whole finale, so I'm sure some of us were like, ALERT ALERT THIS IS WHEN IT HAPPENS (not me, because I'm grumpy and disillusioned), and nope, not the time. Better luck next season, guys.

Honestly, at this point there are no good options. 

Like, I’m sure there are already two hundred codas out there about the Nephilim resurrecting Cas and Dean kissing him out of sheer relief, but yeah - that’s not gonna happen. My bet is - if they’re being decent about things, Cas will be saved in some way and the eye fucking will start again, dragging on and on to some series finale which, no doubt about it, will indicate the two of them are actually sleeping together, because look at that painting in the background and the label on that beer - it’s obvious; and if they’re not being decent about things, our Cas is definitely dead and Sam and Dean will meet AU!Cas in their search for Mary and at that point things will get Weird, because Dean will be Grief-stricken and Unhappy, and Cas won’t know or love him at all, and then what? Again, at best the whole thing is definitely gone and buried and Supernatural will remain the main Wikipedia example for queerbaiting (but until that very last moment, we’ll speculate this is really about destiny and falling in love in every universe and whatever), and at worst we’ve got yet another cringeworthy dance between the two of them as Dean gets over AU!Cas just as AU!Cas falls for Dean, cue romance tropes, cue will they/won’t they, cue shoot me now.

Guys - I still believe there was something there. More: I believe it was subtextually indicated, for years, that Dean and Cas were in love, and this season kept giving us confirmation that subtext is a thing and that it matters (the latest hint to date is Dean’s I’m actually Sam’s parent speech), but the fact is, subtext is not enough. There are dozens of ways to bring a romance into text without resolving it so it stays ‘interesting’, and the fact they haven’t done it yet - we should stop excusing their behaviour. If Cas had been a woman, the possibility of a relationship would be confirmed by now. So, whatever.

Gold Star, Sammy!

For someone who's been pretty much a secondary character in his own story for the whole season, or, let's be mean, the whole show after S5, Sam suddenly got some unexpected attention, and was the only person to get a win out of this finale. His character development was mostly subtextual, but it was clearly leading somewhere, and this was exactly it. Sam's naturally ambitious and driven, and he's suppressed this aspect of his personality for years because freak and vessel of Lucifer and whatever else, but now, after years and years of penance and invisibility and praying to a God who didn't give a flying fuck about him, it looks like Sammy's all grown up. Yay. There he is, a leader of man, a consummate warrior, a witch. Not hiding, not underplaying his skills, not feeling guilty at all - and finally. Sam got to hug his mother and defeat all of his archenemies - the BMoL's gone, Toni's gone, Lucifer's gone, and Crowley's gone. And none of them need to weigh on his conscience, because, lookie here, Sam sort of forgave them all (except Lucifer, but, then again, he's not really dead, is he?). No, Sam got to reject the BMoL's pernicious influence on his pure, noble soul, he got to work with Toni, who'd cruelly taunted and tortured him, and he got to be nice to Crowley, which mostly didn't make any sense because Crowley and Sam always hated each other. And even the fact he lost Mary and Cas in the end - that doesn't affect his shiny character arc at all. Sam's been ready to lose Cas several times before now, and he's accepted it in a way Dean never has; and as for Mary - narratively, Sam got what he needed from her: a declaration of love and an admission of guilt - the confirmation that nothing was ever actually his fault. Now he can finally move on.

I have to say - despite the fact it was a fucking long time coming, this sudden bout of character development felt hurried to me. All that talk about leading others - when had Sam ever expressed an open interest in it? Until last season, he seemed warily determined to settle down with ‘someone who understands the life’ and be as normal as he could, and now out of the blue he’s King bloody Arthur? Like Crowley’s sudden meekness and suicidal schemes, Sam becoming the top pilot of the Rebellion was not out of character, exactly, but was rushed and badly written - this whole episode felt like someone had said, Okay, these characters need to get here, and there’s this chapter in the middle which explains how but lolz, who’s got time to write that? Let’s skip to the good parts. Rewrite, try again

Dean “I hate that I love you” Winchester

Dean is Sam’s parent - this has been my Dean tag for a while, and boy, they went to such lengths to finally confirm it textually it was very nearly out of character. Because, I mean, this is Dean, and as much as I appreciated that whole speech, that's so not who he is. I'm going to be generous and say he was under the effects of a lot of drugs, but still - this is the guy who never blurted out more than one tearful line in his entire life when under threat of imminent death, and speaking from the heart with such eloquence is not really his thing. Jensen pulled it off, but only just. But, whatever - nice to see some of the subtext they weave in this show is actually significant - and, full offense, now that it's textually confirmed Dean always felt like a parent to Sam, more than a brother, I hope that those who are convinced he actually wants to bend Sam over a couch and do “bad things” with him will finally take a cold shower (possibly with holy water) and step away from the whole thing. 

Other than that moment, though, which, dreamworld or not, Dean really needed, this season was disastrous for him. His arc's been downwards as much as Sam's been upwards, and, as we predicted, Dean ended his year in a very low place. Both his parent figures are gone - Mary swallowed by an alternate dimension, Bobby who flat-out didn't recognize him - Cas spent weeks ignoring him and now he's dead, Crowley's also dead (and however much they tried to downplay their relationship in this finale, we know there was something there), and the world is ending - again - because Dean didn't need to wait for the birth to know in his heart Lucifer's kid's gonna be a threat to, like, everything.

So, uhm, I really don’t know how to feel about things. Dean tried to be more open this season, which mostly went badly for him, but he also fixed things with his family - look at him letting Sam step away into danger (and, I mean, we don’t need any more confirmation because text, but in that moment he was definitely coded as Sam’s parent) and focusing on helping his mom instead (anon - I know I still have to answer your question about why I think Dean’s perfectly happy fixing cars and baking pies for his family while Sam’s off to Congress, and that meta’s mostly written, but here you see it again - Dean, the feminine, blue-collar character, is content with staying at home while his masculine, Ivy League educated brother goes off to war). I guess this means the brodependency is definitely over? Too bad Dean will be too busy mourning Cas and saving the world to actually appreciate it.

(Then again, #NoHomo.)  

Crowley: At Last, We Know

Crowley's arc has trasparently clear for a while, and it's mirrored Cas' so precisely the question of his death was becoming a when, and not an if. When we were speculating about his fate, I wrote somewhere that much would depend on the kind of story they were writing - if this is a coming of age thingy, then Crowley wouldn't have needed to die, because he's not a father figure (no matter how many times Dean’s called him Daddy); but if this is a tragedy, then the textbook solution was to have him die for the heroes. It's a The Last of the Mohicans ending: an überdramatic I know you'll never love me but I care so much about you I'll sacrifice myself all the same thing, and, look - what can I even say? 

I'm upset because I really liked Crowley and there was so much we didn't know about him and Mark is outstanding and aaaaaargh. On the other hand, at least they did him the courtesy of a noble ending (Rowena, of course, being a silly woman, got a humiliating and prolonged off-screen death, because, yeah, who cares, and the same pattern was applied to Toni and Ketch) and he got to bow out on his own terms: for Dean, and with a self-inflicted wound. 

Still, his death, like Eileen's, signals there's no believable happy ending in sight for our forlorn heroes. They'll probably stay alive long enough to kill the Nephilim and fall into the Apocalypse World of Doom™, and then they'll die*.

*Terms and conditions apply, because it would make sense if they died and it would make for a heartbreaking, tragic ending, but hey, the movie deal's still on the table so better leave everything unresolved and have them drive off into the sunset on their own. 

