#or ends up having to arrest or see old friends/acquaintances die in front of his eyes; unable to prevent it

[lupizora]

Considering how differently the Kindaichi series and Detective Conan approach the final resolution of their mystery/murder cases, I would have liked to read a fic where Conan/Shinichi and Hajime meet for whatever reality-bending reason. It would have been such an interesting discussion for them to have with each other!

Unfortunately, I haven't found anything of the sort so far 😭😭😭

[37-children-of-the-dreams]

Day #31: Fearless

Dear Dave Filoni, thank you for being the next person who had hurt me through a fictional character. I saw the leak and now this fanfiction of Crosshair and Korkie has gotten a million times sadder. Especially because this means Crosshair would never be friends, let alone acquaintances, with Korkie. He'd just kill Korkie if they met.

Because of Dave, the next titles will just be Taylor Swift songs for reasons.

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

Crosshair had a long list of things he hated in life. Regs, war, discord and people.

True, bringing Korkie in his life brought some discord, but he gave him some stability in his new life. Also, Korkie mostly made sure there was some sense of peace. And he never saw Crosshair as just a clone, but a person he loves to marry.

But Bo-Katan? Crosshair was willing to put a technical war crime in his resume. As in kidnap the heir to the Mandalorian throne, and marry him so Bo-Katan can't do anything. Which was one part of their insane plan.

Looking at his Korkie and the aunt who abandoned him made Crosshair grab Korkie's hand to make sure they couldn't take him away.

"Drop your filthy hands off my nephew!" Bo-Katan barked.

"No," Crosshair declared. "I'm Korkie's fiancé, and only he has the rights to tell me anything."

Bo-Katan glared at Korkie. Korkie glared back in defiance and tightened the grasp Crosshair had of his hand. He can't break his stoic face and smile at Crosshair's declaration. He wants Bo-Katan to know who he'll listen to.

"Korkie Kryze, you need to stop this! Your relationship with this clone will destroy our House. Don't you want to bring glory back to this House? To Satine? The woman who raised you?"

"Don't you ever dare use my mother against me!" Korkie roared. "I was the one who had always stayed by her side while you ran off with Death Watch because you were a coward who couldn't argue with my mother."

Bo-Katan opened her mouth, but Korkie used the Force to shut her up. Bo-Katan felt her mouth closing and saw that Korkie had his free hand raised. She mentally gasped at the revelation and knew what Korkie might be capable of.

"I am not done," he added. "I know I'm just a young boy to you, but I've just found things about me that made realize how much I needed to grow up. One, I, and by extension you, came from a long line of Force Seers who could see the past and future. Two, I've been using the Force to see our family's history and you know I'm not wrong when I said you ran from Mother because you were never one to win an argument with words. And lastly, Crosshair is my future husband and I don't care if you hate him, you need to respect my choice or I'm going to make things harder on you."

Korkie dropped his free hand Crosshair hugged him in the back. Crosshair smirked at the sight of Bo-Katan freezing at the knowledge that she has no more power over Korkie. And even if she did, who's to say Korkie wasn't going to bolt and leave Mandalore for good?

Bo-Katan finally stopped being a statue and looked at the sight of her nephew with his lover. It disgusted and rocked Bo-Katan to her core that Korkie would follow in Satine's steps in choosing the wrong person to love. She didn't even need to guess who helped sired Korkie because she already knew, and she hated how he had picked a clone who might have worked with his father.

Bo-Katan must right this wrong before Korkie marries the clone and destroy his future as Duke of Mandalore.

"I will leave for now," she said. "But I'll come back with my Nite Owls. You know what must happen or else."

Korkie sighed. "Really? Threatening my nanny? You might be my aunt by blood, but Nanny Rana is more of an aunt to me than you."

Bo-Katan left the scene through jetpack, but she still heard the screams of a pissed off Korkie. The only way to right a wrong between Kryzes is a duel. Winner take all, loser must fall.

Korkie screamed at the air as Bo-Katan left. He almost fell to the floor, but Crosshair was still hugging him and he sat the angry former duke on the floor. Rana got to his side as Crosshair was running his hands through Korkie's hair. The nanny hugged her former charge and walked him through their old breathing tactics.

"She's the one who left me!" he argued. "I'm nothing to her. Nothing!"

"Maybe in your head," Crosshair said. "But you're actually important Korkie. You were announced as your mother's heir, and Bo-Katan has not right to say you're not."

"He's not wrong," Rana agreed. "You might have been under house arrest, but unless you die, Bo-Katan has no power over what you are. You might think of yourself as a former royal, but that's not true."

"But I haven't been active in almost a year," Korkie argued. "Bo-Katan has been in the spotlight, not me."

"But who was the one with the bounty?" Crosshair reminded. "They know how important you are. You're the real heir, not Bo-Katan."

Korkie sighed as the thought settled in. He was so done with the trauma that he basically let him down. He became so dependent on Crosshair's praises that he forgot how much he really cost to Mandalore and the throne. He forgot that Amis, Lagos and Soniee came for him because of who he is. He might have lost his Mother, but he was Satine's heir.

Korkie stood up as Crosshair steadied him. He looked at his future husband and laughed. Crosshair give him a confused look as he stopped laughing.

"You know," he said. "I know you never worked with my father, but you did say you used to work with Commander Cody before, who was my father's second-in-command. My mother fell in love with my father, and now I'm in love with you, who worked with his former second-in-command."

"And why is that important?" Crosshair asked.

"I think Bo-Katan wants to make sure I don't end up like my mother. Falling in love with the supposed enemy. Which makes me want to fight harder for tomorrow."

"But it's late!" Rana protested.

"I'm not losing to Bo-Katan. I want her and her Nite Owls to respect Crosshair."

Rana sighed and gave Korkie her blessing. Korkie left to find a perfect training area.

"Crosshair, come with me!"

Crosshair sighed as he went after Korkie. Korkie lead Crosshair to the basement. There hasn't been a good reason to use the basement in years. It wasn't really much as a basement as an underground training facility. Crosshair was amazed at the Kryze's details in how much they wanted to train their heirs. Weapons were placed everywhere and the floor was basically a battle court floor. Korkie took a sword from the walls and looked at Crosshair.

"Shoot me," he said.

"I know you hate Bo-Katan," Crosshair said. "But no."

"She loves using blasters. You have a rifle."

"Not the same thing."

"Then get one of the blasters here."

Crosshair looked around and saw the amount of blasters around the area. It seemed the favorite weapons in the Kryze family were blasters because there was not one wall that hadn't had a blaster.

"How in the world did you guys turn to pacifism?" Crosshair asked.

"Grandfather Adonai wanted peace," Korkie reminded him.

"But the amount of weapons here."

Korkie laughed as Crosshair picked a blaster. Korkie steadied himself with the sword as Crosshair shot him. Korkie deflected the blast with the sword as Crosshair smiled. They did it alone until Fennec came and help them.

The day broke and Bo-Katan came with her Nite Owls as promised, but she brought a few extras. Amis, Lagos and Soniee came with her to see that Bo-Katan did not end Korkie's life. They were in front of the entrance when the door opened.

Korkie and Crosshair greeted them along with Fennec, Rana, and Luka and Kristal Shand. Crosshair escorted Korkie to Bo-Katan and kissed him good luck in the duel.

Bo-Katan recoiled in disgust at the display. Her Nite Owls whispered among themselves with Amis, Lagos and Soniee keeping quiet.

"Are we sure Korkie Kryze can still be the heir?" one of her Nite Owls asked.

"I can't see him as the heir anymore," one of them replied. "He's allied with a clone."

Bo-Katan glared at her Nite Owls. And then at Korkie.

"You know the rules," she said. "If I win, you must leave that clone. He will never be your husband."

"And if I win," Korkie countered. "You're invited to the wedding."

Amis peeped a small laugh. The Nite Owls looked at him with concern, but the girls smiled at him. Even with the dread atmosphere, Korkie still managed to make a joke.

"Weapons are always used," Bo-Katan continued. "But they can't help you at all."

Bo-Katan pointed at Korkie's party.

"Same with you," Korkie countered again. "Also, is the Force technically a weapon?"

The Nite Owls gasped at the revelation. Their leader's nephew was a Force user? That might that Korkie was not Satine's nephew, but her son with that Jetii!

"Bo-Katan!" one of her followers cried. "You can stop this duel. He's not a Kryze anymore, he's dar'manda."

"Enough!" Bo-Katan ordered. "Korkie is still a Kryze. He just needs to lose the side that makes him a Jedi."

Korkie rolled his eyes as he readied himself with the sword. Bo-Katan shot him, but like last night he never let any blaster fire hit. He was busy closing the gap between them that he had a clear shot of knocking off Bo-Katan's blasters. Which he did making Bo-Katan freeze long enough to head butt her. Bo-Katan stepped back, but steadied herself and fought him hand-to-hand. Korkie was never the best in hand-to-hand, but he always knew how to dodge. He pushed Bo-Katan with the Force and made her land on the ground with her back. Korkie ran to her, sword on hand and stabbed the ground near her face.

"You know I can't kill family," Korkie said. "My mother loved you. As her son and your nephew, please let me be. You know what I am."

Bo-Katan screamed and attacked Korkie making him use the Force once again to scare her into losing. The Force fear was immense and instant that Bo-Katan dropped to her knees and looked at Korkie.

But all she saw was Satine's crying face. It was as if Satine came back to say she needed to accept Korkie's new life. Bo-Katan cried at the spot as Korkie knelt beside her and placed a gentle hand on her back.

"Please don't make me do worse," Korkie begged. "You can be the heir to Mandalore now. We both know they'll figure things out, and they will never accept a Jedi's bastard as a ruler."

Bo-Katan stood up and Korkie raised with her.

"Leave Mandalore," Bo-Katan said. "You've won your freedom. Leave and never use House Kryze's name ever again."

Korkie nodded and went back to Crosshair's side. The two left the mansion with Fennec as Rana and the Shands waved them goodbye. Amis, Lagos and Soniee also waved the three goodbye as they left. Bo-Katan stole one more glimpse of her sister's son and shook her head as the Nite Owls surrounded her with questions.

Korkie could have been the Duke of Mandalore. Now, he's a nobody with a clone for a husband. What a pathetic win.

[leviiackrman]

The Encyclopaedia of a Design Students Imagination

Part 5: Jess Carter-Drake (Uncharted)

Part 1: Ophelia | Part 2: Spectre | Part 3: Una | Part 4: Isaac

Notes: there was wayyyy too much to include in her bio, so if anyone is ever interested in a longer writing of her story I can look into it!! anyway this one is long haha (she has been 4 years in the making...)

Words: 1,774

Tags: @chuckhansen​ @simonxriley​ @ciriofcintras​ @noonvvraith​ @ginadotjpg​ @ayrennaranaaldmeri​ @missdictatorme​ @callumtvrner​ @emuzeek​ @tommymillers​

Having been born to a family of adventure, Jess was raised in Britain with the knowledge of treasure hunting; the lifelong profession of her father. With her sister Molly and Brother Aaron, the siblings had an average childhood – but with their fathers interest in history and travel, it soon became apparent where Jess’ attention really was focussed.

Over the coming years, she had followed her mother’s advice of keeping safe as best she could by choosing to study History at university; rather than pursuing her dream career alongside her father. At the age of 19 – while travelling home at night with her father – the two were struck by a truck, resulting in a terrible crash that unfortunately took the life of her father. Out of fear of being his distraction, Jess was terrified to go home, and so fled the UK where she lived on the run for a year or so.

---

Before long, she had made her way to Panama with the little money she had earnt from ‘trading’ goods – a thief’s term for stealing and selling on. Upon finding a decent venue to next smuggle from, Jess planned her approach carefully, but was caught by another shady figure attempting to rob the same Museum. Caught off guard by his presence, she failed to notice his gun before he shot the approaching night guard; fleeing out the window and creating the perfect sabotage for the young girl.

She was arrested shortly after and was thrown into the local prison. Surrounded by crooked smiles and wandering eyes, Jess found herself alone in her prison cell, the only place available being in the male quarters. But after all she was a murderer, so why shouldn’t she be with the worst of the worst – right?

With her new reputation on her belt and the guards not wanting another incident, they kept her separate for a while, until one day she overheard the guards complaining of a broken radio and offered her assistance. It took little persuading to be allowed inside their office – much to her disliking – before showing how the device could be fixed. Deciding she had more use than a treat for the eyes, the guards ordered her to work more around the prison, fixing light switches and other devices.

Within a year she had found herself comfortably wandering around the prison, tool kit in hand onto her next job. A set of lights in B wing had blown during the night, and while fixing one set, the guards ordered a search and sweep of the cell block. Those who refused to move were beaten – horrifically. When the man to her side refused to move, she made her best effort to avoid watching what was about to transpire. Seeing he was clearly in pain rather than being stubborn, she jumped down from her ladder as the guards left to get the man in charge, pulling him to his feet and returning to her station before they returned.

It didn’t take long for this mysterious man to find her, questioning her relentlessly on why she was even there. With the agreement to keep their personal lives and motives to themselves, the pair formed a close bond within the next year, sneaking many moments together without raising the guards suspicions.

---

2 years into her encapsulation, Jess was discovered within the prison and bailed out by none other than Rob; her father’s best friend and professional partner. Concerned for where she had disappeared to, he tracked her down, releasing her from prison and taking her back to the UK. Although relived to be free once more, Jess was adamant she didn’t wish to return home; begging Rob to take her elsewhere so she didn’t have to face the grief of her mourning family.

He agreed to take her somewhere private – somewhere she could be trained to fulfil the career laid out before her. Not knowing where she was going, Jess arrived at Croft Manor where she was introduced to the one and only Lara Croft. With their fathers having been close affiliates in earlier years, Rob was keen to see the 2 work together and learn from one another. Within the next several years – when Jess was now 24 – she had learnt a lot from her new friend (and lover, for a time), but wished to begin travelling again, missing the thrill of causing trouble.

With some solid contacts up her sleeve, Jess was able to make a name for herself within the business, becoming noteworthy to those around her. Aspiring to complete the works her father could not, she was approached by Elena Fisher – and inquisitive reporter keen to learn more of her travels. Over time the two became extremely close, their friendship lasting for years after. Introduced to other notable faces in Elena’s circle, Jess continued to work independently until she was unexpectedly recruited to help discover the location of one Henry Avery’s forgotten treasure.

With a hefty price laid out in front of her by her new employer Rafe Adler, she successfully acquired an old St. Dismas Cross, only to later discover it was worth a lot more than he was paying. Determined to earn a fair wage for her efforts, she donated the artifact to the Rossi estate, where she could witness the auction herself. While searching the venue as any good pick pocket would, she ran into Victor Sullivan – another acquaintance of her father’s she had met many years prior. Knowing of his shady business, his appearance piqued her interest and she soon discovered his plan alongside the infamous Drake Brothers.

---

Locking herself in an office to capture the thief who stole her cross, she could hear the commotion in the main hall of all the attendants being escorted out. Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one who chose this hiding place. Appearing from the shadows was a taller gentleman, almost definitely in communication with Sullivan, but didn’t resemble that of Nathan. Not wishing to waste time, she carefully staged the scene – a frightened guest wishing to escape the havoc outside and was graciously saved by the incredibly handsome stranger, blah blah blah.

With his interest now focussed on her, she swiped the cross and began to run; only to end up having a full blown brawl with this stranger to win the cross. The playful flirtation expired and her patience diminishing, she instinctively threw them both through the office doors and out into the hall where the rest of the shooting was taking place. Not wishing to die for nothing, she took her chance to run; leaving the cross behind but carefully watching the exterior so she could follow the boys on their way out.