Mary: No Means Yes

I know some people like Mary, and I do think she was a good character, but as a person, she was kind of awful. I won't go back to everything she did wrong all season, but I will point out that her only redemptive point is that she sucked as a mom because she was not a Traditional Woman, and that sort of made her interesting and we raved about their courage all season, right? How Mary could have been a 1950s housewife and instead look at her - much BAMF, such wow. And yet we now know that Mad Max woman I do what I want façade was just that - a façade. Because when Mary was brainwashed, where was the real part of herself? Her most cherished piece of soul? The writers left no doubt, no margin for error: back in the kitchen, preparing horribly unhealthy yet terribly American lunches for toddler Dean, cooing at baby Sammy, her flat spotless (where are Dean's toys?), her ironing almost done. This is, apparently, the person she wishes she could be - what every woman should aspire to be: a mom who's 100% dedicated to her kids - someone who hovers around the house in her nightgown, ethereal and effortlessly beautiful and probably shaved bald (legs and armpits and lady bits shaved and trimmed and waxed and moisturised and perfumed and pleasantly soft and babyish), humbly content with this family God has given her. And, by the way, when she gets back to reality, that's who she becomes - she shoots Ketch, who'd dared to sully her marital bed and hurt Dean, she sobs in Sam's shoulder, she anxiously looks after Kelly because women always bond over periods and pregnancy and mascara and stuff, she tearily reassures Kelly that yes, dying for your unborn son, even if that son is a demon and the scourge of the Earth, is the done thing and anyone would do the same; her final act - punching Lucifer in the face - is completely out of character for the smart, ruthless hunter we know she can be. Instead, it speaks of a mother’s love - a kind of adrenalinic - you hurt my baby boy, I’ll make you bleed sort of thing. This, of course, is supposed to speak in her favour, because give me an emotional woman over a rational one any day. Honestly, if I didn't find Mary so annoying I would welcome the moment when she'll meet the other Mary - the woman who let her boyfriend die rather than dooming the world. As it is, I’m finding it hard to be excited about anything S13 has to bring, though.

Kelly: Blessed Are You among Women

I know that Supernatural doesn’t have the best record with women, and this finale, even coming as it did on the legacy of Eileen’s death, did not disappoint: from Toni playing her mother card and then dying off-screen, to Rowena left a burned husk in a non-descript room, to Mrs Hess cowardly attempting to escape as her operatives kept fighting around her, both episodes were a testosterone festival of testicles and bad beer. Still, what they did to Kelly was very nearly unforgivable. To recap: they basically took a smart, modern, career-driven woman, had her raped by her actual lover (marital rape’s still not a crime in 49 countries, by the way, and it was completely legal in many Western countries until the 1990s), got her pregnant, and then turned her into a Stepford mother. Because, of course - what else could she do? Get an abortion? I know we’re all theoretically in favour of that, but who can really go through with it, the heartless monster? And as for killing yourself - it may be your life, your body and your decision, but it's also a sin, and a big no no. Just be grateful your demon baby still needs your internal organs to survive and shut up. So, well - they basically sucked away her every choice Kelly had until she was this bouncing pregnant ball who got no say over her own destiny and on top of that, her last few days were spent building Ikea furniture and painting a nursery for the literal Antichrist who'd claw his way through her stomach to be born. Honestly - I'd say I haven't seen such a demeaning and antifeminist storyline since the last encyclical letter - except I saw the exact same thing on The Magicians only three weeks ago, so apparently misogyny's back in fashion? 

Then again, we already knew that. Just look at how people are voting.

(If you're interested, hedge witch Julia, raped by a god, manages to abort after a series of mishaps - like, the Planned Parenthood doctor who tries to help her is brutally murdered by a demon of some kind and Julia has to rob a bank and doom a friend to certain death in order to get another procedure because pregnant women are selfish bitches - only, what do you know, that part of her soul who could feel love and empathy is snipped right up along with her uborn child, so whooopsie. She'll only get her back if she forgives her rapist, and she does, because that's apparently our role as women in 2017 and fifty years of feminism taught us nothing.)

Bite-sized Rants

Toni being a mother - yeah, that didn't have anything to do with anything and that last scene of S11 was just proof of how little they plan ahead. I just read somewhere that this is the problem with modern television - that series will be automatically canceled or renewed no matter the storyline depending on how much money they make, and this means nothing makes sense anymore - stories that were supposed to last one season are artificially stretched to last forever because ratings, while things that were conceived as trilogies - we’ll never know how they end, because not enough people were watching. So, I mean - I am sort of pleased that I got there before they did and wrote a line one year ago about Dean eventually forgiving Toni because ‘a parent’s love - that something he understands’ - because, yeah, that's exactly the ploy Toni used on Dean and it worked, so, points, but at the same time - that whole BMoL thing was so wonky and stereotyped and Nazi-shaped and My God, really? The only character who barely made sense there was Ketch, but, unfortunately, that’s also the easiest character to write and the one who’s most commonly found on our screens: Trigger-happy Psychopath Charms Everyone with His Wit and Good Looks.

(Plus, Ketch was yet another piece of the Dean is Bi mosaic that went nowhere, so I’m not feeling very charitable right now.)

The other hunters - look, it's just not believable anymore. So apparently Sam and Dean know who everyone else is, people are okay following Sam anywhere even if he used to be the actual Antichrist or whatever and there are rumors about how he went to Hell and I don't know what else, and on top of that this Men of Letters thing is just something everybody knows about now? And yet Sam and Dean never contact these people, and more importantly, don't share their super secret Bunker full of weapons and lore with any of them? Not even Jody? Nice, guys. Real grand of you.

(Plus, what is this bullshit - why do Sam and Dean send everyone home after torching the BMoL’s HQ when they know perfectly well Lucifer  and/or the Nephilim are about to destroy the actual world? Maybe ask for some back-up there?)

Cosmic consequences, shmosmic consequences. Dean killed Death, and so what? Cas killed Billie, and so what? There is no way to even argue the current mess has to do with the cosmic consequences Billie promised, because all of it is basically of their own doing: Mary walking away when she should have stayed, Sam trusting the BMoL even as they kept kidnapping him and threatening him and killing random people, Cas being his usual self-sacrificing self and Crowley thinking he knows better than anyone else (or, well, as this episode pointed out - they both “needing a win”) - there was no supernatural involved there. So...?

(Plus, this is yet another example of a big narrative thing of the Destiel variety going nowhere. Cas killing Billie for Dean, Cas nearly dying while confessing his love right, left and centre and then - out of nothing, here is the ‘divorced parents’ routine - Cas is decorating a nursery with a brainwashed Stockholm victim and Dean’s priority is to - who even knows?)

That reference to Romani people was almost worse than that bit about the Arab Spring. Please, for the love of God - your show is watched abroad. If you do use history or politics, maybe Google it first?

The BMoL have te power to create ‘mystical dampeners against magic’ and yet they absolutely needed to kidnap Mary to ensure the continuation of their evil schemes? 

Sam and Dean can become virgins again but can’t mix themselves some old-fashioned explosive?

Mrs Hess had people studying the Winchesters for years and yet she doesn’t know which is which?

Dean finally got to fire his grenade launcher and we didn’t even see it clearly?

Handful of Disorganized but Well-meaning and Kind-Hearted American Mavericks Defeat Superpowerful European Organization Complete with Private Army Without Breaking a Sweat - Jesus, enough.

Claire was too busy to save the world? Where was she? Coachella?

Crowley looking at Dean when he called them beautiful, that fight between Ketch and Dean being heavily paralleled with Dean beating up Cas...when are they going to bring that stuff out of the subtext?

Cas being so easily seduced by Paradise - didn’t Dean reject those exact concepts back in S4, and didn’t Cas switch sides because of it? But I suppose he’s just, forgotten, because that’s what happens when you take online lamaze classes or something?

Honestly - I apologize for being so negative. There were some brilliant bits here and there, but as I said - on the whole, I’m just tired. Supernatural seems determined to tell a story by not actually telling it, and at this point I’m really tired of doing the job it for them. I’m fed up by how little Dean cared about Crowley (because, if nothing else, that was one complex and interesting relationship and a narrative dream they threw away out of fear it would awake old ‘Dean is Bi’ ghosts) and I’m fed up by how anticlimatic Dean’s reaction to Cas’ death was (we’ve seen more dramatic scenes over a nose bleed, but I guess these two episodes were so action packed they had no time to insert a random #NoHomo lady, so even a Merthur hug would have been way too much) and I’m fed up by the fact that Jesus Christ, they have such talented people working for them and why won’t they just let them? 

Guys, I don’t even - I’m going to bed.

[nataliehegert]

The “native” vegetation of the South Plains seems primarily to consist of pricklies, stickers, and pokeys: plants that grab you, stab you, and don’t let go. These tough weeds evolved to cling virulently to passing ruminants and spread like crazy, but they’re a torment for humans, our clothes and tender bare skin. I’m convinced that goatheads, for instance, are tiny manifestations of pure evil.

While traveling through California in 1919, the barb of the cholla inspired London-born author and photographer J. Smeaton Chase to denounce the cactus with this memorable quip: “If the plant bears any helpful or even innocent part in the scheme of things on this planet, I should be glad to hear of it.” If he’d paused to observe the cactus in more detail, he might have noticed the desert rats and birds that take refuge in the cholla’s spiny fortress. Chase’s quote exemplifies a Western attitude about plants, and about nature in general, that frames them as either antagonistic or beneficent. Plants are categorized as “helpful,” “useful,” “beautiful,” “rare,” etc., or, if they are none of those things, they’re just “weeds.” People have cultivated or eradicated plants according to their place on that spectrum — culinary, medicinal, or aesthetic. With the advent of capitalism came the “cash crop”: plants as commodities.

Humans have inadvertently tracked seeds and spores around on their boots, and spread noxious weeds to different continents on boats. They’ve chopped down diverse forests to plant vast fields of one single crop. All of these levels of human intervention have had the effect of diminishing the diversity of species on the planet, and contributing to the next “great extinction” powered by human activity.

Artist J Eric Simpson grew up in the midst of a monoculture, on a farm just outside of Lubbock, Texas, growing cotton and corn. After attending grad school at the University at Buffalo, New York, Simpson — an alumnus of the Land Arts of the American West program at Texas Tech — made his way back to the family farm, where he currently “daylights.” In his art, he deploys the materials and tools of industrial agriculture to critique the “current mode of crop production that implements an anthropocentric agency over the land.”

Simpson’s work combines the keen eye of a naturalist, the sharp mind of a researcher, the activist impulse of social practice, and the immersive monumentality of installation art. In a recent series of performative paintings, all entitled A Painting for Monsanto, Simpson set up canvases out on the vast, flat cotton fields of the farm (pictured at top), mixed various herbicides and pesticides, and proceeded to use an industrial sprayer to apply the “paint.” The result is monochromatic paintings in a yellow that’s somehow simultaneously sickly and vivid.

As luck would have it, my yard got sprayed the very day I went to visit Simpson at his studio. I asked the college boy who came unannounced to dispense the herbicide what was in the stuff he was spraying. Some kind of general broad-leaf weed killer, he mumbled. It made my goatheads shrivel up and turn brown. But their cruel spikes were still left in the dirt. The whole exercise seemed utterly pointless to me.

“The true product is the weed,” Simpson pointed out, describing the cyclical nature of the relationship between herbicide-resistant, genetically modified cottonseeds and the “superweeds” that develop resistance to the herbicides. Of course, both the cottonseeds and the herbicides are the intellectual property of the multinational agro-chemical companies that sell them to the farmer.

That evening, Simpson’s studio, which is in one of the live-work spaces in the Charles Adams Studio Project (CASP) in Lubbock, was still set up with the installation he showed at the First Friday Art Trail the weekend before. Each sculpture was grounded by a little patch of dirt. A pump that was hooked up to a length of clear plastic tubing sent a blue liquid from an herbicide container into one of Simpson’s paintings, a naturalistic rendition of a generic bottle of Roundup, painted using Monsanto’s genetically modified cottonseed as paint medium. The room was suffused with a pink glow, courtesy of greenhouse UV grow lamps.

There was a shelf displaying several pages of heavily redacted emails, drawn from the highly publicized trial that ordered Monsanto to pay a California groundskeeper $289 million for his cancer caused by repeated exposure to Roundup. The emails demonstrate that Monsanto was well aware of the carcinogenic effects of glyphosate, a chemical used in their herbicidal products. They tried to cover up the facts by ghostwriting sections in scientific papers, a fact that seems to also implicate researchers who would be willing to “edit and sign off” on sections essentially written by Monsanto. During First Friday, I watched as Lubbock locals filed past the emails, and nearly every person responded to the exhibit. This is something they relate to.

“There were only four agro-chemical companies controlling 91% of all cottonseed sales in the U.S.,” Simpson told me. “And it’s even less than that now, because they’re all merging with each other.” The German multinational firm Bayer acquired Monsanto earlier this year, while Dow and Dupont merged in 2017. Even without the mergers, these corporations are intricately intermixed due to cross-licensing agreements of genetic traits between them, which creates an oligopoly or cartel-like system. These mega-companies hold extraordinary, pervasive power over this region. “So, in a way,” Simpson says, “the strain is put on the farmer who becomes a bystander to all the ‘big decisions’ happening in the world of bio-technology. The power [that farmers] once had, a diverse market from which to buy products from for instance, is all but depleted. For instance, try to find a local dealer for non-GMO cottonseed. I assure you it is very difficult to do.” He picked up a transgenic cottonseed from where a pile of them were scattered on a video monitor. It was bright and unnaturally blue: about the same color, size, and shape as a blueberry-flavored Jelly Belly. I thought fleetingly about the proprietary blue meth from Breaking Bad.

As pointed out in an earlier Glasstire review of Simpson’s work, using a piece of heavily protected intellectual property in an artwork is pretty gutsy. Though it is extremely unlikely Monsanto (now Bayer) would pursue a lawsuit against an artist who used a scattering of seeds in an installation, the implication is present. (More troubling is the work by Simpson’s collaborator in the exhibition reviewed, Caleb Lightfoot, who made a video of himself in a Bayer greenhouse while an employee of the company.) In a town that is essentially run by Big Ag and the scientific research institutions that enable it, that’s no trivial matter.

Simpson clearly doesn’t kowtow to the powers that be in Lubbock, but he isn’t an antagonist, either. He mindfully emphasizes that he’s not against the farmer, or the scientists, or even against the corporations. “I know personally some people who work for these companies,” he said. “From my experience, these people are not gaining any personal power over the farmer. Nor do they want the farmer to fail. In fact, just the opposite. They are doing intense research to help the farmer succeed.”

So what does he see as the future for the farm? “Realistically, we can’t go back to a time of agrarian subsistence-level farming,” he says. But we urgently need to invest in devising and developing sustainable practices. He has faith that science will help us reach that point, and that art can help us envision it. Simpson has been working on a sculpture that would collect rainwater and solar energy, with an origami-like shape that opens up to receive rain, and closes to collect and store sunlight, distributing the water as needed through a root system. “The idea is that the sculpture would function as a ‘mother plant’ to surrounding vegetation,” he says.