---

It took a lot of persuasion, but as she explained her situation when approaching them at their hotel, her connection to Elena soon had her welcomed into the group. Sam on the other hand, not so much. Not knowing one another’s names, the years since they had met had faded their memories of one another without them knowing, and in doing so created a tension that lasted a good while into their adventure. Through-out their countless travels and endeavours, the group grew closer, taking each hit in stride and instinctively defending one another. The tension between the eldest Drake and the young explorer soon faded, this forgotten connection arising once more the longer they worked together.

With countless lies revealed along the way, Jess and Sam’s past was soon revealed to them when Rafe held them captive – finding humour in the fact the pair had no clue. Determined to leave Libertalia alive, Jess tried hard to persuade Sam to leave with them, promising more fruitful adventures in the future. Although sustaining a good few new scars along the way, the events of the past few months drove Sam and Jess increasingly closer to one another, keeping in close contact thereafter.

Aware of their past and the position Sam was now in, Jess helped him as much as she could to rebuild his life outside of prison. Over time they spent more time together, soon developing a secret relationship they thought would be fun to keep from the others, until eventually all their close friends knew. Within the first year of being together, a rift surfaced between them in the form of Jess’ ex colleague – Abigail. Successfully snatching Sam away, Jess left sam when she heard of him cheating, feeling empty for months after. Despite this, the two of them were able to work past it, her heart always slightly fragile around him even years into their relationship.

When things became more stable again, the mysterious stranger from Jess’ past in Panama returned, unveiling himself when he kidnapped both of them. Oscar – the man then revealed as the one who murdered her father – wanted to finish his business with the Carter family for good by employing Jess and Sam to find the missing relics of The Fountain of Youth – her father’s most precious job he could never complete. While not wanting to cause more troubles, they followed their orders while held captive, until at the last minute they saw an opening to escape, fighting off their attackers and trying to flee the area. In doing so, Jess was stabbed in the lower abdomen with her own blade, slowly dying in Sam’s arms as he struggled to get her back to a hospital.

---

Recovering from her injuries, they both returned home to live out their lives together, settled in their own apartment together close to Nathan and Elena. Although not certain that marriage was for them, when a sudden job was presented to Sam that he just couldn’t turn down, the 2 committed to marrying, having a small gathering with their closest friends and family.

With many obstacles in their lives, their individual lives work completed and having been successful enough to worry no more, the couple settled further into their lives together when surprisingly Jess became pregnant. Unsure of how to handle the situation and both nervous of what was to come next, they worked to have the birth of their son Tobin not upset the comfortable lifestyle they had built for themselves. As her grew older, they became more comfortable in their new world of parenting, leading to them having another but this time a little girl by the name of Natalie.

Suspense, danger, and tragedy; all ending in a fulfilled and peaceful life spent by the coast as their children grew older, their fears behind them and the comfort of each other guiding them through the final chapters of their lives together.

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 14/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, John Diggle, Athena, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Frank Chen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

Her first foray on the bike was going pretty well, in her personal opinion. It wasn’t like she had never ridden one, of course. Under her dad’s supervision, she’d been on the back of one of the police-issue motorcycles a few times and even shown the different controls. Ollie had always liked his bikes as well, and Laurel had refused to act the nervous girlfriend about it; part of why he and Tommy had always liked hanging around her had been her relative willingness to go along with their various misadventures to a point. She’d stopped short of anything that would have seen her in front of a judge.

Though if Oliver or Tommy could see her now, risking arrest night after night… she didn’t know how they could all be in the same city and yet feel further apart than ever most days. Even if a lot of that was her own fault.

She knew John Diggle was right. Oliver was likely to find out the truth of what she was up to these days, if only by running into her out on the streets some night. Wouldn’t it be better for the truth to just come from her?

But there was every chance it wouldn’t be better, that Oliver would react badly either way. He still blamed himself for all the crazy turns her life had taken this year. Laurel wasn’t sure if she could make him understand that this wasn’t the rock bottom of some downward spiral. If anything, this was a newfound sense of purpose and, strangely, of inner peace after being frozen in place for the last five years.

Did she have regrets? Of course. She wished she’d never agreed to date Tommy and broken his heart; she wished her job and the jobs of countless others actually paid a decent wage; she wished with all her heart that Sara could’ve been the girl in the Rockets cap her mother had been so desperate to find. But losing nearly everything had forced her to look at things from another point of view. 

No longer was she the charitable helper from on high, enlightened and sympathetic to the plight of others when no one else would listen. She could see for herself that there had been and always would be those in the Glades helping each other. Laurel had made more friends in the months since moving to her new home than she had had in her life, and friends who wouldn’t just disappear on her the way so many of her and Oliver’s high society acquaintances had after the Gambit sank. And her understanding of justice and how it was enacted out in the real world had shifted radically as she had lost the blinders of her father’s old strictures and learned for herself what truly needed doing. She wouldn’t trade any of that for her old life.

Maybe, in a way, Oliver would understand. After all, he was the man he was today in part because of the misfortunes he had learned to fight and live through. She didn’t think he would go back, either.

Her wandering thoughts were cut off by her phone, which she could feel buzzing in her pocket. Laurel pulled off the road into an alley before stopping the bike and getting it out. “Hello?”

“Laurel, listen, it’s me,” John Diggle said. She tensed, wondering if he was about to let her know he had told Oliver about her. “I’m hoping you can stop by the base tonight.”

“How come?”

“We got word about Walter, and it’s… not good. Oliver’s not doing well. I’d stay with him, but Felicity’s taking it hard, too. She needs someone. And I think — no, I know he probably needs you.”

Laurel’s eyes had closed at hearing Walter’s name and she swallowed once before nodding. ���I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Bad news about Walter. She could only assume someone had found the body. What a horrible thing to happen to a good man. What must Oliver’s family be going through? Apparently they weren’t grieving together, if Oliver had chosen to retreat to his base.

Laurel stopped by her home to drop off her wig and mask, then drove out to the Verdant. John’s car was still parked out back, so he must have decided to wait for her to arrive before leaving for Felicity’s. She remembered the blonde woman a little, though she didn’t know what she had to do with Walter exactly. Anyone would be taking the news of an innocent man’s death badly, though.

Laurel came in through the back entrance and immediately took notice of the fact that most of the lights were off. She spotted John in a chair, talking in low tones to Oliver, who was sitting on the ground with the wall at his back.

They both looked up at her approach, and Laurel slowed to a stop. But John stood and nodded to her in thanks before walking out the way she had come. Oliver’s gaze lowered back to his hands, and they were left in silence.

Laurel forewent the chair and settled cross-legged on the ground, her knee bumping Oliver’s thigh. “I’m so sorry, Ollie.”

“I don’t know what I expected. I guess, because of the lack of ransom note, I thought he might be being held for some other reason. That we could find him in time. But it didn’t matter what we did. He was dead before I left the hospital last December.”

She couldn’t exactly hug him from this position, so Laurel wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him to rest his head against her own shoulder. That he went with little fuss or fight wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“How’s Thea taking it?”

“Not well. I left her with- with Raisa.” His shoulders, if anything hunched tighter together. “They both knew Walter better than I had the chance to. I can’t really relate to what she’s going through.”

“Of course you can,” Laurel told him gently. “You lost your own father.”

“And I wasn’t able to save him any better than I was able to save Walter for Thea. Or for mom.” His throat bobbed, and his voice came out strained. “She’s shut herself back up in her room again. I don’t know how we’ll get her out.”

“You will. Your mother loves you and Thea, but she just needs time. And this wasn’t your fault. You said it yourself, you were in the hospital when he was taken.”

“If I had beaten the Dark Archer—”

“Then you still wouldn’t have been at Queen Consolidated to stop Walter’s kidnapping. How could you have known to be there? Like you said, these people who took him left no sort of warning or indication that this was happening or why.”

He sighed through his nose. “There’s a lot happening that I still don’t know why.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she insisted. “You’ve already done so much since coming home. You can do this, too.”

“Thank you.” He lifted his head to look her in the eye at last. “You always believe in me no matter how badly it hurts you. I can’t help thinking you’d be better off if you never found out who I was, or if I’d kept my distance as the Hood. But maybe you’d have just ended up helping out the Woman instead.”

Laurel stiffened, her arm drawing back. “The Woman?”

“Yeah, that’s… well that’s what some of them are calling her. From everything that’s said, she’s more the hero that you hoped I’d be.”

Laurel’s heart sank. That wasn’t what she’d intended at all by going out. She’d been inspired by him and wanted to further what he had been doing on a smaller scale, not cause him to doubt himself.

“Ollie...”

“Hm?” His head tilted, curious as she struggled with how to say what she needed to. Yet as she struggled, a light seemed to spark in his eyes as his mouth fell open into a silent oh.

Laurel cringed. “That obvious?”

“Not as much as it should have been.” He hung his head, slowly shaking it side to side. “What have I done?”

Laurel frowned, shifting onto her knees so she could face him fully. “This isn’t something you did. Yes, you inspired me, but this was a choice I made. And it’s one I stand by.”

“If I hadn’t gotten you into trouble at work—”

“How many times am I going to have to remind you of all the good you’ve done and just how heavily it outweighs the bad? I’m not even talking about the city here. I’m talking about me.”

He looked up at her, and Laurel decided in that moment that they’d better stand. She needed to pull him out of this hole, and physically doing so was just about as good a place to start as any. So she took hold of his hands and tugged him up onto his feet with her.

“Without you, I would never have won the Hunt case once it got put in front of Judge Grell. I wouldn’t have won the Sommers case, either, because I’d probably be dead. Assuming I even managed to survive that, I would have let Peter Declan die like everyone else without you pointing it out to me. Yes, I was a lawyer, Ollie, and a good one. But I was passive. I was passive in every aspect of my life, too afraid to live because I didn’t want to get hurt. I’d found my comfort zone, and I was stuck in it.

“You changed that, the way you always do,” she continued, allowing herself to smile a little. “And it turned out that losing everything was the best thing to happen to me. I was too naive to see just how badly the system was functioning until I was living it for myself. Now that I know better, I can be more proactive, both in protecting the people of this city and myself. I know exactly what I’m willing to tolerate from people and the level of respect I deserve.” She thought of her mother and the lie she had kept all those years and never truly apologized for. Hard to imagine that she could find it easier to forgive the man who had betrayed her trust rather than her own flesh and blood, but Oliver had never once taken her forgiveness for granted the way her mother had seemed to be doing when she had arrived. He had worked for it, earned it.

But how he responded to her choice to take to the streets was going to be the true test going forward of whether she really did have his respect. She took a breath and said, “I can understand if you’re upset I didn’t tell you, but I needed to do this for me. To prove to myself I still had something to give to our city. So what are you thinking now?”

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly still taking in a lot of what she had just heaped on him. At the very least, she had probably provided a distraction from his grief if she hadn’t alleviated it. But she knew firsthand it wasn’t so simple a thing as telling it to go away. “I don’t know. I can’t be happy about this, Laurel. Not because you’ve done something wrong, but because of the way this city forces good, honest people like you and your father to go outside the system in order to actually make a difference. Anywhere else, CNRI could’ve operated independently from the interests of wealthy backers, and they never would’ve forced someone as talented as you out the door. They have no idea what they gave up.”

He paced away a moment, then came back. “I’m also terrified. I know just how dangerous it is out there, and I never wanted you to be in that kind of danger, let alone put yourself there. Is this what you’ve been going out there in?” He took hold of the two sides of her jacket which she’d unzipped upon reaching the base. At her nod, he frowned. “It’s not enough. You could take some real damage, get shot.”

“I have been,” she told him and shrugged. “Mostly a graze, but I handled it.”

He stared at her in shock, seemingly at a loss for words.

Laurel sighed and placed her hands over his. “Look, I knew this was going to be hard for you. That’s why I didn’t want to burden you with it. We haven’t run into each other out in the field so far, so you don’t have to think much about it if you don’t want.”

“It’s not that simple,” he argued. “I won’t be able to stop thinking about what could happen.”

“You can’t ask me to stop.” Laurel pried his fingers off her jacket and stepped back, only for him to follow and cup her face.

“I know. I know that, Laurel. If this year’s shown me anything, it’s that you’ll do things your way no matter what. You’re just like me that way.” His thumbs stroked her cheekbones as his eyes searched hers, and she tried not to shiver. “If the choice is between doing this with or without me, which would you choose?”

“What?”

He seemed at least a little amused by her shock, judging by the soft smile on his face as he said, “I’d rather you be at my side than out on your own. That’s what I’m thinking now.”

Laurel swallowed, her eyes stinging a little. Not in her wildest dreams had she expected Oliver to make that kind of offer, not at first anyway. He really had changed. She gripped his forearms. “There’s things I’m focused on that you’re not, and I can’t say I’d be much help against someone like that Dark Archer.”

“That’s okay. We can figure out what works.”

“Okay,” she agreed, her voice barely audible.

Oliver licked his lips, and, close as they were, she couldn’t help staring. “I need you, Laurel.”

“I know.” The truth was, she needed him, too. Tommy had seen it all those months ago, back when she had been unwilling to admit it. But she knew in her bones they were ready now, in a way they’d never been before.

He leaned down, one hand moving around to cup the back of her head, fingers playing with the shorter strands. Her own hands slid up his arms to his chest, his shoulders, his neck as their lips met. This wasn’t the rushed, blindly passionate kiss they had shared in his bedroom all those months ago. Laurel felt grounded in who she was and where and when and who she was with, and she was glad. She had missed him so, so much.

They broke apart, and Oliver brought his forehead to rest against hers, his eyes closed. She stroked the back of his neck and held him, her eyes darting around the base. Everything was so cold and sterile; had he really been planning to spend the whole night here?

“Why don’t you come home with me?”

His eyes opened, though he stayed silent.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. We can talk, or we don’t have to, but I want to be there for you.” She would make sure he returned to his family at some point, but she’d learned the hard way to read his physical tells of when he wasn’t ready to do something and wouldn’t say it out loud. She would give him the night before gently reminding him how much his sister and mother needed him, too.

Laurel led him by the hand out of the base, though Oliver stopped short at the sight of her bike. “You drove here on this?”

“Yeah. It’s sturdy,” she added when he continued to stare dubiously at it.

“Maybe for one. Come on, we’re taking mine.”

“I think you just want to drive,” Laurel replied with crossed arms as they headed further across the lot.

“You can drive — once I get you a new bike.”

She was having trouble keeping herself from smiling, glad that he already seemed to be feeling at least a little better. “I like my bike. Roy and I worked hard on it.”

“Roy?”

“Let’s just say I’m not the only one you inspired.”

Oliver’s eyebrows raised, though all he did was swing a leg over the bike and wait for her to get on. She wrapped her arms securely around him, and with one last soft look back at her, he started the engine and headed off for her place.

---

Oliver didn’t actually go to sleep. He rested with his eyes closed, even retreated into his own mind for a while, but he was afraid to truly lose consciousness. Because it might mean that when he woke up, he would realize all this was a dream.

He didn’t know how he could be experiencing a kind of dream with everything else going on — Walter’s loss was waiting somewhere in the recesses of his mind for the chance to drag him down into guilt and grief again at any moment. Yet the Laurel in his head had often come to him in his darkest moments on the island to help him see a way through. That the real one was here now to do so herself was a greater comfort than she probably knew.

Laurel had dozed for a while, but mostly she’d stayed awake, quietly running a hand up and down his back while his head rested against her breast. They were entwined practically head to toe to fit on her incredibly small mattress, and Oliver’s feet were still hanging the slightest bit over, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. In truth, parts of his body were very happy with the situation.