As a CASP resident, Simpson has been extending his efforts out into the community, through curated exhibitions and talks. His curatorial endeavors so far have been outstanding. Each exhibition in the series takes one of the “four vital resources of Lubbock”—earth, wind, sun, water—as its theme. For “earth,” sculptor and ceramicist Nicolle LaMere exhibited her “dorodango” collection—perfect shiny spheres of dirt. And last month, Ryder Richards showed his phenomenal installation Empowerment, for “wind.” I’m eagerly anticipating the “sun” exhibition, opening February 1, which will have “art objects, modular solar panel kits, and floating habitat workspaces.”

With an art studio as interdisciplinary research space, Simpson creates a fruitful dynamic between the fields of art and agriculture. Because CASP studios must engage with First Friday crowds — and these crowds are diverse, not just “art folks” — they serve a public function in Lubbock, and, one would hope, can strengthen different communities through mutual understanding. Simpson wants to create an “actual dialogue” with viewers, real conversations “on topics that impact their local economies and ecologies.” “During First Friday events,” he says, “I’ve been able to meet biologists, engineers, weed scientists, farmers, bankers, you name it, all of whom are able to engage with an aspect of the work, as it was rooted in this place.” The work is “about Lubbock, for Lubbock — it’s hyper-local in that sense,” he continues, but it can be shown elsewhere. Monoculture impacts landscapes all over the world and its effects have serious consequences for the diversity and sustainability of life on this planet.

As research continues to pour in showing that our planet is under threat, that human-driven climate change will have even further-reaching effects than we’ve previously imagined, touching every level of life (even the bugs are disappearing, for God’s sake!), it becomes apparent that we, humans, are the mammalian version of weeds. We’ve spread to every corner of the planet, and wherever we are we choke out other species. We should be looking at the weeds to understand more about who we are.

The landscape here is deceptively simple. It is flat, dry, dusty, with cotton as far as you can see. But Simpson’s work identifies it as a complicated system, with far-reaching effects. The dialogue he’s opening up in this corner of Texas, while clearly addressing the lives and livelihoods of locals, concerns itself with the ways we treat landscape and agriculture and how that will affect the world and our future. There are important lessons in it for all of us.

[dragonandtiger]

Undertale - Risen Child - 06

Spoiler warning for Undertale True Pacifist, Neutral, and No Mercy endings.

Frisk couldn’t help but marvel at how different the trip to Snowdin felt when she wasn’t constantly battling for her life. While her countless resets had boiled each fight down to a science, it was still a stressful affair where one wrong move could result in her death. However, with Toriel by her side, no one dared attack the human child again.

But it wasn’t just Toriel - Frisk had the entire canine sentry squad as her escort. After picking up Greater Dog with very little fuss and a large amount of pettings, the human child was soon completely surrounded by bodyguards - with the strongest of them all standing directly beside her, holding her hand.

Jerry never tried to make a second attempt, nor did any of the denizens of Snowdin that traveled the woods. Gawks and stares accompanied Frisk, safe in her protective bubble, as she was guided through the snowy landscape towards the town proper.

As Toriel carefully escorted Frisk over the bridge, the human child glanced upwards instinctively for signs of Papyrus’ ultimate puzzle - the one he never used on her, regardless of who was the dominant force in her body during that particular run through the underground.

It’s kind of sad, Frisk thought. I didn’t really get to play with Papyrus at all. We would’ve been doing his puzzles by now. Even though she already knew how to solve the puzzles, spending time with Papyrus and Sans was always fun.

A glint caught Frisk’s eye at the end of the bridge, reminding her of a crucial detail that had slipped her mind in all the excitement. She ran ahead of the others, heedless of Toriel’s startled cry, to kneel down in front of the hidden camera embedded into the side of the faux wooden bridge. “Alphys, if you’re watching right now, please tell all the monsters to evacuate to someplace safe. There’s someone dangerous underground who wants to kill everyone!”

There was no response, not that Frisk expected any. Hopefully Alphys was monitoring them at that moment and not getting distracted by Mettaton, or anime, or shitposting online, or…

Frisk sighed and shook her head as she returned to her feet. At least they could get Snowdin evacuated once they got there.

“Please don’t run off on your own like that, my child,” Toriel said a little breathlessly once she caught up to Frisk. After what happened the last time the little human ran off alone, she was relieved to see no threat. “What were you doing there?”

Frisk pointed at the small circle of glass framed by metal that rested in the shadow between two rocks painted to look like wooden boards. “That’s one of Alphys’ hidden cameras. She’s the head scientist for Dad, and she’s always been the one who evacuates monsters all over the underground in case of emergency.”

A small chill ran up Frisk’s spine as she finished speaking. She knew that simple fact that Alphys prevented Chara from killing every single monster personally had been a point of irritation for the fallen child. That made Alphys a major target as well, not just for being one of Frisk’s closest friends.

“We…” Frisk felt her mouth go dry. “We should hurry to Snowdin.” They had to get ahead of Chara before someone else was attacked.

Toriel made a quizzical sound as she looked into the camera, then furrowed her brow. “What an… odd place for a camera. Are there many of these?” After speaking, she paused as realization dawned upon her. “...Ah. I suppose she uses these to help ‘hunt for humans’.” Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at the dog sentries out of the corners of her eyes. “Am I correct?”

The blank look worn by Doggo and the rest of the canines did little to soothe Toriel’s irritation. The dogs looked at each other and then at their surroundings, failing to spot any cameras on a painted canyon. The boss monster let out a heavy sigh before she straightened up. “I see.”

“There’s cameras all the way from the ruins to the castle,” Frisk said as she took Toriel’s hand and gently urged her mother and the others to keep moving.

“And I suppose that idiot allowed her to do it,” Toriel said, stiffly.

Frisk bit back the urge to sigh. It was always sad to see the progress Toriel and Asgore made to reconcile on the surface erased once they returned to the underground. “D… Asgore took her on as royal scientist when she told him she created an artificial soul.” She paused for a moment, considering her words. “He told me, a long time after the barrier broke, before the timeline reset again to this, that he was hoping she could create artificial human souls so he wouldn’t have to kill anymore humans to break the barrier.”

Toriel went quiet for several moments, her expression once again becoming unreadable. But then, just as quickly as before, the look of steel returned. “And yet, for all his wishes, six children were still killed… and he still attempted to kill you.”

Frisk didn’t have a response for that. Her first thought was to recall how Asgore had succeeded in killing her more times than she could count, but there was no way in hell she would ever let Toriel know.

Just like she would never tell how many times Toriel unintentionally burned her to death.

The rest of the trip to Snowdin was made in awkward silence. With Toriel unwilling to relent and Frisk unable to argue, the subject was instead left to linger over the group to the point that even the clueless canines noticed it and could only look at each other in discomfort.

Frisk was more than a little relieved to see Snowdin in the distance, its quaint little buildings and happy decorations a welcome distraction. Of course, that relief was short-lived when she noticed right away that the citizens of the town were still very much present; they hadn’t been evacuated, and appeared to be going about their daily routines without a care in the world.

That fact alone made Frisk very uncomfortable and concerned above all else. It meant that Alphys hadn’t responded to her message, though it didn’t give any indication as to why. There were several options - she hadn’t been paying attention, she didn’t trust Frisk’s warning, or she was unable to do anything. While the first two could easily be rectified, the human child couldn’t entirely put her faith in the hope that either was the case.

Chara wouldn’t allow it.

At the very least, Frisk thought, Alphys can’t be dead… yet. Chara wouldn’t just kill her and be done with it. Not after everything. She wouldn’t go through all this trouble of letting me have control back unless she still planned on making me watch her kill everyone I love.

It was hard to imagine that Chara could have made such quick progress all the way to Hotland, especially when she had just attacked Papyrus outside the ruins. There was no one else who could have done it - the only possible culprit was Chara.

Of course, there was no way to know how long Frisk had been unconscious, and how long Chara had to prepare. The fact that Chara had somehow separated herself from Frisk in and of itself was unimaginable and downright terrifying. There was no telling what the other human could do at this point.

“It doesn’t appear that this Alphys heeded your warning,” Toriel said, drawing Frisk’s attention back to her. “No one has been evacuated.”

Frisk stared up at Toriel, inexplicably off balance. The fact that she had the ability to tell others about what was going on in this part of the timeline was surreal as it was, but for people to actually believe her… it filled her with all sorts of intense emotions.

“Perhaps she simply didn’t know whether or not she could trust you,” Toriel said as she glanced to Frisk. “After all, she would not recognize you at this time, would she? She must have been quite surprised to hear you address her by name.”

Frisk sighed as she rubbed her head, willing to disorientation to disappear; she couldn’t let herself be thrown by such drastic differences to the timeline. “I was hoping that by using her name she’d take me seriously, or at least let D… Asgore know. I think he knows about the resets like Sans does, so he might’ve told everyone to evacuate. Or maybe they would’ve panicked at a human knowing too much?” She trailed off on an awkward note, knowing she was grasping at straws.

Frisk’s eyes drifted away from her mother to the snow crunching beneath her feet as her steps slowed. “Honestly… I’m not used to being able to tell all of you anything about what’s going on. I’m not sure how much I should say without… making you all afraid of me.” The memory of the look Sans gave her sent a chill through her body that had nothing to do with the cold. “Or hate me.”

Toriel made a thoughtful sound in the back of her throat as she looked down at Frisk. “Well, it would seem that everyone’s already worked themselves in a tizzy over you as it is, so you really can’t blame yourself over that, my child. Even if I find it very strange and confusing, I also can not deny… that I feel as though known you for years. I see no reason not to trust you, and even less reason to fear you.”

Tears pricked behind Frisk’s eyes as Toriel’s words grasped tightly at her heart. Moved by the sudden surge of emotion, she threw her arms around her mother’s side and buried her face in the queen’s dress. Words failed her, so she merely embraced her mother’s side.

“Nice to see a human showing some love instead of LOVE,” Sans said, his abrupt appearance startling both Toriel and Frisk out of the hug. “Heh, don’t let me interrupt. I’d rather watch a human hug a monster than stab ‘em. Right, old lady?”

Toriel fixed Sans with a pointed stare. “Indeed. Perhaps monsters could learn from Frisk, present company included.”

Sans chuckled as he gave a casual shrug. “Hey, who am I to complain about being in good company? How about we all catch a bite at Grillby’s while we wait for my bro to get back? I don’t think we need any sentries keeping watch when the human is right here with us.”

Doggo looked over at Toriel, trying to hide how eager he was for a break from all the strangeness. “The food here is good, Your Majesty. The royal guard can attest to that.” The other dogs in his squad made barks or nods of approval.

Toriel’s initial response was to agree but instead she paused. While it was true that Frisk was not a threat, the human child had insisted that there was another that was. And the fact that this other human had attacked the skeleton brothers was the entire reason the one before her showed so much hostility towards Frisk in the first place. It was a threat that she could not ignore, even if she had no physical evidence to support it. The old queen considered her options before she turned to Frisk. “...Perhaps we should order the evacuation instead, and not wait for this ‘Alphys’.”

Sans glanced at Frisk. “You talked to Alphys, huh?”

Frisk could see right through Sans’ casual question. “Though the cameras, but if she was watching at the time, I don’t think she listened when I asked her to evacuate the monsters.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Sans said with a shrug. “I doubt someone like the royal scientist would be interested in taking orders from a random human anyway. Maybe all she needs is to get the order directly from royalty, like, say, the queen.”

Toriel was silent for several moments, before she gave a nod. “Perhaps that is precisely what I should do.”

“Great,” Sans said, his grin widening. “How about I show you the way to the lab while the dog squad here get some treats with the human. They could teach them how to play poker while you go save the underground from the human who wants everyone dead.”

Toriel’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Thank you for your suggestion, but I believe I will keep the human child with me-”

A terrible scream cut off the queen, though it was a fair distance away. The familiarity of it hit Sans with a terrible sense of déjà vu that had him turn a glowing eye towards the child directly in front of him then in the opposite direction where Papyrus’ scream came from. He disappeared just as the others started moving.

Frisk didn’t hesitate to run, despite what happened the last time Papyrus screamed. Dread overflowed her rapidly beating heart as she reached the border of Snowdin and Waterfall. She expected the worst, a repeat of earlier, but it wasn’t Papyrus on the ground bleeding dust.

It was Undyne.

The heavy armor Undyne wore looked as though it had been thrown into a thresher while she was still wearing it, gashes mangled inward and twisting her limbs until she lay helpless on the ground, hissing through her sharp teeth. Her helmet was gone, crushed by her side and exposing her face covered in cuts, but her gaze wasn’t on her ruined armor or her own wounds. Her attacker stood only a few steps away, facing not her, but Papyrus.

“Chara!” Frisk shouted as she charged at the other human child, only to freeze in her tracks when she saw Chara held a knife, the knife right at Papyrus’ neck. This wasn’t the toy weapon from the ruins - no other knife had the same glow or blood red shadows that constantly rippled and danced across the surface of the blade.

Chara turned to face Frisk, a sadistic smirk spread across her face. At the sight of the other human, her smile grew impossibly wide, showing off her white teeth and glowing red eyes. There was something off about her, her body swaying slightly - jerking involuntarily in ways muscles didn’t move - even as the human child held her ground with her knife a breath away from the skeleton’s neck bone. However, before Frisk could even properly reflect on the unnatural twitching, Chara’s spoke, her words echoing as if it were a chorus of voices rather than her own.

“YoU aLWayS weRe So pREdicTAble, pARTner.”

“Hold it right there, human,” Sans said, startling Frisk. Frisk had been so focused on Undyne and Papyrus she failed to notice his presence. She noticed too how his eye glowed and his hand was extended towards Chara, but nothing was happening save for a bead of sweat forming on his brow. His magic grasped for Chara’s soul, but he could no more grasp it than take hold of the ocean.

In spite of the obvious strain on his face and the sweat beading his brow, Sans tried to sound casual, failing to hide his fear. “Hey, uh, I don’t know what you think you’re gonna accomplish by swinging that thing at my brother all the time, but I promise you, if you don’t put that knife away, you’re going to have a bad time.”

“S-Sans, wait,” Papyrus said, his voice shaking. “I’m sure we can simply talk with this human, just like we did with Frisk, and-”

Papyrus never got to finish his statement, as the knife sliced his neckbone neatly in half, causing his head to fall from his body as it went limp and burst into a cloud of dust. All the while, Chara fixed her gaze firmly on Frisk, her expression never wavering.

Sans’ eyes went dark as, for all his words, the fight left him completely.

“No!” Frisk shrieked as she watched in horror as Papyrus turned to dust.

“What is going on!?” Toriel demanded as she hurried to the scene, having lagged behind the others as the dog sentries followed her. “What is the meaning-” All at once, the wind was knocked out her as her eyes settling on the twisted human before her and recognition hit her harder than any attack. She stumbled to a stop, her expression going blank as her hands fell limply to her sides. “C… Chara?”

“P… Papyrus…!” Undyne gasped, her crushed armor making every breath labored. “Damn you…!”

“S-stand back, your majesty!” Doggo shouted as the guards moved between their queen and this newest threat, all drawing their weapons.

Chara didn’t acknowledge her mother at all, nor any of the other monsters. She kept her gaze firmly on Frisk, a haunting giggle escaping her. Even the humorous sound was distorted, more so than normal, but the feelings behind them were unmistakable.

“I-it’s fine!” Papyrus said even as his head too began to crumble away. “It’s fine, I-I am sure we can still-”

With a sick crunch, Chara stomped on Papyrus’ skull, which crumbled as dust coated her foot.