The part of him that wanted to remain in this bed with Laurel forever, whatever they got up to in it, was eventually superseded by the realization that he had not eaten since before his confrontation with Dominic Alonzo. A loud growl from his stomach pretty effectively cut through the quiet intimacy of their embrace, and Laurel lifted her head the same time that he did.

“I probably have something in my cabinets. I’ll give you a minute to get settled.” Her pointed glance down had him ducking his head slightly, though she swiftly leaned in to kiss him on the cheek in a sign she clearly didn’t mind.

Oliver ran through some of the meditation techniques he had been trained in before feeling sufficiently calm and in control, then stopped in the bathroom to wash his face. There was a potted plant of some kind that sat there, its green leaves long and healthy. He padded out to the kitchen in his bare feet to find Laurel at the stove with a skillet and eggs. This warranted some monitoring.

To his surprise, however, there were no major accidents as she fried two eggs for them each. He found a couple plates in her cabinet and got them each some water as well, and they took seats at the counter beside each other.

“So, this Roy. You wouldn’t be talking about Roy Harper, would you?”

“I would. Jealous?” She asked in mock seriousness.

“Considering he’s supposed to be dating my sister, I hope not.”

Laurel raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know they’d gotten together. That’s interesting.”

Interesting was a perfectly neutral word and probably one he would use if Thea ever asked his opinion on her relationship.

“How much does he know?”

“He knows about me. Helped me home the other night when I was shot.”

Well, the younger man was rising in his estimation, at least.

“He wants to know about you,” Laurel continued after taking another forkful of egg. “I told him I’d see what you thought.”

He frowned in thought. What did he think? Roy Harper was an oddball, in that he had been on the right track to becoming a career criminal before suddenly changing his ways. He couldn’t say if it was down to Thea’s influence, his saving the kid’s life or these encounters with Laurel he was only just learning about. Maybe it was a combination. That being said, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to trust Roy with his identity just yet. He was still something of a loose cannon, even if he had turned over a new leaf.

“I’ll give it some thought. Maybe once I’ve figured out what the Undertaking really is.”

“The Undertaking?”

He froze and then shook his head. “I guess I always meant to tell you. The night I went to see my mother as the Hood, it was because Digg had overheard her meeting with some man about something they called the Undertaking. It has something to do with the list my father gave me and something to do with the underground subway tunnels in the Glades, but beyond that I don’t know a thing.”

Laurel frowned. “Did Walter? Maybe that’s why…”

He nodded. “Felicity told me he got a copy of the list from my mother and was looking into it before his- his death.” It was hard to put it so finally. “But he didn’t have any better ideas about what it was than we do, or if he did then he was never able to share them.”

Laurel placed her hand over his resting on the counter. Oliver turned his palm over so that he could lace their fingers together.

“If it’s something worth killing for, it can’t be good.”

“Yep.”

They didn’t have much longer to talk about it since his phone started buzzing. Oliver glanced at the caller ID, seeing his sister’s name, before answering. “Hello?”

“Ollie, where are you?”

He winced. He hadn’t actually wanted Thea to worry about him. “At a friend’s. I’m okay, Speedy, I promise.”

“Then you haven’t seen the news,” she told him.

Oliver felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. “Why, what’s happened?”

“They’re saying Mr. Merlyn passed away in the hospital sometime last night. Complications with his recovery.”

“Oh.” It was wholly inadequate, and yet, Oliver could only feel numb. He had just started processing Walter’s death. To know that another man who had been in his life since childhood — and truly more so, having been his father’s best friend — was simply gone, like that, was simply bizarre. He had known Mr. Merlyn’s chances of recovery were slim and felt incredible guilt over having been unable to convince Tommy of the blood transfusion, yet for it to have taken such a turn for the worse so quickly, it felt like pulling the rug out from under him. He hadn’t even had the chance to visit the man in his hospital room yet.

Though thinking of his old friend, Oliver asked, “Have you heard from Tommy?”

“No. I was kind of hoping you had.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “I haven’t. Listen, I’ll- I’ll be home soon. I’ll leave right now. Just stay with mom. Has she heard yet?”

“I don’t think so. She’s still in her room,” Thea told him.

“Then wait for me, and we’ll tell her together.” He couldn’t imagine how hard this would be for his mother, losing her husband and her old friend in essentially the same night. They would be lucky if she left the house by fall. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

He hung up, meeting Laurel’s concerned eyes. “What’s wrong with Tommy?”

“Nothing exactly. Just… Mr. Merlyn passed last night, according to the news.”

Laurel brought her other hand up to her mouth, and the one holding his clutched at his fingers tightly. “Oh, Tommy.”

“Yeah. I need to check on my mother, and then I’ll see about tracking him down.” Guilt churned anew in his stomach as he thought of the way he and his friend’s last conversation — or perhaps argument — had ended. And he worried what Tommy might think if he knew where and who Oliver was with right now. In the next moment, he dismissed that thought. Laurel was important to him, and Tommy knew that. He had been willing to set aside his own disappointment to be happy for his friends when they had tried to make a relationship work. As his friend, wouldn’t Tommy be willing to make the same choice?

He stood up and leaned in for one last kiss Laurel readily gave him. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. If there’s word on the arrangements…”

“Of course.”

He made the drive back to Queen Manor to find Thea sitting on the steps up to the bedrooms. “Were you out all night?”

“Kind of. Come on.” He helped her up, and together they headed to their mother’s bedroom door. He knocked lightly. “Mom?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Her voice sounded remarkably steady. 

Oliver exchanged a look with Thea before asking, “Can we come in?”

“Of course.”

He opened the door and entered, Thea trailing him.

Their mother was sitting up in bed, a robe pulled on over her pajamas. A photo album sat in her lap, one that, Oliver realized with an uncomfortable lurch, must have been produced for her and Walter’s wedding. She was stopped on a photo of the two of them, her one hand lovingly stroking the side of the page.

“I always hated this picture. I thought I looked bug-eyed,” she confessed, her tone more wistful than it was sorrowful. “But he always took a wonderful photo.”

“Mom, there’s been some, uh, some news,” Thea spoke up timidly.

She looked up, expectant, but Thea turned to him.

“Mr. Merlyn passed away last night in the hospital.”

He watched her eyes widen and mouth drop, heard the sympathy in her voice as she said, “Oh no, I was hoping for Tommy’s sake he would pull through. Malcolm was such a strong man.”

“Yeah, they think it was complications from the coma or something,” Thea muttered. “I wish I’d apologized to him for what I said at the party.”

Their mother opened her arms, and Thea sat on the side of the mattress and accepted her hug. “I don’t think he held it against you at all, dear. You were going through a hard time. Something this family isn’t strangers to, I’m afraid.” She smoothed Thea’s hair back and looked up. “I’ll make sure flowers are sent to Tommy’s home right away. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No,” said Oliver, a little stiffly. Something felt off.

“Well, I’d reach out as soon as possible, Oliver. He’s going to need your support.” She shut the album and laid it on Walter’s side of the bed with care. “I’ll dress and start seeing to those arrangements.”

Thea stood and backed up towards him, and when their mother got up as well she reached out and cupped both their cheeks. “Thank you for checking on me and letting me know. It would have been dreadful to read it in the paper.”

“Sure, mom,” Thea said.

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed uneasily. He followed Thea out of the room and shut the door, pausing there in the hall.

Thea let out a breath in relief. “Well, nothing like keeping up appearances to get her moving again.”

“I guess,” Oliver replied, but kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. He hated thinking it, but his mother had been almost too put-together given what Thea had told him of her handling of his and his father’s reported deaths and what he’d seen when Walter was first declared missing. And while she had displayed the typical signs of shock at the news about Mr. Merlyn, it just hadn’t felt like his mother. Where was the denial, the insistence that someone at Channel 52 had gotten it wrong?

But what did it mean? It could just be that she had made her peace with both Walter’s disappearance and Malcolm’s health already.

There was nothing he could do about the misgivings he held right now, and truthfully he was avoiding reaching out to Tommy. Oliver got out his phone and dialed, frowning when it went straight to voicemail. He tried again and sent a text for good measure.

Where would Tommy be right now? The hospital? He didn’t want to intrude there if he was. Beyond that, Oliver wasn’t totally sure where Tommy had been living ever since he had walked out of Laurel’s apartment.

He looked up the number to call to try and reach Tommy at Merlyn Global. A secretary answered, of course.

“Hi, this is Oliver Queen. I was hoping to get in touch with your boss. I just heard the news about his father.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen, but Mr. Merlyn is taking a leave of absence at this time and will not be taking any calls. I can have the details of the upcoming memorial service sent to you if you would like to pay your respects at that time.”

“I would, thank you.”

He took lunch with his mother and Thea, even more troubled than before. His mother was up and about while Tommy had shut off all forms of contact. What was going on?

Diggle had made it in by the time lunch was over, and Oliver led him into a side room to talk. “You’ve seen the news?”

“Yeah. I was expecting it to be pretty quiet around here.”

“So was I.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t here when it hit?”

“Later. Look, the main thing is, I can’t get a hold of Tommy. He’s been… off lately, but I don’t want to leave him alone in this. Would Felicity be up for pinging his phone?”

His friend shook his head. “She’s zonked out on Nyquil after crying her way through the night. I doubt she’s even heard about Merlyn.”

He let out a breath. “Then I guess we wait.”

It was two days of feeling like something was not quite right with the world. Between Mr. Merlyn’s sudden passing, Tommy’s silence and his mother’s strange calm, Oliver wasn’t sure what was truly causing his senses to be on high alert.

Only Laurel could get him to calm both nights when she joined him and Digg down in the base. Without Felicity there to chatter like she had been the last couple nights they had been following the lead on Walter, her company was welcome to them both, and Oliver felt some of the tension in him ease as they ran practice spars against each other. Laurel was fairly solid on the fighting forms she had chosen to learn while Oliver had bits and pieces from a variety of teachers, and it made them an odd yet oddly suited match as they tested each other’s limits. She took quickly to learning from both him and Diggle; it was the studious nature in her that drove her to discover and master anything about a subject she took interest in.

“The memorial is going to be at the Merlyn home,” Oliver told her the second night as they danced around each other on the mats. “They’re burying him next to his wife.” 

Laurel froze, only for a moment, but it was enough for him to get behind her and pin her arms to her sides.

She kicked out, forcing him to jump back, and then she had spun to face him again. “Do you think… I still haven’t spoken to him since it all fell apart.”

“What other time is there going to be?” Oliver pointed out. “I know things didn’t end well, and I didn’t help that by driving a wedge between you two as the Hood. But Tommy is going to need us. I hope he is, anyway.”

His mother and Thea reacted only with mild surprise when Laurel arrived at the manor the next morning dressed all in black to make the drive over to the Merlyns’ with them. She had brought a basket of roses with her in a deep red color, more like crimson.

“They mean grief and sorrow. Pam and I put them together,” Laurel told him.

After being dropped off by their driver, their procession of four walked across the lawn to where chairs had been set out. Already the crowd was filling in, and Oliver found them a row near the front with enough open seats.

Before she could enter the row with them, his mother was approached by Frank Chen, another old friend to the family. The two were speaking softly enough that Oliver couldn’t make out what was being said, but something again felt odd. He just couldn’t place it.

Up ahead, he spotted the back of Tommy’s head where he sat in the front row. His only companion looked to be a woman with long, dark hair, though Oliver could not distinguish any of her features from behind. He didn’t think he knew her, and he wondered how Tommy did, his mind briefly recalling what his friend had said about the girls at Oliver’s funeral being like fish in a barrel. He immediately dismissed the thought; Tommy would never use his own father’s funeral for a score. He felt he knew his friend that well at least.

Eventually his mother took her place beside Thea, and Chen found his own seat further back. The funeral conductor moved to the front and center of the gathering.

“We are here to remember and to commemorate the life of one of Starling City’s most dedicated humanitarians. A beloved husband, father and friend to many. There were few who were as passionate about the future of our home and our people as Malcolm Merlyn.”

The conductor championed Mr. Merlyn’s story; a young businessman who had come to Starling City because he saw the potential to prosper, and prosper he had. How he had met Rebecca Merlyn through his friends, Oliver’s parents, and how special their love had been. Merlyn Global, Tommy’s birth, Rebecca’s loss, the ways he had continued to give back in memory of her.

“It was another senseless act of violence that robbed the world of Malcolm Merlyn. But I am told that he died as he lived, protecting another. His son, Thomas Merlyn. Thomas asked not to speak today, but he wished it to be known that he intends to carry on his father’s legacy in all ways.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother shift, her throat tightening. Her eyes stayed fixed forward. Laurel sent him a questioning glance, but Oliver gave the smallest shake of his head. Here wasn’t the place to get into his mother’s strange behavior.

The ceremony closed, and one by one, everyone came up to the front to pay their respects. Oliver tried to think of the last words he exchanged with Mr. Merlyn; he truthfully hadn’t seen much of him since his return home. He had called out to him to keep moving that night of the attack, and his father’s old friend had nodded in understanding. If only it had been the right call to make.

“I got in an argument with him,” Laurel said quietly, as if sensing his thoughts. “I went to dinner with him and Tommy, and we had a disagreement about his treatment of him.”

“Well, from what I know, Tommy and his father became pretty close by the end,” Oliver mused. “So maybe your argument helped more than you thought.”

Most of the guests were making their way to the house where tables with refreshment had been set up. Tommy, however, remained standing on the patio, nodding in acknowledgement or murmuring a quiet thanks to those mourners who addressed their condolences to him. As Oliver and Laurel approached, his eyes seemed to fix on them. Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on his friend’s face; it seemed like one of loathing.

Laurel took the lead in coming up to Tommy, hesitating for one moment before wrapping him into a hug. Tommy remained stiff and did not even attempt to return it. Oliver was more concerned with the woman who had sat next to Tommy at the service watching them from several feet back. Her gaze was cool and calculating, and the noticeable scar on her face had him wondering just who she was.

“Tommy, I’m so sorry,” Laurel said as she stepped back. “I know things between us — they didn’t end well, but I’m here for you. We both are,” she added, looking back at Oliver.

Oliver’s own words of comfort died on his lips when Tommy’s mouth twisted into something like a sneer. “A united front, just like the old days. I can see that’s not the only thing you coordinated. So how long after the breakup did that take?”

Oliver looked down. “What’s happened between Laurel and I is recent. It’s also not what today is about. You’ve lost your only family, and as your friends, we just want to support you.”

“Forgive me if I don’t really believe you, considering one more dead billionaire should just be another feather in your cap,” Tommy said. “Or hood, I guess.”

Oliver felt his heart stop for a single moment, and beside him, Laurel’s mouth dropped open. But he knew he had to try and deflect this — nothing about Tommy’s behavior right now said that confirming his suspicions was a good idea. If anything, Oliver’s own worst imaginings of his friend’s reaction were playing out in front of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t try. I still have keys to the club. I’ve seen your little base of operations, Oliver.”

He had no idea what to say. That Tommy was essentially accusing him, and in front of a witness, what did that mean exactly? Was he planning to expose him?

“Oh, don’t mind Athena,” Tommy said, having followed his line of sight. “She’s my new partner. What I know, she knows.”

“You told her before even talking to Oliver?” Laurel didn’t bother to hide the outrage Oliver was beginning to feel beneath the shock and the panic.

“She’s been truthful with me unlike my supposed best friends,” Tommy shot back. “Were you ever planning to tell me, or were you waiting until my father was dead so I couldn’t warn him?”

“Tommy, your father was the humanitarian of the year,” Oliver reminded him. “He was never in any danger from the Hood.” It was the four of them only on the patio, yet he didn’t feel comfortable naming himself as the vigilante all the same.

Tommy eyed him, just the slightest bit of surprise on his face. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

But his friend shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. If you weren’t the one behind this, I’ll find out who was. Someone hired the Triad.”

That brought Oliver up short. In the aftermath of the attack, he had never really thought to pursue that angle. Why had Mr. Merlyn been targeted? Who had wanted him dead in the first place? Who stood to gain?

“We can help you with that,” Laurel offered, looking back at him once to check that she wasn’t stepping over a line. He quickly nodded. “Oliver has contacts, resources.”

“Thanks, but I have my own now.”

“Tommy,” Oliver began, but stopped. He hated having to ask this. It scared him to ask. “What are you going to do about…”

“About what I know? Nothing. I like being alive,” Tommy said coldly.

Oliver drew back a step. He had never wanted this, one of his loved ones to look at him with utter loathing and revulsion. Even if it was what he deserved.

“You could have just asked him not to come if that’s how you feel,” Laurel said, and he noted dimly that her hands were clenched into fists. She was ready to fight.

“It’s how I would have expected you to feel, given everything you used to believe in,” Tommy told her. “But he was always the exception, wasn’t he?”

“As it is, I believe you both should go,” the mysterious Athena said, walking up to Tommy’s side. Her voice was accented, but he couldn’t place the origin. “Thomas has guests and other matters to attend to.”

“That’s just fine.” Laurel turned and seized Oliver’s hand, marching him down the walk towards the front gates. She was seething, and Oliver didn’t know if her plan was to walk all the way back to his family’s home or to the Glades themselves.

“Let me call Digg,” he said, horrified to discover his voice sounded choked. Oliver blinked, and moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. He had known and feared since the night he had failed to save Malcolm what Tommy’s reaction might be. The reality was worse than anything he could prepare for.

Laurel waited for him to place the call, then stepped into his space and pulled him into a hug after he had put his phone away. He folded around her, needing this comfort more than ever. How could his oldest friend have changed so much? Or had Oliver simply been the one to change, and it was too much for Tommy to handle?

“We need to know more about this Athena,” he decided after an unknowable time. Wherever she had come from and why, she was exerting a powerful influence on Tommy that worried him. He had to know what her aim was, if only for his peace of mind regarding his friend.

---

He had thought he would feel some sense of satisfaction or vindication. He didn’t.

Instead, Tommy had more questions than answers once again, a feeling he hated. If Oliver truly hadn’t known his father’s identity, then who had the Triad been working for that night? Who were they still working for?

Athena was convinced his father’s death was no accident or the result of a complication. “The waters I gave you are infallible. They heal, they do not cause further harm. Someone else must have acted to ensure your father’s demise.”

One of the people his father recruited. Probably they were inside the manor right now, playing the part of a mourner. It made his blood boil.

He retreated to his father’s office with Athena. It was high time to go through the files on what his father had called the Undertaking in full. It had waited too long already. Had he known the person behind the attack at the award ceremony would strike again, he wouldn’t have put it off. He could have saved his father. But he had always been a disappointment, hadn’t he?

I won’t fail you now, dad, Tommy thought to himself.

What truly interested him in the files was a folder his father had labeled Insurance. There he found documents detailing the crimes of each member of Starling City’s high society Tommy had always thought of as his father’s inner circle. Carl Ballard’s record of tax evasion; a voice recording of Robert Queen, confessing to involuntary manslaughter; and most importantly of all, Frank Chen’s connections to and dealings with the Triad.

“Shall I apprehend Mr. Chen?” Athena asked.

“Wait until everyone has gone home. I don’t want people thinking his disappearance is connected to my father.” Not yet, anyway. He wanted the facts before he did anything that might affect his father’s reputation, not when it was all he had left.

“Then I will go and prepare a site for the interrogation. I will inform you of the details.”

Tommy nodded, then wandered back down the hall towards the main room where the low murmur of voices waited. An interrogation. Since when had this become his life?

He supposed it had always been this way. Ever since he was eight years old, at least, and his mother had been ripped away from them. He had been shielded from the majority of the violence that surrounded them ever since, but it had never meant it wasn’t present. He just hadn’t been paying attention. He would have to work hard at catching up.

“Tommy, there you are,” said a familiar voice, and he found himself being hugged again, this time by Thea Queen. Sweet Thea, so innocent to everything happening around her the way he had once been. He pitied her and envied her in turn. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, Thea. It’s not my first time losing a parent.”

“Yeah,” she agreed glumly. “Me neither. We, uh, just got the news the other night that Walter… he wasn’t taken. He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because it was the thing to say. He supposed he felt badly for her. Walter Steele had been more her father than Oliver’s, at any rate. But she still had her mother and brother, assuming the latter didn’t get himself killed out there on his ridiculous crusade.

“If you ever need to come over and like be around people, you know you can do that, right? You’re like family.”

“That’s kind of you, Thea. But I’ll be fine.” He left the young woman behind, his eyes scanning the room. It appeared Chen had already left. A guilty conscience? He’d know soon enough.

Athena called him late in the afternoon and relayed the address she had brought Chen to. When Tommy walked into the empty building — one of Hunt’s abandoned projects since his company had pretty much dissolved with his death — Athena was waiting with Chen bound to a chair, a black sack over his head. He nodded to her, and she ripped it off.

As Chen shook himself and blinked in the sudden light, Tommy slowly stepped forward. He wanted the man to see him now, to know what this was truly about.

Chen’s questioning gaze left Athena, and his eyes widened as he took Tommy in. “Tommy? What is this?”

“I think you know exactly what this is, Frank. The humanitarian award ceremony. Why did you hire the Triad to attack my father at it?”

Chen’s face had gone slack with despair as each word was spoken. “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.” It was as if people thought he was born yesterday. Well, Tommy Merlyn had woken to the ways of the world now, and he wasn’t going to be made the fool ever again.

“I didn’t hire them! I only—”

“Only what?”

“Please, Tommy. You are not your father,” Chen begged. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I won’t be doing anything,” Tommy promised. “Athena’s going to take care of that for me.”

A vicious grin rose on her lips as she withdrew a dagger from her belt. Athena held it up to the light, studying Tommy for a few moments before turning sharply on her toes to cut Chen across the cheek. The man cried out, and Tommy swallowed while shoving his hands into his pockets not to show them trembling. Chen would do better to talk; Tommy didn’t want to watch him be tortured, but he needed the information he had more.

“What was your role in the attack!”

“I only… I gave her the right number to call.”

“Her?” There were two women in this Tempest, as the group had apparently called itself. Councilwoman Pollard and Mrs. Queen.

Chen’s eyes were on the ground. “Moira. It was Moira’s idea.”

He froze. “Mrs. Queen?”

“Yes. After the Hood’s attack on her, she decided things were getting too dangerous. She wanted out, and she was convinced that Malcolm… that your father’s death was the only way to achieve that.”

Tommy stood there, unable to say another word. Mrs. Queen had done this? The woman had been something of a mother to him since he had lost his own, as much as he had allowed her to be.

“She chose the location and the time for the assassination. When it did not work as intended, she told me that would be the end of it. That we would wait and see.”

“And did she?” He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking, but Tommy didn’t mind that so much. It was in anger, not fear, and he thought Chen could sense that. “Wait?”

“I do not know. I tried to ask her today at the memorial, but she would tell me nothing. If she acted, something must have changed. I can’t think what that would be, other than her husband.”

“Walter?” What did Walter have to do with any of this?

Chen looked up, his brow furrowed. “Yes. Malcolm was holding him. You- you do know what he was doing, what he was planning? You can’t agree with it, Tommy. Please.” Chen leaned forward a little, only to shrink back when Athena moved the knife under his neck. “You must see it is madness.”

His father had been holding Walter hostage. Thea had said they had received the news that Walter had died. But how could that be if his father hadn’t even been conscious?

He needed to know what had happened to Walter Steele. Tommy turned to Athena. “Keep him here.” Then he marched back out to his car.

He went to the penthouse office rather than the house for expediency's sake. Tommy knew it was only down to how organized his father had kept things that he was able to find what he was looking for. A live feed to a dark room containing one living occupant: Walter Steele.

He was alive. Which meant his father had died for nothing at all.

Tommy was speeding back down the streets to get back back to the abandoned building, his mind so caught up in his anger and grief that he did not notice at first that the siren going off behind him was for him. With an irritated snarl, he pulled over and smacked his hand on the steering wheel as he waited for the officer to take his good, sweet time.

“Sir, are you aware you were going fifteen over the speed limit tonight?”

“Are you aware that I don’t actually give a shit?” He glared up at the man who gulped upon seeing his face. “Are you really going to give a man a ticket the night he had to lay his father to rest, Officer Brock?”

“No, Mr. Merlyn. Just, uh, just wanted to make sure you were driving safe.”

He smirked. “Thanks.” Tommy waited just long enough for the officer to step back before peeling away from the curb.

His fists were clenched tight enough he could feel his nails digging into the skin by the time he returned to find Athena standing guard over Chen while sharpening her knife. He slammed the side of his fist against the wall. “Walter Steele is still alive! So why did she do it?”

“I- I don’t know. I would tell you if I did.” The blood from his cut had dried on his cheek, a couple droplets staining the white collar of his shirt.

“If this man is useless to us, I can dispose of him and acquire the woman,” Athena offered, and Chen shuddered.

“No,” Tommy said. “Not yet. Mrs. Queen — Moira,” he corrected himself. She no longer deserved the respect. “Is a special case. We’ll need to be careful.”

The moment she was taken, Oliver would act. Oliver made this whole thing far more complicated than it needed to be, and the fact that his mother’s entire assassination plan had been precipitated by Oliver’s attack on her was all the more infuriating. If not for Oliver, his father would be alive!

There could be no physical harm brought against Moira Queen unless her son wasn’t an issue. And Tommy wasn’t sure he wanted to test Athena against Oliver. She claimed to be an elite fighter and had displayed a number of skills casually enough that he believed her, but the Hood had fought off impossible odds time and again this year. He had survived Tommy’s father, even. Striking out against Oliver would attract Laurel’s ire in turn as well, and while she was nowhere near the threat that Oliver presented, Tommy knew if it came to it, he could not harm her. Not physically.

But Moira was guilty. In her case, he might not have found himself so squeamish as to his father and Athena’s old ways. It just meant he would have to get creative, was all. One way or another, Moira Queen would receive retribution. This boiling rage inside of him would never cease unless she did.

“She just wanted the Undertaking to end,” Chen begged. His voice sounded a little hoarse. It had probably been hours since he had water. “The threats against our families—”

“If you wanted the Undertaking to be over, you would have turned my father over to the authorities. But you didn’t want your precious lives to be ruined by your own part in his plan,” Tommy told him coldly. “That’s what we’re all about in the elite high society circles, aren’t we? Appearances. Don’t try to pretend you cared what was going to happen to the Glades.”

“But you care. You’re not- you’re young, Tommy. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re an innocent in all this. You don’t have to continue what Malcolm started.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Athena looked at him sharply, but Tommy ignored her for the moment. She would see what he meant. An idea was slowly starting to form in his mind, something that might take care of his revenge on Moira and the matter of those earthquake devices sitting at Unidac Industries…

“Because you’re right. I’m not like my father.” Tommy paced away from Chen as he spoke. “My father cared about the Glades. Whatever you think of his methods, he wanted them to improve. You could even say he and the Hood were alike in that way.”

When he turned around to look, Chen was staring at him open-mouthed, stuck as if unsure whether to keep up his pathetic pleading. Athena was watching him, and he could not decide if she was doing so cautiously or curiously.

“I’m not,” Tommy announced plainly. “I have no grand plans or compassion for the Glades or its people. I’ve known since I was eight years old they can’t be saved. So I’m not going to.”

“Thomas.” Athena jerked her head towards the hallway. Tommy scowled, but followed her out. “You said you would uphold your father’s legacy.”

“And I will. But dad… nothing in his plans accounts for people who may work in, but not live in the Glades. Glades Memorial hospital is still open. The beat cops that patrol at night. It’s too imprecise, and I’m not comfortable with it. Should you really be?”

Athena blinked at him, the closest to surprised he had ever seen her.

“You told me you were going against what the people who taught you and my father stood for. We don’t have to do that. We can do things their way, seek their help.”

She frowned. “The League itself is weak. The Demon Head grows old, and has failed to secure a worthy line of succession. But I can teach you their ways and principles on my own.”

“Alright.” He didn’t mind the idea of training, in all honesty. Once he had gotten his revenge on Moira, he would be making an enemy of Oliver. Knowing how to defend himself was crucial.

“What of your father’s killer?”

“I have a plan for her.” The beginnings of one, at the least. He would need to perfect the details before he moved forward with it, but once he did, he wondered if his father might have been proud in some small measure. “We don’t need Chen any more.”

“I will need to silence him,” Athena said, in a tone that allowed no argument. “He is duplicitous and knows you will be moving against Moira Queen. He cannot warn her in advance, or you will lose her.”

She was right. And who was to say if Moira learned what he knew that Tommy wouldn’t find himself with a poisoned bullet in his chest next? Chen had Triad ties. That made him just as dirty as any of the people Oliver had killed this year. Probably more so. Why should he mourn a man who was party to his own father’s murder?

He drew in a breath through his nose and nodded. “Do it.”

Athena nodded back and slipped back into the room. Tommy turned and walked away down the hall, hearing the muffled thump of a body hit the floor. He knew what that sound was ever since he’d watched his own father fall.

It wasn’t retribution, not just yet. But it was close. And it wouldn’t be much longer now.

[bluepenguinstories]

Intention Headaches Chapter Nine

To Our Crumbling City:

How many dusks, overtaking dawn, have the drones

littered the skies just as the bodies litter the streets

devoid of human spirit, or the spirit in the machine

wishing to devour everything, but falling short

for its gingivitis and inflamed throat; lacking bite

it only leaks information, devoid of context, its

liberating enslavement, braying Cranes (weathered by time) –

Our crusades of laughter, our vicious joviality

slaughtering each other with mugs. Our curse of skin

sagging into itself as we drink ourselves away. Yet these halls

where we age like wine, slow and souring, the grapes

of wrath now forgotten, our hostility tempered

to a refined weapon which has grown rusted;

– (as all things become) Arrested by its final days...

So we, men loving, loving men, all lay in our residences

with our hands tied, to our legs, to our necks, to our lips

just as we find another place to take the whiskey

as if it were a thicker liquid, as if our essences were honey.

I reminisce on our togetherness, although never separated

we would feel ourselves becoming less of each other

and more automatons in Hephaestus’ pornography collections.

Weeping tears of liquid titanium, our craniums feel the bolts

losing their grips on each other. One by one, we slow ourselves

down to the moments where we forget the tides shifting

and not in our favor, but theirs.

We cannot pretend “All is well” when the negotiations

flat on the table, we lean ourselves against, came from the ones

with the wrench, loosening the screws so the table would fall on us.

We fought and we fought our own memories bitten into the dust.

They taste like blood, they are film reels playing the same things:

Cinemas of grotesques parading as “Just another day”.

Of course, we chose the life of one such gang.

So as to relive the memories, but omitting one key detail

that used to bind us all together:

No fault of ours, but a fault of the years. We once fought our everyday.

We once marched against the ones with their names on the tables.

It is both a great amusement and a bitter taste, then, that we act.

Such bravado for such cowardice. Surprised by our surmise, counteract

our love for men, for the love of death. For us, the muscles, the hair,

the beards and the bears, the shaved and the scarred, the bitten.