Frisk’s gaze fell to the dusty orange scarf fluttering in the breeze and the merciless heel grinding it into the snow. There was no question what she needed to do.

Frisk reset.

---

Before, in the void, Frisk would easily find her save file - a nice and neat font framed in a box hanging in the air. However, as the human child appeared in the blackness of the abyss this time, something was undeniably different. Instead of Chara’s sick representation of a videogame that Frisk had become so familiar with, she instead found nearly a dozen stars - the same golden stars that allowed her to save.

“What is this?” Frisk asked aloud, instinctively expecting to hear Chara respond with some sort of sarcastic or sadistic explanation. Only silence answered her, and even the abyss seemed to swallow her voice almost immediately.

A sickening sense of trepidation weighed down Frisk’s steps as she approached the nearest star. The game had changed and she had no choice but to play.

With determination in her heart, Frisk touched the star and the abyss fell away.

Frisk found herself back at the Ruins, standing before the small mound of ground she regarded as Flowey’s hill. It was disorienting to appear someplace that wasn’t one of her usual save points, particularly one that suggested that she was going to have to confront Flowey again. She fully expected him to pop up out of the ground any second now and taunt her for Papyrus’ death, but he never appeared.

His absence set Frisk on edge, but she couldn’t let it keep her still. As she stepped cautiously forward, her mind raced to figure out how to stop Chara and save everyone when something was amiss with her power to reset.

A single step was all Frisk took into the staircase entryway before she froze dead in her tracks. Upon the blood red pile of leaves was an all too familiar regal purple gown covered in dust.

“Boy howdy, ain’t that a shame?” a familiar voice chirped, seconds before Flowey appeared from beneath the ground to stand beside Frisk. “Getting cut down so ruthlessly like that…” He turned to grin at Frisk, even as the human didn’t look at him. “If only you hadn’t been standing around stupidly, you might have been able to save her.”

Frisk twitched at the cruel barb. Of course Flowey would show up to twist the knife; the only question was when his words would strike. It was pointless to ask him if he cared at all about Toriel’s murder. “Asriel-”

“Aw, you’re still trying to call for him?” Flowey asked as his face warped into a horrifying visage of teeth. “Hate to break it to you, but Asriel’s been dead for a long, long, long time.” In an instant his face turned cartoonishly adorable as he winked. “It’s just little ole me, Flowey.”

Frisk had to pause to take a deep, shuddering breath to calm herself, but her fingers still curled into fists. “Don’t you remember me at all?”

Flowey stared hard at Frisk for several moments before he tilted his head, sticking his tongue out. “Oh, sure I remember you! You’re the idiot who just let someone die~!”

Frisk closed her eyes so that she wouldn’t have to stare at that mocking face out of her peripheral vision. “Just what is it about being on the surface that takes away your memories when we come back?” she muttered more to herself than Flowey, as she knew any answer he gave her would coated in poisonous thorns with nothing of substance at its core.

Flowey barely got a chance to let out a syllable before Frisk turned to him, her brown eyes blazing with determination.

“Even if you forget me a million times, I’ll still save you every time, Asriel!” Frisk shouted. “Even if this cycle goes on forever, I’ll never stop fighting to bring us all to the surface again. I promise.”

Flowey hesitated, taken aback by Frisk’s words. He was quiet for a moment before he gave a derisive snort. “You’re such an idiot.” With that, he disappeared into the ground from whence he came, cutting off any opportunity Frisk had to reply.

Frisk stared at the empty ground covered in dust and leaves as a shuddering breath escaped her. She turned to Toriel’s gown, her gaze lingering on the dust covered gash, always in the same spot.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” Frisk said. For once she was able to say the words aloud after Toriel died instead of only thinking them in a torturous silence.

After wiping the dampness from her eyes, Frisk reset and returned to the abyss.

The next star Frisk touched created a cruel transition not unlike her battles with Omega Flowey. In one instant she stood in blackness and the next she found herself suspended by cold magic seizing her soul, staring down into Sans’ pitch black eye sockets in the snowy woods.

“That’s a weird expression you’ve got there,” Sans noted, his dark eyes scrutinizing the human scathingly. “You’ve got the face of someone who’s been through this before.”

Though initially disoriented, Frisk immediately realized where this reset loaded her and instinctively looked past Sans to see Papyrus sprawled out on the ground, alive, but not yet completely healed.

“N-nevermind that!” Frisk sputtered as she tried to get her bearings in spite of Sans’ dark expression. “I’m not the one who hurt Papyrus! Chara was, and if we don’t work together to defend each other, she’s going to kill him again!”

“‘Again’?” Sans repeated darkly. As deep as his anger was, the shift in the human’s attitude was enough to give him pause. She seemed sincere in her fear, but it was clear that the emotion wasn’t directed at him.

Frisk unsuccessfully suppressed a grimace at how suspicious one word could be, but forced herself to accept Sans’ anger towards her the same as choking down awful medicine. “The timeline keeps repeating because of a human called Chara. She wants to kill everyone, and she won’t stop until she does!”

“That a fact?” Sans said slowly as he assessed Frisk’s words and body language.

“YeS, THat iS a FAct.”

There was no chance for Sans or Frisk to react to the distorted voice beyond a flinch and a glowing eye when the knife streaked past Frisk’s face, carving a notch into her ear and cutting away strands of hair in its deadly path. However, it was clear she was never the target, as the blade buried itself to the hilt into Sans’ left eye socket, extinguishing the dual colored glow as the tip burst through the back of his skull with a spray of dust and bone shards.

Sans didn’t even have the chance to cry out, but Frisk saw a glimpse of his remaining eye carrying shock before he burst to dust. His magic died a second later, dropping Frisk roughly to the ground in a cloud of dust and heavy clothing.

“S-Sans?” Papyrus asked weakly, his disoriented mind grasping to understand what had just transpired. It took him a moment to register the sight before him, tiny fragments of his own brother’s corpse disappearing in the wind and snow, before shock and horror became clear on his face. “Sans-!?”

Another giggle escaped Chara, but her entertainment was not Papyrus’ shock and horror. The sight of Frisk covered in dust was what made her smile widen and twist into a wicked curve of white teeth.

Frisk coughed up the dust and felt like she was going to vomit from knowing what she had breathed in. She sat up, trying to get away from the dust that stuck to her with the melting snow as a black pit of hatred bubbled up inside of her. “Stop it. Just stop it, Chara! You’ve already killed everyone hundreds of times! Thousands! What more do you want?!”

Chara didn’t respond verbally, instead holding Frisk’s gaze as she moved her arm about to point the knife at Papyrus, even as the injured skeleton struggled to get to his feet.

That gesture said it all; Frisk reset before Chara could have the pleasure of murdering Papyrus once again.

Chara’s smirking face disappeared into the darkness as Frisk returned to the abyss, where the twinkling stars awaited her.

Again and again and again Frisk used different stars to load another save, but it all led to death. Doggo was sliced across the eyes as they arrived at his station. Lesser Dog was decapitated while Frisk had her hand on his head. Dogamy and Dogressa’s entrance repeated twice for Chara to kill one then the other with stabs to the chest and back respectively so that each of them could see their lover die. Even Greater Dog had the knife driven into his head before his initial emergence from his hiding spot in the snow.

Each moment was like a stab in to Frisk’s own heart, inflicting an injury that followed her through each reset. It made her dread each one, knowing what was about to happen even as she desperately fought against it. So when the scenery once again changed to the familiar field of flowers where she had first fallen, she instantly leapt to her feet and rushed forward into the darkened cavern to reach Toriel before she had to watch her mother die again.