The sophist, the self-destructive, the slurred and the articulate.

The tortured and the torturer, the smokers and the freshest of breaths.

Those with supple breasts, milk which tastes like ale, hair like cotton

and when I drink from him he tells me to call him Captain.

We gather together, strangers, lovers, cousins, brothers.

Clergymen of our own blunders. Kissing the winds, each other.

Mistakes are acquaintances, even for the antiquated.

I see us all as the spit we lick from each other, our sweat

against the ceiling fans. Hardened buttocks betray

Sideways glances. All our contributions we owe to open secrets –

– If you listen real close, I’ll tell you:

Cranes are who we are, the ones who rest on the water.

Our necks twisted, faith distorted by the Orphic.

Between corners of each district, I see lights that operate.

“Whatever you wish to see at any given time shall be yours.”

Or so they say, the bastards, so holographic.

So courteous as to lie, as we in wait, because out of all the boasts

of technologies, all that were made were means to enslave.

Weaponry cannot baptise us any more than a plague.

For all the so-called advances, we have yet to find a way

to help each other live.

Cranes gather in an unassuming shack, by an unassuming docks.

Our base of operations. Above ground, by mere inches.

It’s a testament to my flair that I do not protest. For all the talk

of atrocities, what better way to live, than to tear through our insides?

We can change our parts for anyone. Our arms, our hearts

Our genitalia. All belong to us at any time, for the price of many lives.

It’s a testament to my amusement that I have played along so long.

So this tribute is for you, broken city, with your watchful eyes.

No, not you. Your uninhabited towers and your houses of horrors.

Those I care not for. This is a tribute to tributaries.

For the seas and the rivers, the ponds and the lakes, the oceans

which divide us all. We are united in the ways in which the currents

drag us under like a siren hungry for its next lover.

Oh, how I wonder who or what this is all for. For the rapids rest

just outside of the city itself. If we could conquer them, no.

If we could fornicate with them, then we may see passage.

For these many bridges will one day collapse.

Thank you, you foul creature. Just as you have thanked us.

Just as we have thanked each other by shaking hands.

Time and time again, I wish to suck your lips.

Beside your bridge.

Part I: Aloe Vera:

Vive la Karen:

Our old friend Karen came a callin’.

During our raucous rancor, our celebratory crowned affair.

No lordships, bishops, lieges, or bison, could stamp away

at our achievements in blissful ignorance.

But one could, our old friend Karen.

Every night, our home served as a tavern. Us, our own servers.

The disc is somewhere, corrupted and overwritten.

Blame it on our laughter, the lack of slumber, the swayed movements.

We couldn’t hear her until the lights were darkened.

We looked around, there was Karen.

“Your next and only mission is to disband.”

The machine’s grand announcement. No uncertainty present.

The panel on the wall with the eyeball, its ocular malice;

Glazed with its sterile gaze. Never more than what was needed.

Lack of subtlety and an unnecessary cruel mercy.

Karen couldn’t make the intent any more crystalline.

But, she decided to lay frosting on our cakes:

“There will be no funds. No rewards for your troubles.

But if your mission proves to be a success, you will not be shot

to death within a twenty-four hour window.”

We all exchanged expressions meant for lovers or distant relatives.

Straits were dire, and not to mention the famine of straights.

Only one was; he was a pale widow, sunken within a ship in a bottle.

I creaked, my bones atrophied, my cane gifting with splinters.

“You heard it, men. Time to pack it up. Our time has come to an end.”

My cyclical smile unwound back below my nostrils.

Everyone cheered, for the truth was an open secret.

Men between men, that was how it was kept.

We were not leaving each other.

We were leaving the city which made us.

I knew that thoughts and words could be heard

But few doubt the resolute.

Forward March:

Outside, still night. Still as it was eternal.

Our collective thoughts: holding hands.

Beef and chicken alike, in a hot pot

Made to be slurped down. That was us.

At least a hundred of us. Foot out in front.

Leg out in back. Each one making their

forward motions in unison to display our union.

We sang a little ditty, a barrage of showtunes.

Our weapons on our backs. Some of us as

Our own weapons, we guided ourselves.

I was eager, yet wary. Weary for the true outside.

So out of reach, the stars were unfocused.

Students left to their own devices.

Rats with shock collars and curds stuck in fur.

I was an all-out war and I am more.

Streets as empty as the night, Patron Saints of paint.

Nary a drive-by in sight. Pardon the mourning

of bloodshed; city wasn’t alive without someone to die.

On cue, a device to electrocute took a man

I loved so dearly that I only ever kissed his hand.

Nary a tear was shed, for the beast was fed at last.

Hunger was a strange thing, wishing for nothing

to fill up the stomach, but we could speak

of all the things we would eat when we escaped.

If only the fates would stop slurping our eyeballs.

I needed them to see, however myopic of me.

Part II: Bridge Out Ahead:

Approach:

As the steel greeted us with its sturdiness

we shook our heads in disgust, our tastebuds distorted.

Stealth was not an option; grasping at straws, we took aim

and attached our mucus membrane gelatin onto the beams.

Smiles and jeers, no time for cheers. Karens, no, turrets.

Torrent of them took aim without firing.

So we stood, forever lost in the absence of Father Time.

“City limits. Turn back now or be prepared to be shot on sight.”

Karen could be a ferocious one, always wanting to empty

the contents of the device inside of several men at once.

Oh, but such a fulfilling release would lead only to an end.

We would not be deterred, so long as my bones ached.

“Mikey, can you go on?”

“– Babe. I’m Logan.”

Only in the early 30s, already losing to the ravages of age.

Our weapons drawn, we took fire at the turrets named Karen.

They took struck at us. Some fell, some put up electric glass

As a means to protect. What we couldn’t protect was the bridge.

We knew our passage would not be a solid one. Not a stone skipped

but a record without any scratches.

Turrets could be intelligent, even within their torrents.

Aimed at the matter which held firm to the bridge’s limbs

we watched the load get blown. Several pieces, several

men hit in the name of revolution. Their concussion wouldn’t

Be in vain. But our means of escape, we were afraid.

Bridge dissipated, too damaged to be a salamander.

Many remain, yet we had to turn back. We saw

the rustic passage as a golden opportunity.

We walked across our fellow’s remains and back

to the home which we abandoned.

Whatever crustacean in the sky would bless us

I would bless in return; hermits, no more.

“Betty, would you do the honors?”

“What about you, Barry?”

Betty and Barry were the same man. Or the two men

were joined together. Their algae arms pawed at the crate

which kept hidden until the very day. I came up

With the idea, myself. I wanted to kiss Betty and Barry.

Betty and Barry were both men, men I could sail with.

Under the crate was our lever, our lover. Such a promise

In the form of a warm and hardened stick.

It had to be kept warm at all times, someone crawling

toward it in secrecy. The lever was powered by our

Equilibrium, no, our affectionate friction.

Part III: Ship of Relations:

Theseus:

Every day since our inception, we supplied ourselves.

Our end was always approaching, and Karen knew it.

Each month after shipment, we took boards.

Our hands were full, planks drawn, quartered. Flanked.

So on that night, or day, we finally deployed.

To test if it would float or sink. Fine testing, it was.

Fine men, we are. Fine enough to squeeze. Like mustard.

No, mayonnaise on a desert day.

Ship did float, and so we installed light

on our boots, so we could walk above water.

Perform miracles, if only for a few seconds.

Then, we watched the docks get shot down.

Karen was a diligent one. If only Karen was a man.

If I could hold a machine like men held me.

Like I’m a baby, and mother brought meat.

Baby Harold, waddling. But this baby was a button:

If I had twenty more years to get my youth back

Then I wouldn’t be so elderly. But in the 30s, you know.

Third decade brought booze and misery.

Booze could serve as a playground, or a death sentence.

One of my men had to help me aboard.

Soon, I and them, all on deck. Out with the city, in

With the forewarning breeze. Passionless in its stirring.

The wind would have to guide us.

My compass was too fogged by malicious software.

Incontinent:

Did we have food?

Yes, we had/have food.

It has expired, it has grown molded.

It tastes of our favourite bourbon.

It smells like a familiar flatulence.

It is food.

Did we have a map?

Yes, it told us where to love and how often.

There were sticks and stones.

In due time, we would break each other’s bones.

Then seal the deal and murder with words.

Later into the night, we would bring a kiss.

Did we have cabins? Yes, just as we had means to sleep.

In each room weren’t beds, but we would keep

Each other warm in each other’s arms.

The body heat would be our thermostat.

The mast had a glow to it.

Did the ship move?

Just as it sails, a ship moves.

There is a wheel, it goes unused.

We move it to get the experience.

It reminds us to spin.

The ship itself, sails itself.

Automation is our lifeblood.

We designed our ship to forego hesitation.

Part IV: To Cutlery Sharks:

Cutlery Shark:

Waters blackened by the murky chemical invasion.

So long past, we almost think to drink it.

Instead, fresh men take purifying solutions within

the laboratories of the chemistry quarters.

I took a look and took a drink.

I became drunk off of it.

Some of us made the mistake of drinking

from the waters we sailed on; sickness set in.

Stumbled overboard, devoured by the sharks

with teeth made of cutlery.

It bit into our planks and turned some of us to rust.

We shot at the shark, but the creature split

into a husk of tapeworms with acidic spit.

I prayed for our continued passage and what answered:

Explosion! One man, a burly burlesque dancer

threw a brigade of explosives into the water.

The tides themselves roared and the tapeworms no more.

In our stead, a whirlpool and the seas quivering.

Skies above rained down cutlery. Messengers from the gods.

From the whirlpool, we washed our clothing.

I went first, taking a drink, then pouring the soap.

Our clothes fished, a mildew scent perforated

And left an imprint. Damp and musty, we lost nakedness.

I drank to that, as did all the rest.

Ol’ Phil Howards:

Phillip Howards was a man, or a shrew.

Hated men, or hated himself as an extension.

Hated me, but valued our friendship.

I loved the way he loved the fetal position.

Always did think of it as poetic.

Smooth sailing so far, I descended.

Down the hatch of madness.

Where in his private cabin, he was crouched.

In the far corners was his whispers.

He always said things not pale didn’t bode well.

I laugh because he was paler than the ghost of my mother.

Bless that woman’s heart, she raised a loving man.

Me, I was wrinkled more than my grandmother;

When I last saw her was on her deathbed. But I digress.

He always talked like he had one foot in the grave

while hoping others would go in instead.

I ask why he cower. His teeth chatters. He speaks in whispers:

“I’ve seen colours, more than black, more than deep purple.

There is smoke on the water and it signifies danger.

We shouldn’t undergo such a folly.

For I’ve seen colours, more than neon, but something brighter.”

“They haunt my dreams, the seas, they speak.

Though I do not understand their language, I know malice.

There is a healing intent, that I do see. The seas sing to me.

But they are not Siren’s Songs, but signs of foreboding.

What we sail will not cleanse our bodies.”

I laugh because he didn’t understand. He doesn’t wish to.

“If there can be any freedom for my men, any indication

that we can live within each other, and outside, that is enough.”

Although we both were former clergy, we resigned;

His distaste for others, yet belief that no one deserves healing.

Me, I loved men a little too freely.

He spoke again, eyes sunken, his face a full 180:

“There is a beast in the sea. The church spoke of one.

Which would heal any who dared enter.

But I am not ready to be healed by it.

I would rather stay inside, plead ignorance to the outside.

Know this: we know nothing. We will soon.”

I took a drink. Truer words never spoken.

The sea was a harsh mistress who seldom display her phallus.

Before I may part, he said one last thing:

“Friend, I am concerned about your drinking.

You appear in poor health.”

Part V: To Virginia:

First Sights:

As the cutlery sharks pacified, back into the depths

Whence, I too, descended. Only for one more sip.

Sips turn into a chug, which turn into grey hairs.

Hairs upon dogs I wish I had brought along, if only to keep warm.

Up above, breeze of the sea poured salt into me.

That was how I came to see the sights of the city:

We passed by endless roads of nothingness, always paved.

By the wayside were the routine machines paving their ways.

Little cars which drove themselves, express purpose of open flame.

And beside them, the skyscrapers, all plain and never-ending.

So too I, my whole face agape, will we ever find sanctuary?

Past the gangs, past each base, I wanted to know

what was past it all.

All our gazes, mine especially, shifted to the forests.

Those haunting woods with their shrill howls abound.

Those hounds which surely lurk, stalk, prey for me.

As I should pray for them, if my hands weren’t for drinking.

Those thickets and bushes, rustling of leaves from them trees.

I believe I could see shadows from the plants, the rabbits.

Deer and bears, then, something glistening:

Behooved horned creature.

They say Hemingway drank from its blood.

An open wound to ease the troubles.

As I partake in a drink of my own. Common cure for the bereavement.

It stood to reason, I stand with my legs bent.

Cane not quite working, leg machine broken.

Forests, woods, pines, all stretched for miles and kilometers.

Other units of measurements. I don’t know them.

Centipentagrams? Terasects? Parallax?

One of those words are  not like the others.

All that matters is the endlessness...the vast.

Undergrowth overtaking, but a crease, it does cease:

Trees line up. Stop.

Stop! Stop it!

Groan. I knew it.

I know, I knew it then.

The alcohol will not, would not, can never keep it at bay.

Oceans, tempest, they all expand. But the forest doesn’t.

Ain’t hear a root a shootin’.

City limits, where you think it ends, it doesn’t.

There is a mountain, next.

Hills, a rocky point. The forest itself a circle.

No, a circle cannot be a square.

Even if the circle be a peg, cannot be a leg.

Let me explain: like a barrier, a veil, a shield.

Preventing or protecting, cannot say.

But at the hills, past the rocky trail, lie a cliff-side.

Where I see their home: the final base.

We sure were sailing away.

To Virginia:

Dear friend, how did you let the years fill you up so fast?

Like the drink in my belly, in my liver, in my gut.

I ask for you gracefully, without a poem or a song to be sung.

No pretense about it, I remember your top aide:

Was it Vera? Or Santa Maria? Flo-Rida? Maybe I don’t remember. Let me partake once more.

Aha!

As you are Ginny, she was Victory.

You and her and Virgil. The three of you in matrimony.

No doubt, you lost her in the hospital. As well as yourself.

Every day I stop being me, becoming an adjacent memory.

One day Heart. Hearth. Earth. Arthur. Hurt.

What do any of those ‘words’ mean?

Anyway, if I make it out, I won’t tell the outside:

That you were mad, wicked, numb, or naive.

I’ll read not only my poetry, but your unspoken words.

Just like the way you must wish for it to be.

Just you and her and him.

Those words you wish you could tell him that he already knows.

Those words you still wish you could tell him, anyway.

Before the hospital made you forget.

Or you chose to go.

I wouldn’t blame you, either way.

Oh! Look! Out on the cliff-side face! It’s your base!

Operations were much smoother when you didn’t have to think.

Wouldn’t you agree? Or is it just through my eyes that see?

See far too many things...right now I see…

Just past your base. To my ship’s side. It is!

I look and see To the Lighthouse, its burning beams.

Searchlights take us all someday. So I hope.

What am I doing? Writing this letter to you?

Who am I kidding? It will never get sent.

Just like you will never say the words to him.

The ones he already knows, but you wish you could say.

That’s OK. Just like Oklahoma, the place.

I read about it when I was a kid.

Millennia and a half, maybe more, ago.

It was said to have existed. Like Agartha.

Like Atlantis.

But those places were fairy tales we told each other as children.

I never met you as a kid. I never much believed in the English.

Your house and its hinges, where you reside, your age untapped.

By madness, it still lies still.

No fear for you, only admiration.

I would have let you criticise me any day, if I could continue.

You may live to see more days, but will you ever escape?

Look! I see your garden! Down by the beaches!

Your little Daisies and Petunias, Pansies and Begonias.

How you would walk with your watering can.

Sing, “I must tend to my Sapphics.”

Hark! On cue, one of those devoted.

Adeline with bear claws, passes by pansies.

Hangs on a laundry line a pair of panties.

I wave, so does she. She asks the crew what we’re doing.

“We’re sailing for freedom!” I make my declaration.

“Yeah! Come get y’all freedom!” She echoes the statement.

Even if I cannot send you this letter when my men escape.

I would like to pretend that you have read it.

If there were any proof of an outside world. Or a “world” at all.

I would like to send this your way, as a form of evidence.

I have to go now, Ginny, for gin is calling me

and the end is approaching, my dear friend.

Whom I’ve never interacted with.

Part VI: The End:

Earth is Both Round and Flat:

We did it.

Thoughts and prayers were answered with cheers.

Clangs of mugs! Hoo-rah!

I take my tiptoes to Phil Howards, he mumbles

about his fiendish friend, from the clergy, St. Eliot:

“The sea is a wasteland...the sea is a wasteland…”

I shake my head. The Wasteland was what I counteract.

For water is not soil. Or so it was, I would have soiled my pants.

Rather than the piss that smelled of bourbon.

Taking to him, I say:

“We made it! Soon we shall live!”

His eyes, first things to turn, I see not.

Instead, clam shells or oyster heads.

Spiral homes for hermit crabs.

His mouth was a starfish.

Words were no longer important.

But so I heard, just as I will hear:

“We have not left, only departed. The true end is the end.”

I leave him. There is an above to this.

There cannot be a Hell with a head above water.

One man in the crowd eyes eyes with I, I eye him.

We kiss. First on the lips, then on the fists.

Fists kiss with fists, knuckles bloody.

How men make love aboard a ship of relations.

One other man sees and comes up to me:

“Something new!”

I look. But I disagree.

“Familiar should not be new.”

Image of our former base of operations, in flames.

How we left it. How we left everything.

I shake, so does my face. My head, for good measure.

“Must be a mistake. Sail faster.”

So we went at it. Pushed around, left to right.

Sway with the night; harder, faster, stronger, better.

Currents in our favor. We didn’t yet notice the ship was lower.

Until we reached the end again and found ourselves

back at the beginning.

Water fills the top decks; our ankles get licked by it.

Its liquid, thicker than my blood long since poisoned.

If there is anything I can do, all our years of plans, and

We remain in the same place for I cannot locate action.

“Captain! We keep going around, and each time we do

We sink further below? What is the meaning behind this?”

“Words too obvious! This is a poem!”

“Ah! You’re right! ‘T’is my testicles caressed by Satan!’”

“Much better.”

So I stew in my saltwater sweat. Tastes like men.

So do I, but I don’t let it become my doppelganger.

I will not have my sweat swallow me.

Not when I can swallow it. Sweat is my pride.

Seagulls ahead, murderous cries.

Part VII: Leviathan:

Rumbling in the water:

Riptides in the muddled pond.

It was bad enough to find that the ocean was a moat.

City is a donut hole. No nutrition, only fat.

Our knees were tickled by seaweed. Or mine, leg hair algae.

Riptides grew louder; ripple effect of defective parapets.

My precept for perception failing me.

At this point we started noticing things:

Crocodiles jumping gangrene and tails wagging.

My men grabbed the nearest pointed weapon.

Fire open! Battle cries like the wild ride we chose for ourselves.

But fire proved to be nothing against the Crocodile’s hardened skin.

Us all, cowering, but I, I saw myself as a Doge, crowning.

Wow! It becomes time to step up! Wow!

With the press of a button, my phallus expands.

With it, I can swordfight Crocodiles.

Even past my prime, I am told I hold it well.

We’ll see, when it’s skin against teeth.

Reptiles have bite, but my blade does slice.

For all those teeth, I was the one who made the creatures bleed.

Bleed and retreat, just as the burden of being on the sea.

Sailors and Maritime sea-shanties sing

of a magnificent phallic fascination.

The battle itself, legendary. Decisive victory.

As the last of the creatures fled, my blade sheathed.

My blood was in my body, but I felt as if I was losing it all.

Forfeiting, for I already knew the truth:

the bridge that collapsed was our only way out.

Through it, we could have reached the tunnel.

But no more.

The tunnel is a sheet.

Over a black hole.

Sucking us in to the idea of freedom.

Suckering us, just as it does, and we fell into it.

My head sinks, no drinks left.

Far too sober, head sick. Head split.

“For those who want to live, leave now.”

Were the words I wished to say to my men.

But just as I addressed my evacuating sea men, ripple effect.

Ears ringing. Before, the creatures with teeth

may have made my fellows depart from me.

With my phallus back in my pants, sea men wouldn’t evacuate.

And, as my past erections, in an instant, from the waters

a great creature did rise!

Some unknown poison flower, a mouth dripping.

Plant with scales like a dragon fruit blooming.

Fins and tails, a face thought to be extinct.

Eyes of pure malice, flame emitting.

If there was a time to evacuate, the sea men should have.

Too magnificent, too arousing. Fear heightened.

Taller than the highest man-made structures.

Taller than structures made by AI.

So tall in stature that its body was nary a body at all

But a sizable shadow. Us, breadcrumbs.

If it weren’t for the hatred which summoned it

we may have gone unnoticed.

Too frozen in fear to jump overboard.

Us, a collective, hundreds, morsels to the beast.

Try as I might, there were no apt descriptors.

Despite the prior attempt. It was too great.

My heart understood true hopelessness.

The way the creature leaned until face against our ship:

Eyeing its meal.

“Everyone. Let’s all kiss one another

before our time is up.”

All of our systems, dry.

If not for its distaste for our attempted dissent

we wouldn’t have been its candidate for digestion.

Bestial and anomalous.

One of (Phillip Howards) Craftlover’s anonymity.

I understood his words now; the powerlessness.

Us all must have felt.

Yet powerful, in our final moments, like the Spartans.

No, Athenians. We had to be them: naked and unafraid.

My Grandmother’s Grandmother’s Grandmother:

If you were here with us, would you remember anyone at all?

I looked up to you, thighs greater than the legend of the Grand Canyon.

Child, Baby Boy, I was. You, the Great Grandmother. Mafia Don.

Gang leader with a Sailor’s tongue.

Someone so kindly, baking all the burly men cookies.

I remember, as a child, you told me:

“When I was your age, I sat upon the lap of my Grandmother.

Just as she sat upon the lap of hers. Then, there was your mother.

She had no lap for anyone to sit upon. Aside, the role was for

Us Grandmothers.”

I asked you what to do if a man loves a man and

a men love a men as a whole and everyone had a Sailor’s tongue.

You laughed and said how you were no man, yet

every Sailor needed somebody to bake cookies. It was a maritime rule.

You said how next there will be no grandmothers

because I was the next one chosen.

I objected, your crystalline eye, your sibylline prophecy.

If it would come true, who could I be?

My feelings lie not in war, but the act of action itself.

In turn, you told me:

“When you have feelings, you write poetry.

Poetry lets you hang your naked body in full display

without you being filled with shame.

Poetry is why some men live, laugh, and love.

Others eat, drink, and be merry.

For you, to have a gay old time, just find a rhyme.

Don’t worry about whether it makes sense.

That’s not what metaphors are there for.

Therefore, go off and lay your feelings bare.

Face down, buttocks up.

No need to worry about lazing on your bum.

That’s what men love!”

That was how I would become

the one who crocheted tea stands

with white-knuckled hands and a fluoride thread.

Though I could not bake cookies, I could write poetry.

When you left in the war, I grew to be an old man

before even leaving my twenties.

If you were with us, would you stare the beast into the eye

and serve it cookies?

All we have is our fists. Our spears which pierced with love.

Impaled with the most tender of grafts.

What rendered is a great sense of despair.

Our mission was being fulfilled.

In our failures, we were a success story.

What does it all mean? Would you have said:

“I am your grandmother and I have a lap”?

If I so loved a woman, she would have been you.

I miss your guidance, your arms like monkey bars.

If I know not the right answer, call it nostalgia

that illuminates my soul.

Vore:

“Men! If we shall go, we shall go with in the midst of action!”

That wasn’t what I shouted, but I seconded the motion.

No more. No more. No more. No more. No more.

There weren’t any more words.

For all the times others have swallowed me whole.

This was too much. Too great to bear.

I cannot. I cannot. I cannot. I cannot. I cannot.

What I wish for is to be a poet. Lover. Man.

Not dead. Not mad. Not dead. Not mad.

I watched them; spears made of lightning; code.

Binary and hexadecimal creating enough energy

to electrocute the seas, but focus on the beast.

Everyone, everyone but me. They fought, ‘til the end.

Bitter was the end. For the violence only made the beast grew.

Larger and larger, a boastful source of nourishment.

All our attacks made it hungrier. Rather, it wasn’t an invincibility:

not that we couldn’t scratch; each scratch gave more life to it.

Whatever I had called such a mass of distortion in the seas

it wasn’t correct. This beast, its shape could not be contained.

Not one shape. Not one shape. Square hole in round pegs.

Would any survive the fight? Would any love me?

See me as the lover I am, or once was, before I couldn’t stop?

Or would they see me as a coward, for refusing to be devoured?

Yes.

I watched all of them.

And I jumped, so I could meet my end elsewhere.

Bottom of this body of water, my body shall lie.

To think, I may only become a footnote in the overall history.

The Pantheon’s memory itself is a beast.

Goodbye, my men.

(Before I lost consciousness, my eyes remained open. Before all systems shut down, I noticed: my mind had been awake for too long a time. Over one hour had elapsed. By then, the beast must have returned from whence it came. I fear it may not be the only one. One if by land, one if by sea. So it must be. What of my body? No. Bad question. What of the end? When would I reach the bottom? Every downward spiral, my star loses its twinkle. Each descent, further fading, and every second it grows darker, I think it has reached the blackest point but IT BLACKENS FURTHER. There is no lowest point, it only grows lower, and I may never see a true end…)

Part VIII: Lost at Sea:

Deserted Virgin Islands:

...Cannot have a maiden voyage with crowded cabins

where everyone, so close, almost congealed

tied to each other, mingling and bleeding

to paint the halls and the boards on the floor.

No captain in the captain’s quarters, the wheel

has steered itself.

Down the stream is a continual loop, further

degrading its health.

Further sinking down, no smooth landing.

Only sandpaper on the ocean floor.

Course correction won’t save the inhabitants

when there is nowhere beyond the boundaries.

Outside, empty. Land, empty. Earth experiencing

a flirtation with entropy, a perfect reciprocity.

Forego the salutations. Wave and be forgotten

for what is best is to stare it into the mouth

and drown, than to let yourself be eaten.

[axther]

🗨️ CountryOfWonderland said: Hello! My name is Karen. Yes I know it's ruined by Reddit. I am mindfully straight but also ace. I am known as the mom of the group by many. Supportive, wise in giving advice, yet I can't use those words to help myself. :'). I put others before me. Very empathetic, yet I'm not very easily angered. I am currently in college for the arts. I like correct anatomy, good concepts, ideas, and people in general. Mostly for what makes each person different, what makes them work. Even the simplistic things about them are what makes them best at what they are. Wordfully creative in poetry, compliments, and even pickup lines. Give me a word, and I'll be able to use it as a theme.  

Yikes I took WAY too damn long w this one, BUT I gotta say the whole thing is long af and really kicked my ass lmao. also tw for suicide mention and uhhh death mention that isn’t suicide? And spoilers for the Overhaul Arc

#1 is…Bakugou! 

AIGHT 

So y'all met at a training camp

Let's put aside the fact that we don't even know if Bakugou would ever want to go to a training camp ever again

But this one is for elite kids. 

The one's that could already be heroes, if given the traction and discipline 

And it's orientation day!! 

So

we all know that while Bakugou's all about physical prowess, he also recognises other people's talents 

Well this time he had trouble with it 

Namely, when he came across you, with a quirk he couldn't pin down. 

He's kinda miffed, ngl 

You keep to yourself, but you're not rude. 

You talk to people that approach you, speaking softly and sometimes writing in a small notepad for a second before talking again. 

Some of the younger kids are stuck to you like glue because you're just so soft.

And Bakugou can't figure out for the life of him what you can do, what you are. 

So as the camp progresses, he keeps you in peripheral. 

He's never pitted against you, and you guys don't have many interactions. 

So all he really knows is that you've made yourself camp mom, and everyone likes you. 

Except him 

Everyone's confused as to how he's just...neutral about you. 

So slowly, but inevitably, the rest of the camp decides to get you two to be in as many situations as possible 

At first, they started out small! 

No one wanted to share the canoe with Bakugou (though it was more for their safety than the Grand Plan™), so you agreed to 

And it's peaceful until one of the more prankish campers decides to flip your canoe, and Bakugou loses his mind on the kid. 

As more of these gentle nudges take place, you and Bakugou become little more than acquaintances.  

It's not going fast enough. 

For anyone. 

So one of the younger campers takes authoritative measures 

And locks y'all in a damn closet 

Neither you nor Bakugou wants to be responsible for property damage 

So you two decide to wait it out until someone comes to get something 

(and hope it doesn't get mistaken for anything else) 

There's a deafening silence 

You and Bakugou are glued to the opposite walls, not really talking

But then he notices that you're flipping through your little notebook, almost...in way that comforting. 

He tilts his head. 

"What're you doing?" 

You jump, and no, he doesn't think it's cute, not at all. 

And you glance to the side.

"I'm using my quirk." 

Bakugou's eyes just about burst out of his skull, because he's spent the whole camp trying to figure it out. 

"What is it?" 

"Fatewriter." You hesitate for a minute, before continuing. "I can see other people's fates." 

Again, Bakugou is floored, but he just stares. 

"If I get someone's name, their real name, I can see how they'll live, how they'll die. When. Where. I've gotten most people, here, but I never got the chance to go over them." 

Bakugou watches as you go back to reading the pages, in awe, before realisation settles over him. 

"But isn't it...scary?" 

"No." You glance up. "Just sad." 

There's silence again. 

"Is there anything...different?" Bakugou didn't think 'special' would really apply in the situation, so he tiptoed around his words 

Why, he wasn't sure 

But for just a moment, it was so intimate. 

There they were 

Halfway across the room from each other. 

Not even touching 

Not even making eye contact.

And somehow, it was as though they were meant to meet their entire lives.

 You nodded, and he realised he had been staring. 

"One of the kids... he's gonna be a villain." 

"What?!" Bakugou barked, rising up. "We need to stop him!" 

"We can't." 

"What the fuck? Why not?" 

"We don't know what we'd lose." You murmur, and there's sorrow in your voice, and if it were any other person, he would've absolutely lost his mind 

But you look up, and now your eyes are filled with something beyond sorrow-something so completely unfathomable that he's struck silent. 

"I once tried to save my family. My father, namely. He was a hero, and I saw that he was going to die. The day he was going to die, I begged him not to go. I was, what? Four?"

 You gave a humourless laugh.

"So when he saw his sobbing four-year-old daughter, he didn't go. That day, there was a villain attack. Thirty-eight people died. Everyone pinned the blame on my father, and he killed himself in shame." You looked back down. 

Bakugou lost all sense of feeling in his body, and he fell to the floor. 

He was closer to you than before, but he didn't even think about it. 