Frisk found herself immediately greeted by the familiar scene of Flowey on his hill, waiting for her as he always did after every full reset that brought her back to the very beginning.

“Howdy!” Flowey said, with great - and completely false - cheer. “I’m Flowey! Flowey the Flower-”

“Asriel!” Frisk shouted, skidding to a halt just short of the homicidal flower. “Stop it! You don’t have to keep watching people die to feel anything! You don’t have to hurt anyone anymore!”

A slash of the knife ended Flowey’s mockery, carving a jagged cut between his eyes. His entire body twitched, sounds of confusion eeking from his mouth as he belatedly registered the pain, before a cruel heel slammed into the divide, roughly tearing the flower in half through sheer blunt force.

Chara ground her heel into the remnants of Flowey seconds before he burst into dust, her eyes still focused exclusively on Frisk. Her twisted smirk taunted her ‘partner’ as her eyes reflected not only amusement in its crimson surface but defiance - daring Frisk to stop her.

Anger and frustration bubbled over inside of Frisk and she barely managed the willpower needed to fight the urge to lunge at Chara and throttle the demon, screaming and crying. She knew all too well that violence was not the answer.

Unfortunately, when it came to Chara, neither was mercy.

“I’m going to stop you, Chara,” Frisk promised with roughly hewn words ground out between clenched teeth.

Chara’s only response was a giggle, her lips curling up in a sneer.

There was nothing more for Frisk to say before she reset once more.

As the world came into focus, Frisk found herself in the chilly yet familiar surroundings of Snowdin. The disorientation lasted only a second before she realized that Toriel was standing beside her, holding her hand tightly as she glared at the shrugging skeleton in front of them.

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Sans said. “I doubt someone like the royal scientist would be interested in taking orders from a random human anyway. Maybe all she needs is to get the order directly from royalty, like, say, the queen.”

Toriel’s expression remained just as hard as the last time as she met Sans’ casual barb with suspicious disapproval before she gave a nod. “Perhaps that is precisely what I should do.”

Frisk jerked as she immediately recognized the scenario, and realized what was about to happen next.

“Great,” Sans said, seemingly unperturbed by his queen’s disapproval as his grin widened. “How about I show you-”

Frisk took off, releasing Toriel’s hand. She heard her mother call after her, and glimpsed at Sans’ startled face when she ran past him, but she only shouted. “Chara’s after Papyrus and Undyne!”

There was no time for further explanation. Frisk tore through the town, jumping over presents in the square and dodging past monsters milling about as they stared after in confusion. Only her instincts brought her to a halt once she reached outside of town when a blur of motion and the familiar sound of something sharp cutting through air was the only warning she got before a spear of magic landed in front of her. She barely had a moment to focus on the weapon as she skidded a few extra inches across the snowy ground before she was forced to dodge an entire volley of magical spears.

The black armored profile of Undyne immediately greeted Frisk, her red ponytail sticking out the back like a tassel as she held another spear at the ready, crouched and obviously hostile. She didn’t have to do more than point as her magic created countless jutting spears beneath the human’s surprisingly nimble feet.

“Wait! Wait, wait, wait, wait!” came Papyrus’ panicked cries, drawing attention to him as he waved his hands. “There’s been a mistaaaake! That’s the good human!”

Although Frisk was relieved that Undyne wasn’t injured and Papyrus wasn’t dying, she couldn’t give it more than a passing thought before she was forced to jump and run from the magic erupting from the ground and trying to skewer her.

Through the frightening visage of her helmet, Undyne’s voice came with a metallic echo that made her sound grave. “There’s no such thing as a good human, Papyrus. Go home and let me take care of this.”

It was Undyne’s turn to be blindsided this time. A burst of fire flew right by Frisk with deadly accuracy before slamming into the fish woman. It was not the tame sort that Toriel had used against Frisk, but a roaring inferno that promised only pain as it began to melt the armor.

Toriel stood beside Frisk in an instant as the human panted for breath, the boss monster’s fist clenched as it was engulfed in flames. Her eyes seemed to blaze as well as they glared down at the downed Undyne. “You will take care of nothing.”

Undyne let out a groan as her now warped helmet fell off, but she recovered quickly with sharp teeth curving into an almost manic smile. “Oh hell, yeah! And here I thought this fight would be be bor…” She paused as she took another look at Toriel. “Wait, you’re not a human.” Confusion immediately switched to anger as she jumped to her feet. “What’re you doing!? Go home! Don’t you know there’s a couple of dangerous humans running around!?”

Toriel gave a sweeping gesture of her hand, and a burst of fire surged out around her and Frisk. The snow immediately melted, turning into steam, as a ring of fire danced in an obvious threat. “The only dangerous one I see is you.”

Frisk attempted to step forward to get between Toriel and Undyne in case the captain of the guard decided to attack anyway, but the flames provided a barrier that was impossible for her to cross.

The unpleasant heat from the flames made Undyne wary, but she would not give a single inch. She directed the point of her spear directly at Toriel’s face. “Look, I don’t know who you are and what you think you’re doing with that human, but you’re standing in the way of everyone’s hopes and dreams!”

“Waaaaait!” Papyrus shouted again as he hurried over to the armored leader of the Royal Knights. “Undyne, that’s the queen! You can’t fight the queen! That would be...” The skeleton man’s jaw dropped as he clasped his hands to either side of his face. “Very bad!”

“I don’t care if she’s King Asgore!” Undyne snapped. “No one is gonna stop me from…” She paused for a moment to shift her gaze from Papyrus to Toriel and back. “Wait, did you say the queen? The queen? The one who ran off to the ruins forever ago and never came back?”

Toriel’s eyes narrowed. “Who I am does not matter. I will not allow you - or that fool you call a king - to harm my child.”

Undyne outright gawked at Toriel. “Your child? That’s a human!”

“My child,” Toriel repeated, her tone as dangerous as a knife.

Undyne let out a frustrated grunt. “Okay, look, lost queen, adoptive mother, I don’t care! We need seven human souls to break the barrier!” She directed the point of her spear to Frisk. “And that human right there is the last one we need! I’m not about to let anyone get in the way of our freedom.”

“You ‘do not care’?” Toriel asked as she held her hand out towards Undyne, a warning of what was to come if she so much as sneezed in Frisk’s direction. “You ‘do not care’ that you are killing innocent children?”

Undyne let out a snort of laughter. “Right. ‘Innocent’. Like the ‘innocent’ child that nearly killed Papyrus?”

“A-ah, but… they didn’t!” Papyrus said as he raised his fist triumphantly. “As you can see, the great Papyrus is still very much alive, so that does not count!”

“Or ‘innocent’ like the humans that trapped us down here?” Undyne pressed, as though Papyrus hadn’t interrupted. “Or the humans that keep falling down here killing monsters until only King Asgore can put a stop to them?”

“The other humans killed monsters?” Frisk whispered, shocked. Admittedly, she tried not to think of what happened to the six souls who had fallen before her, but the fact that the other humans chose to kill was as surprising as it was completely, tragically heartbreaking.

Not everyone had the determination to refuse to kill anyone.

“You say that as if the humans were not attacked first,” Toriel retorted, with surprising venom in her voice. “You attack those terrified children, then blame them when they defend themselves! Had you not instigated violence from the start, there would have been no bloodshed!” She net out a snort. “But clearly, that does not matter to you. You simply intend to twist the situation in order to defend yourselves - defend Asgore - even as it turns the Royal knights into nothing but murderers... child killers.” She then clenched her hand, the flames flickering about it as they glowed white. “And I suppose the ‘irony’ that you are proving the human’s fear of us to be well founded would be lost on the likes of you.”

Undyne let out a derisive snort, her eye narrowing. “Heh. Figures the queen that ran away and hid for a century instead of standing up for her people would become a human-loving traitor! I’ll bet you armed the humans yourself hoping they’d kill King Asgore so you could take over, you coward!”