It was like all of his gusto from before had leaked out of his body 

And it was just him and you 

Two people 

Two kids 

Defenceless against the wills of the universe 

Locked in a closet. 

With all the time in the world, and at the same time, none at all. 

He noticed you stopped looking through the notepad 

You were slumped over, and you just looked so defeated. 

And slowly, quietly 

He pulls you in for a hug 

You're still

He's still

And suddenly, it's as though the universe wasn't so scary after all. 

#2 is…Iida! 

You and Tenya were peas in a pod, lemme tell you 

Y'all grew up together 

Your parents were heroes, life was nice, all that good stuff

(But as explained above happens, and…) 

You family has a fall from grace 

Your mother's in hysterics, mourning 

Any other family is trying to keep it all together

And then there's you 

And you're quiet. 

There's no crying, not in public at least. 

Tenya, who was just about as old as you, at the time, notices, but his parents told him not to interfere 

He wants to be there for you, as much as a five-year-old can, but…

You just shut down completely 

Your mother ends up breaking down and is taken to a mental institute 

There's talk about you potentially being arrested for indirectly killing thirty-nine people 

Everyone can't blame your father anymore, so they blame you 

And there you are, virtually alone.

When the Iidas pull through

They know what happened

They see the family name's been sullied

But goddammit, you're a child. 

So you're taken in by the Iidas. 

It's not quite adoption, and you're not their sister 

but you stay with them, and they take care of you. 

They don't ask anything in exchange, and you become a permanent guest at their house 

And so, you full-on grow up with the Iidas. 

You're there when Tenya gets admitted into U.A. 

(and notably, you don't, and the entire family knows why, but you don’t say anything) 

You're there when he goes through USJ, talking it out with him

You're there when Tensei gets hurt 

You're there when Bakugou gets taken 

And then entire time, you've become a pillar for him 

It's almost impossible, for him to imagine a world where you aren't there 

And it's the summer after the first semester of school.

Tenya's parents decide to try and get people to...approve of you

So they send you to a summer camp 

It's for kids with promising quirks, but maybe not the best handle on them or the best background 

So you're gone 

For two weeks 

And Tenya is absolutely fine. 

The first day, he writes you a letter, because he felt it would be more personal 

By the second day, he's gotten all his summer homework done 

By the third, he's written himself a brand new training regimen 

By the fourth...yeah, you get the idea 

He's bored and lonely 

Sure Tensei and his parents are there 

But, like…

His parents are busy, and Tensei can only do so much…

So while Tenya writes you a letter a day, he's slowly beginning to meditate on his friendship with you 

He never considered you as a sister, but more as a really, really, really close friend. 

But you're closer than most friends would be 

Sure, his friend circle at U.A. was great, and he had fun 

But he didn't really realise just how much he was missing until you left 

So two days into the second week, he's laying on his bedroom floor 

He's kinda blank, staring at the ceiling and watching the fan in his room spin 

And he's thinking about you 

You're beautiful, and you smile a lot, and you're matronly, which to anyone else, would've been an insult. Still, you're genuinely like a really young mother. 

A regal, young mother. 

You've helped him more times than he could count

And you do your best to not let people get to you 

You're just about the only person that he's cried in front of, besides his family 

And he has no idea just why you've become something so...present since you've been gone

And as he's thinking about you  and why in a way he hopes isn't creepy, Tensei peeks through the door

"... What'cha doing?" 

"Thinking about Kay." 

Tensei nods, clearly amused and a bit concerned. "Is something...wrong?" 

"No." Tenya shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the ceiling. "Just thinking about her." 

"Looks like someone has a crush," Tensei teases, beginning to roll away when Tenya sits up at a ninety-degree angle 

And the look on his face could only be described as pure panic and realisation

Tensei stares back with wide eyes, blinking owlishly. 

"Oh my god," Tenya mutters before they speak in unison. 

"You have a crush." 

"I have a crush." 

There's silence, before Tenya skyrockets back up and begins going through his drawers furiously, pulling out paper and a pen.

Tensei pulls the door open a bit wider and wheels in, noting the picture of Tenya and you on the ground next to where Tenya was having his one-sixteenth life crisis. 

"What're you doing?" 

"I'm going to tell her in a letter! That's the responsible thing to do!" Tenya's got everything pulled out, but then freezes. 

"I can't tell her." 

Tensei pats Tenya's back, a small smirk on his face. 

"Ahh, young love…" 

(Tenya definitely did not spend the next several days lamenting how to tell you, or even if he should tell you.) 

(And he also definitely didn't pop your back with a bear hug when he saw you, and effectively set off the human bomb named Bakugou) 

#3 is...Mirio! 

Humans are fickle, fickle creatures 

Sometimes, they want you to do something 

Other times, they want the complete opposite. 

And in this case, humans were extremely fickle 

Not that you could blame this human in particular 

It was a several weeks after Sir Nighteye's death 

Though most of society knew you as a killer, Sir Nighteye looked past that 

Since your quirks were so similar

and he recognised that you were a child trying to save her father

So he did his best to help you, albeit discreetly. 

You knew when he was going to die

And he knew when you were going to die

But you never told the other, as part of a pact to not change fixed points in the future. 

It was a strange thing, in the end. 

To some extent, you two considered each other distant siblings

So, when he died, you attended his funeral 

Admittedly, you were the quietest of the lot.

There was no sobbing from you, just regretful sorrow. 

A young, blonde man wasn't hiding his grief, choking his sobs with his hand 

You glance at him, before looking away

After the service, you're the first to leave. 

You knew Nighteye wouldn't want you to linger on him, but to be the best person you can in your grief. 

But the young man catches you on the way out 

"You... you're Kay, right?" 

You hesitate. He continues. 

"I’m...I’m Mirio Togata. I...Sir…he talked about you. A lot. And he said…" 

"He mentioned that I knew when he was going to die?" You finished for him. 

Mirio freezes, then nods. 

"Why didn't you try to stop it?" He mutters, and you can feel worry bubble in your gut. 

"You could have saved him. Why didn't you?" 

You raise an eyebrow. 

You can tell he’s trying not to get angry, but his fists are clenched and his breathing is beginning to get heavy

But you can’t even feel angry

He’s right

You could’ve

But you look down, your back to him

“Nighteye and I had a deal. We wouldn’t tell the other when we die, and deal with it when it happens. He always told me that the future shouldn’t be changed.” You look forward, eyeballing the sky. 

“If I could’ve told him, without any worry of repercussions, I would. But time is not kind to us.” 

And with that, you walked away. 

Mirio can only watch, and the grief replaces his anger. 

Midoriya and All Might come over to him a minute later, pulling his thoughts away from you. 

But later that night, he looks you up. 

He doesn’t mean to be creepy

But when he sees the face of a little girl who was on the cusp of shattering, plastered all over the internet, he can’t help but feel justified pity. 

Of course, she wouldn’t interfere a second time. 

The first was traumatising enough. 

So, he become determined to befriend you

You were close to Nighteye, and while he never said much on his actual relationship with you, Mirio knew that he held you in dear regard. 

There were often times where he would mention something about you, and then Mirio and Midoriya were stuck trying to figure out if ‘Kay’ was his daughter, or what. 

So in the coming days, he found a new purpose. 

Between taking care of Eri and visiting his friends, he began trying to visit you. 

He popped by the Iida house, and knocked on the door. 

He expected to be greeted with a maid or something, with how elaborate the mansion was

But to his surprise, you opened the door. 

Tensei Iida (holy SHIT, goes Mirio’s mind) is behind you, but before Tensei can ask who’s at the door, or Mirio can ask why your eyes are red, you slam it shut with more force than you looked capable of. 

This becomes a recurring thing 

Until one day, Mirio manages to catch the Iidas while you’re out 

They invite him in, and they exchange pleasantries, until you come in from the rain

And you make eye contact with him 

And he makes eye contact with you

And you bolt up the stairs 

He goes running after you as politely as he can, apologising to the Iidas

(and noting Tenya’s mildly disgruntled face) 

And he catches you, just before you can shut the door to your room

And while he doesn’t try to burst in, he does manage to get a question out 

“Why are you avoiding me?” 

There’s a second, and two, and he knows the family’s listening from downstairs

And the door opens

And you look so hollow. 

And for a moment, Mirio wonders just how well you’re taking Nighteye’s death, before you step aside so he can come in. 

There’s silence as he takes in your room, and then turns to you. 

You’re wrapping your arms around yourself

And you’re not looking at him

You both are stock still, but then Mirio speaks again. 

“Did I do something?” 

There’s a noise from you, something between a choking sob and a swallow, before you shake your head. 

“No. It wasn’t...you.”

“Then what was it?” Then, he quickly adds, “I can leave, if I’m making you uncomfortable.”  

“You were right,” You’re whispering, so quietly that he could barely hear it. 

“Huh?” 

“I could’ve saved him. I should’ve saved him,” When you’re talking, it actually sounds like it pains you to speak.

It’s enough that he starts reaching out, but then you start again, and it completely unravels you. 

“He was someone so dear to me...I could’ve told him, hinted it, something. I think about it so much. He could still be here today, and it’s all my fault. And you knew, you called me out on it. I couldn’t handle it. I feel…” 

And you’re sobbing, genuinely sobbing, and it’s heartbreaking, as though the little girl from so long ago had come back to haunt the living. 

“I feel like I can’t say anything. I’m drowning in something, and it’s red, and it’s angry, and it’s choking me, but I can’t say a word! I keep all my emotions bottled up, and the bottle is so, so full! What can I do, when it bursts and all the glass kills me from the inside?” 

You’ve kneeled on the carpet

And Mirio’s kneeling, too, and he’s crying

You two have barely had any conversation besides at the funeral and here

And yet he’s knows that you two are on a different frequency 

Maybe it’s the shared grief of losing someone so dear 

Maybe it’s how you held yourself, like you were scared of finally letting go of your restraint 

Or maybe it was just how you cried together, arms on each other’s shoulders, free to just let go 

Mirio isn’t sure 

But when he looks up and sees the tears hanging off your eyelashes, he makes a promise to himself 

And in a way, Sir Nighteye, too

I’ll be there for you. Always. 

[ego-driven-one-wing-angel]

Send a number | Answers

Thanks again for 250 followers!!!

What’s one animal you wish you could have as a pet but can’t?

A penguin. I love them so much.

Favorite thing to wear to sleep?

Sometimes I wear one of those “drug rugs” or baja hoodies. With shorts. And sometimes knee high socks. I HATE pajama pants. So if I’m cold I find alternatives. 

What song really gets you going?

Right now, Drinking Alone by Carrie Underwood. But usually Tranz by Gorillaz.

Where do you usually eat your meals?

At my dining table or in the family/living room with my mom.

Favorite meal: breakfast, lunch, or dinner?

BRUNCH

Most embarrassing habit?

Sometimes I’ll pick my nose at the most inconvenient times like a child.

Chocolate or fruity candy?

Chocolate

Soft or hard tacos?

When I ate meat regularly, soft, with carne asada. 

Worst way to break up a fight?

Throwing a pan at them? Dude I don’t know. Wrestle them to the ground? I feel like either of those are terrible.

Best thing to say in an elevator of strangers?

“You’re all probably wondering why I gathered you all here today.”

What color/design are your bedsheets?

Teal. And my comforter is a black/white diamond pattern.

Any hidden talents?

I was a dancer for roughly nine years. So I’m pretty good at that.

Favorite thing to drink out of (mug, glass, etc.)?

My Star Wars Luke Skywalker lightsaber water bottle. 

Socks or bare feet around the house?

Bare feet man. Those who wear shoes in the house are weak and will not survive the winter.

 Favorite board game?

Clue!

Do you sleep with the fan on or off?

I don’t even own a fan.

Heat on or keep it cold with lots of layers?

Heat at 67.5 and a sweater. Perfection.

Do you sing in the shower?

Who doesn’t?

Favorite song to belt out at the top of your lungs when you’re alone?

Tranz by Gorillaz. All time favorite song EVER.

Last thing you cried about?

Watching Zack die YET AGAIN in Crisis Core. I don’t think I’ve ever watched that scene WITHOUT crying.

At what age did you first have alcohol?

15ish. Wine.

Relationship status?

Single

What’s the most amount of money you’ve spent on a single item of clothing?

249$ A Guess coat that I absolutely adore.

What do you typically wear to formal events?

A modest dress. Heels. And a Louis Vuitton bag to match.

Favorite memory?

Probably almost getting arrested with my friends back when I was 17. We were at a closed park, after hours, past curfew, and it was like 3 am. We bought 64 tacos from Jack in the Box and pigged out in the venue. Super rad.

Gum or breath mints?

Gum

Favorite shoes?

Probably my Guess sneakers. I don’t wear them often, but I love the design.

If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

My chubbiness. I’m not fat per say. But I’m not skinny either, but I want to look more like a classic, 1950′s pinup model more than anything.

What is the natural state of your hair?

My hair has very soft curls. Naturally, there more like “beach waves”

Have you ever had braces?

YES. WORST YEARS OF MY LIFE

Most dangerous thing you’ve ever done?

Ghost hunting. I was illegally trespassing, and the building was real sketchy. 

Most embarrassing thing your parents have caught you doing?

I’m just an embarrassment through and through. What haven’t they caught me doing. But I guess writing porn is a close first.

Last time you had an orgasm?

I’m a virgin who has never experienced anything remotely sexual. 

Celebrity crush(es)?

Sebastian Stan, Bill Skarsgard, Sam Claflin, Karl Urban, Sebastian Stan

Windows or Mac?

I’ve never owned a Mac, so I’m biased when I say Windows.

How old were you when you learned to ride a bike?

Six, seven? I was still quite young.

Makeup or natural?

MAKEUP

What color do you wear the most?

I wear a lot of neutral colors like gray.

Favorite season?

Winter.

Umbrella or rain coat?

Umbrella.

Have you ever fallen out of a tree?

No

First car you ever owned?

A 2002 Toyota. Super old, and the chip was painting off. My trunk also broke. Oil leak. Y’know, a traditional first car.

What time do you usually go to bed?

Anytime between 11-1 am.

Are you a competitive person?

Yes.

Least favorite color?

Orange.

First pet you’ve ever owned?

A cat :)

Sweet or salty?

Sweet

Favorite pasta dish?

Ravioli 

Favorite kind of chips?

Cheetos

Talk about something you’re passionate about.

Writing. I love being able to put my ideas on paper, let my thoughts and emotions run free in a world where I have to act a certain way. I can be anyone while writing!

What are some of your hobbies?

Writing

Drawing

Watching too much television

puzzles

Caffeine? If so, what kind?

I’m a tea gal. But I LOVE coffee. Especially mochas and caramel. With extra pumps of espresso. Hell yeah.

Favorite kind of pizza?

Ranch and Chicken or just plain cheese.

Fast food or sit-down restaurant?

Sit-down

Lots of acquaintances or a handful of close friends?

I love having a large circle, but I choose my best friends wisely. I only have about two or three of those and they’re the one’s I keep close to my heart.

Something that ruins your appetite?

This is a bit more dark, but my dad and I don’t bond outside video games. And he’s the type that believes it’s his way or no way no matter what. So if you get him angry he acts like a two-year-old who just got a toy taken away, and will try to push your buttons until you’re the same way. I saw the signs years ago, but whenever his anger is targeted at me I just don’t want to eat. I write instead. 

Favorite labels about you?

As in names? It’s near 1 am while writing this so I might have just gone stupid. But I love it when my friends call me cutie. Or my good friend Charlie calls me Smarties. And he’ll pull out a smartie from his pocket when he does it. I also get called Reid, as in Spencer Reid, a lot.