Things were spiraling out of control; Frisk she needed to diffuse it somehow, even if she knew that no mere words would ever convince Undyne to trust her. Only actions might prevent her friends from hurting each other and she could only think of one act that might make Undyne pause “H-hold it!” she shouted, raising her hands into the air, palms open. “We don’t need to fight. I’ll give myself up without a fight. You can take me as your prisoner to King Asgo-”

“You will do no such thing,” Toriel said as she moved in front of Frisk, without looking back at her. “I will not allow him - or anyone else - to kill yet another child! Let alone for such a foolish act of suicide!”

Frisk cringed at her failure even as she felt a swell of love for her mother’s fierce protectiveness of her.

“I never planned on taking prisoners anyway,” Undyne snarled as she held her spear in both hands, bouncing on her heels in anticipation of a fight. “Now go back to your hiding place! You heard the human - hand them over so I can bring their soul to King Asgore and finally break the barrier!”

“If you wish to fight, then so be it!” Toriel said, raising her voice as the fire intensified about her, further melting the snow and depriving Snowdin of its namesake as browned blades of grass and dirt appeared beneath the smoldering steam. The citizens who had dared to gather at the edge of town to gawk were quick to scamper from heat as suffocating as the mounting tension. Even the canine royal guard cowered far behind their furious queen, not daring to step between her and their leader. “Let us see how a bullying coward such as you fairs against a true opponent!”

Undyne laughed as she readied her spear. “Fine with me! I’m tired of talking anyway!”

Toriel narrowed her eyes. “As am I.” Without waiting for a response, she threw her hands up and sent another blast of fire at Undyne, blowing her backwards as the very ground itself turned to ash around her.

“This is bad, this is very bad!” Papyrus sputtered as he clasped both his hands over the top of his head. “What am I supposed to do?” He then whirled to his brother, desperate. “Sans! What am I supposed to do!?”

Sans didn’t reply or even seemed to be paying attention. His eyes were closed, his breathing even with his head bowed. At first, Papyrus assumed he was in deep contemplation, but a gentle snore dispelled the illusion.

Papyrus jerked before he grabbed his brother by the collar of the dirty blue hoodie to shake him violently. “Sans! How can you sleep at a time like this?!”

Sans opened an eye with a startled snort, but quickly recovered with an easy smile. “Sorry, bro. All this excitement just wore me out, I guess.”

“You… you lazy good for nothing!” Papyrus snapped before he released his brother and turned back to the fight. Even the other members of the royal guards cowered away from the fight, uncertain and a little afraid to choose between their captain and the queen. “I… it seems that I, the great Papyrus, will be left to… to deal with this situation myself!”

The skeleton’s pomp and posturing would have had more impact, if he hadn’t immediately cringed back with a yelp from a burst of fire as it detonated nearby - though thankfully not near enough to do more than send his scarf fluttering in the aftershock.

“You go, bro,” Sans said placidly. He knew Undyne would never hurt Papyrus and given what he knew of Toriel, the queen would never forgive herself for harming someone as sweet and innocent as Papyrus.

Sans knew he wouldn’t.

Wreathed by flames, Frisk could only watch helplessly as Toriel and Undyne threw magical attacks at one another. There was no turn-based system to slow either of them down now that the facade of a videogame was gone, and the rate of attacks were dizzying. Any spears that came her way or tried to come up from the ground were instantly burned away by fire before she could even dodge. Even as Toriel created a mesmerizing display of complicated dancing flames, she still managed a perfect protection of the human child everyone wanted dead.

It was all too clear to Frisk how much Toriel held back during every battle between them, and even Asgore’s patterns paled in comparison. Her mother showed unimaginable power and control, which had never been more apparent than when Toriel had tried to discourage Frisk from her quest. Despite the constant hail of flames, it was only when Chara usurped control during moments that Frisk dropped her guard and threw them both into the flames to die that she was ever in any true danger.

And often those moments were meant not to torment Frisk, but Toriel herself - to shatter her confidence in her self-control, and make her kill the child she tried so hard to protect. The flames didn’t hurt nearly so much as the look of pure shock and horror Toriel had worn each time she saw Frisk die by her magic.

While Undyne had, in previous resets, exiled the queen back to the ruins during her particularly gruesome failed runs, it was made all the more clear to Frisk that Toriel had gone willingly, without any sort of resistance. She had lacked the motivation - the determination - to keep fighting. But now, that those powers were in full force and aimed at Undyne with intent to save. Toriel was not holding back and fully in her element; she was not resigned or succumbing to nihilism. Her determination glistened in her eyes and the flames she summoned effortlessly with each gesture, focused wholeheartedly in protecting Frisk from the attacker before her.

Undyne may as well have been trying to stab the fire itself, for all the good it did her. Every spear she launched exploded upon collision with fireballs and though she used all her training with Asgore to prepare her for such patterns of attack, there were too many - a hell of flames coming at her on all sides that scorched her armor and skin, regardless of her strength and determination to fight.

Undyne tried to close the distance between them in an effort to physically assault the queen when it was clear distance attacks would fail, but the large boss monster was surprisingly quick to bring up a wall of flames, forcing Undyne to retreat before she ran headlong into it.

It became all the more clear that she was not fighting a monster, but a force of nature itself.

It was too much for Undyne and she knew it, but sheer stubborn pride kept her climbing back to her feet even as the heat seeped into her armor and turned it into an oven that baked her. Even as her back bowed from pain, body smoking, and her movements turned into a crawl, she refused to stay down. “I won’t… give up… on everyone’s dreams!”

A single ball of flame, less deadly than the others, smacked Undyne in the head like a newspaper swatting a dog that piddled on the carpet, and she fell backward.

Frisk felt her heart twist for Undyne, and she tugged on her mother’s robe. “Mom, that’s enough! Please. Undyne isn’t a bad person… I’ve made friends with her too… before time reset.”

Toriel paused at that, though her expression remained serious. However, even as she kept her deadly gaze on the fallen fish warrior, she lowered her hand to take Frisk’s in her own and give the child’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Leave. Now.”

Undyne let out a hiss as she struggled in the heat as flames surrounded her with menacing promise. She couldn’t speak, but the murderous glare in her eye conveyed her feelings far better than any word could. It was only when the magical fire backed away enough for the air to cool around her that she could return to her feet, unsteady and weak. She shrugged off Papyrus when he offered a helping hand, but muttered a short word of thanks when he healed her wounds.

Toriel met Undyne’s glare with one of her own, neither wavering nor flinching. “And tell Asgore that I am coming for him.”

There were no further words exchanged, just the sound of metal clanking against scorched ground as Undyne turned and stiffly walked away.

Although her life had been spared, Frisk still felt a surge of fear as she watched Undyne leave. “Undyne!” she shouted, causing the captain to halt, but not turn around. “Be careful. There’s another human who is trying to kill monsters, so please warn everyone to take shelter and to not fight her - they won’t be able to beat her, and she won’t show them any mercy!”

A lone eye glared at Frisk from over Undyne’s shoulder, but only for a moment before the captain left. Although there were no words spoken, the look spoke volumes of a hatred of humankind that seeped deep into the underground from wrongs made centuries past, and a cry for justice and revenge that would not end with this defeat.

Toriel breathed heavily through her nose in a sigh. “I am sure she did not believe that you, in fact, are not the human to fear… but I suppose it does not matter. The results will still be the same.”

Frisk nodded ever so slightly as she watched the flames surrounding them wink out one by one. As long as everyone lived and reached the surface, the monsters could think whatever they wanted of her.

No matter the cost she paid in the end, Frisk would save everyone and stop Chara for good.