Are you a religious person?

Yes. I try to be at least. I’m Christian.

Night out with a bunch of friends in public or night in with one friend having deep conversations?

Night out. I spend too much time indoors with one friend as is.

What size shoe do you wear?

9

Favorite thing about yourself?

My confidence, or my keen fashion sense. 

Have you ever told someone you loved them first?

No.

Have you ever had sex on the first date?

No.

Heroes or villains?

Villains. (Sephiroth, Bucky Barnes, Loki, etc.)

Favorite fruit?

Pomegranates. 

Least favorite fruit?

Bananas. I’ll eat them, but there are a lot better choices honestly. 

Favorite vegetable?

Broccoli

Least favorite vegetable?

Brussels sprouts

How many plates can you eat at a buffet?

About a good three. First is salad. Second is fruit. Third is desert. 

Favorite dessert?

Ice cream. Bubble gum flavor is my favorite!

Do you play any sports?

Nope.

Age you learned how to swim?

Seven or eight.

Tell a funny story.

Maybe this is just funny to me, but earlier today my cat was trying to lick her coat but she set her front paw on a piece of paper and anytime she bent over to lick herself she slid and she would have to readjust herself. She did this like four times before she decided to move.

What’s one interesting thing about your culture?

As someone who is a part of the Navajo tribe, something neat is the more fat you have on your bones the more people respect you because they believe you have money.

What’s one annoying thing about your culture?

We can’t touch cold-blooded animals. It’s said if you touch the scales of a snake, or even breath in the same air, you’ll get the same skin as them.

What job would you be terrible at?

Accounting. I can’t do math to save my freaking life.

Would you rather watch a TV show or a movie?

TV shows.

What’s your favorite compliment to give?

“Cute Outfit!” or “Love the Hair!” You have no idea how many people light up on either of these, male/female/nonbinary. Looking good is a happiness found across all the spectrums. 

What’s your favorite compliment to receive?

“Cute hair.” Or “Love your makeup/nails.” 

Has your opinion changed on something recently?

I can’t remember. Like I said, it’s close to bedtime where I’m at and boi, it’s hard to concentrate right now.

Do you always order the same thing at a restaurant or order something different each time?

I order the same. 

What’s something you’ve always wanted to try but haven’t yet?

This sounds awful, but I’ve always wanted to try ecstasy. I have buddies who’ve taken it and say, if you do it right, the first time is pretty bomb. 

If you could learn to do anything right now, what would it be?

Singing. I can’t carry a tune.

Favorite physical feature about yourself?

My eyes.

Least favorite physical feature about yourself?

My wide hip/waist ratio. If my waist was thinner I wouldn’t mind as much.

What’s one amazing thing you did that nobody was around to see?

OKAY. I scored a strike on Wii bowling while i was on the toilet one time. Two rooms away and not even looking at a screen. Just using my heart and determination and it was SUPER COOL AND I WISH PEOPLE COULD HAVE SEEN THOSE SKILLS.

If you could change your height, would you?

Yes. Everyone is a good foot taller than me. So I would most definitely want a few more inches.

What’s something you would rate 10/10?

Final Fantasy 7 Remake’s Character concept for Sephiroth. The eyes, the height, the hair. WOW. In love.

Heels or flats?

Heels

What’s something you wish you had more knowledge about?

Politics. I want to get more involved but every time I do I get so confused.

Would you want to be famous?

I wouldn’t mind. But I value my private life.

What’s something you would get arrested for?

Well I already almost got arrested for eating tacos in a closed park at 3 am. So maybe that.

What’s your spirit animal?

A cat. 

What’s the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to you?

The fact that I graduated high school. I was developing anxiety and literally had no idea what the frick was happening with me and no one told me what it was. So I ended up skipping loads of school for that reason. 

Are you the type to have an organized mess, or no mess at all?

Organized mess. Or just a mess. 

Do you tend to make decisions based on the past, present, or future?

The future.

Are you a planner or a more spontaneous person?

Planner. I hate when things are sprung on me last minute. I have to emotionally prep up before a social event so 5-10 business days are needed.

Thoughts on the oxford comma?

I was taught to use it, but it’s literally so useless? I found myself either not using it or just doing it on instinct. So in one story you could probably find multiple instances where I use it and where I don’t use it, maybe in the same paragraph. I just do whatever fits that moment I guess.

What do you hope never changes?

My squad. I love them to pieces and it would break my heart if at some point they’d want to split.

How would you celebrate your 100th birthday?

Something extremely dangerous like skydiving or zip lining across a canyon. 

[defenderofurth]

rules: repost, don’t reblog. just pick a muse of yours and fill it out.

muse: dib membrane!

BASICS

▸ is your muse tall/short/average? pretty teeny, since he’s only twelve years old. he IS a couple of inches taller than zim, though, and he tends to rub that in his face ( since his species judges one’s value in society by their height ).

▸ are they okay with their height? it doesn’t get to him most of the time, since he knows he’s going to wind up growing more with age. besides, his father is super tall, so he’s bound to inherit that, right? part of him can’t wait for that, so he can TOWER over zim and tease him mercilessly about it. ▸ what’s their hair like? WEIRD. his hairstyle is very similar to his dad’s, a very short head of hair topped with a very long spike. i don’t think it’s prehensile like his father’s is ( i don’t recall whether or not dib’s hair ever had bones in it, jfc ), but...it sure is a thing.

▸ do they spend a lot of time on their hair/with their grooming? dib’s hair Stays like that even when he sleeps; that’s cartoon logic, but hey, who’s to say that membrane hasn’t invented a long-lasting hair gel or something ( provided that dib’s hair ISN’T just a weird ass fucking limb )? that being the case, No, he doesn’t really spend a lot of time taking care of it. ▸ does your muse care about their appearance? not really. he’s only into fashion to the extent that his outfit ( specifically, his jacket ) is inspired by those of “noirish spies,” but that’s pretty much it.

▸ does your muse care about what others think about them? GOD, YES. he craves acceptance and validation, ESPECIALLY from his father. when it comes to people like his classmates and teachers / other adults, he sort of just wants to rub the truth ( about aliens and the supernatural ) in their faces so he’ll stop being called crazy.

PREFERENCES

▸ indoors or outdoors? a bit of both; he isolates in his room frequently, either to compile research or spy on zim with cameras, but some of his supernatural research also requires him to spend time in the outdoors. that being said, he does enjoy it; camping out in the woods and gazing up at the stars is always fun, and so is visiting the cemetery. ▸ rain or sunshine? he started enjoying rain a lot more once he figured out that it was one of zim’s weaknesses -- now he looks forward to every thunderstorm. before that, though, he didn’t really have a preference for either. ▸ forest or beach? the forest, big time! the forest has the potential for BIGFEETS & he can camp out & stargaze!!! the beach is okay and all, and has cryptids of its own that he could investigate someday, but it’s full of people and sand -- neither of which dib is very fond of.

▸ precious metals or gems? metals?? psh, who needs gems. ▸ flowers or perfumes? flowers, i GUESS, not that either would really be appreciated unless it was haunted, cursed, or supernatural in some way fsddfs. ▸ personality or appearance? personality. appearance is the least of his concerns; if he just found someone who believed in him, in the paranormal, who could see things for what they were and actually LISTEN to him ?? he’d click with them instantly. ▸ being alone or being in a crowd? being alone. crowds, and people in general, are extremely unappealing. ▸ order or anarchy? leans more toward anarchy, even if he doesn’t actively resolve to act on those beliefs; he sees a LOT of flaws in society and the way things operate, and has plenty of distaste for authority ( ESPECIALLY after being arrested once and being put in an insane asylum ). ▸ painful truths or white lies? painful truths, most of the time; white lies are more of a last resort for when he’s intimidated ( i.e. telling gaz about his reasons for cursing her with pigmouth while she was threatening his haunted gummy bears ).

▸ science or magic? both -- the two can co-exist! he uses science to fuel his research of the paranormal, and someday, when the world has awakened to the existence of the supernatural, he wants to bring the two fields together. ▸ peace or conflict? peace, ultimately; however, his actions in the present lean more toward the conflict end of the spectrum. he tends to mess with zim even before he’s done anything wrong, all while justifying it in his own head as “the ends justifying the means.” ▸ night or day? night. i think i’ve already established how much dib loves stargazing -- he always loved outer space and was fascinated with it, and aliens were always the cryptids he was most enthusiastic about meeting ( until zim, that is ). ▸ dusk or dawn? dusk. ▸ warmth or cold? cold; his favorite season is actually autumn, both holiday and weather-wise. sweating is annoying and the humidity makes it hard to enjoy spending time in the woods, cemeteries, or infiltrating zim’s base. also, since his trenchcoat is just Part Of Him now, he really doesn’t like removing it for the summer ( and that leads to even more sweating ).

▸ many acquaintances or a few close friends? I DON’T NEED FRIENDS, THEY DISAPPOINT ME

▸ reading or playing a game? reading; he spends most of his time doing that anyway, and he really sucks at video games.

QUESTIONNAIRE

▸ what are some of your muse’s bad habits? his paranoia in general is a big one -- he refuses to trust most people after what he’s been through, and that leaks into a lot of his behavior. sometimes he even doubts the reality around him, since some of zim’s tricks have involved trapping him in simulations that mimic “ideal” versions of the world around him, and that’s really messed with him.

▸ has your muse lost anyone close to them? how has it affected them? unless you count the dog he and gaz had when they were younger, or mr. dwicky ( who didn’t even die, he just sort of abandoned dib in the middle of an evidence-gathering mission ), he hasn’t really lost anybody. the dog didn’t affect him too much, but in dwicky’s case, it definitely intensified his trust issues.

▸ what are some fond memories your muse has? little things here and there -- moments where gaz actually supported him or picked him back up like in enter the florpus; a few times when he, gaz, and his father all played video games together; and that one time when he and gir spent a few days together while zim was stuck in foodcourtia, since he got to pester zim’s leaders, and also sort of just chill with zim’s sidekick for a while. ▸ is it easy for your muse to kill? definitely not. he makes petty threats here and there, and absolutely has twisted daydreams about zim on an autopsy table, but there’s no way he could follow through on any of those things himself. not unless zim went TOO far with one of his plans.

▸ what’s it like when your muse breaks down? it’s very brief, but there’s a taste of it in enter the florpus. he bottles it up for as long as he can, but it eventually erupts in the form of him falling to the floor and just sobbing -- he hates crying in front of other people, so if it ever gets to this point in front of anyone else, you KNOW it’s bad. ▸ is your muse capable of trusting someone with their life? not really. ▸ what’s your muse like when they’re in love? A RELATIONSHIP WOULD BE ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE FOR HIM,, does that count as an answer?? it’d be really rare for him to fall for anyone like that in the first place, but if he did, he’d probably be really...insecure about it. i can see his future self being the type who would have all sorts of issues with commitment, if he ever started serious relationships in the first place, and refusing to acknowledge Real feelings for people.

tagged by: @invaderofdoom TYSM ILY,,, ( we gay keep scrollin - ) tagging: hhH @mechbrane ( any of ur muses ), @prxfessor-membrane, @vortship, @wastallest, @diibsister, @irken-tenn, if y’all want to!!! feel free to ignore this if not / if you’ve already done this and i didn’t see, i just want to celebrate you guys being nice to me despite me being. slow and non-responsive and everything. thank u

[gffa]

I practically read through the entirety of the STAR WARS Rare Pair 2018 Exchange and, jeez, this fandom just has its hooks in me so hard, I love these characters and this world and the wonderful creativity of the fandom! I may often go back to the same tropes that I always love, but there’s also always something new and interesting, some new corner to explore, some new character or relationship to give focus to, some new AU to help fix things. And fandom is really great about giving me the things I want to read a hundred times over and finding cool new things! So, here, have some both! STAR WARS FIC RECS: TIME TRAVEL RECS: ✦ Asajj Ventress and Her Tiny Time-Travelling Conscience by shadowsong26, asajj & luke & cast, 2.4k wip    We all love time travel fics, right? Here’s one with Luke. Tiny, precious, ten-year-old Luke. Who accidentally travels back in time to the last year/year and a half of the Clone Wars. And lands on Ventress. PREQUELS RECS: ✦ Red Sky at Morning by darth_vaporwave, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka & yoda & plo & quinlan & luminara & cast, 16.8k    Master Ahsoka’s off on a short mission without Obi-Wan, which suits Anakin just fine. There’s something up with Obi-Wan. That last mission he went on by himself, where he got hurt, really took something out of him, and Anakin’s going to figure out what it is. But first, he’s got to figure out why their filing project went so wrong… ✦ untitled by stonefreeak, mace & cast, ~1k    Mace scrubs a hand across his face, trying to keep a clear head even as the council meeting drags on. ✦ Punch-Drunk by bell (belldreams), obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, ~1k    “Am I the only one who’s not gone punch-drunk over fruit?!” Anakin explodes. ✦ Precipice by shadowsong26, anakin & padme & obi-wan & luke & leia & bail & ahsoka & rex & cast, 165.3k wip    An AU in which Anakin Skywalker does not follow Mace Windu and the others to Palpatine’s office after they leave to arrest the Chancellor. As a result, he doesn’t get that final push over the edge, and doesn’t Fall. ✦ Dance Softly Through by Lady_Katana4544, ahsoka/barriss & cast, 3.3k    She’s still reeling from the parasite in her mind and confused about her feelings towards Ahsoka. Barriss hasn’t known the other Padawan long, but she wants to get to know Ahsoka more if they ever have a chance. ✦ Leitmotif by FireflyFish, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2.2k    Anakin can hear music that no one else can. Some of it is beautiful. Some of it haunting. But his music? His music is terrifying. ✦ Chosen, not assigned by Lysore, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 2.2k    “It looks like our problems are solved. Fresh troops, new supplies, and perhaps they brought my new Padawan with them,” Obi-Wan had said. Though there seemed to be a misunderstanding regarding the identity of the Master of said Padawan. ✦ The Last Jedi by FireflyFish, obi-wan & palpatine & cast, 2.3k    “The dark is generous and it is patient and it always wins – but in the heart of its strength lies its weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.” - Revenge of the Sith ✦ To Traverse the Center of Your Heart by JumpingJill, mon/padme & obi-wan & bail & cast, 6.1k    Padmé survives giving birth to the twins. Mon has a front row seat to the fall of the Republic and the rise of the Empire. Somehow, they continue. ✦ Hearing by Bythoseburningembers, obi-wan & anakin & ahsoka, 11.4k wip    Takes place immediately after Crisis on Naboo, and follows Anakin and Obi-wan as they try to heal a broken friendship in the face of lies and a never-ending war. ✦ Every hand’s a winner by MirandaTam, adi & han & qi'ra, 1.6k    Corellia has more than its fair share of troubles. Adi Gallia has more than her fair share of headaches. ✦ Raising Up Hope by dreamiflame, obi-wan/padme, 1.5k    Family is what you make of it. Padmé, Obi-Wan and the twins are trying to make it work. ✦ Stitches and Time by ladyarcherfan3, obi-wan & anakin & qui-gon & ocs, 4k    Alara Nel is a seamstress who keeps getting an unusually large number of orders for Jedi robes from an Obi-Wan Kenobi. Over the years, she learns why and gets to know the Jedi a little bit better. ✦ Balance Point by Vinyarie, anakin & ahsoka, 6.3k wip    Ahsoka wakes up trapped beneath the rubble of the Sith temple on Malachor with the man currently known as Darth Vader. He’s a Sith lord who has done some truly awful things, but she’s certain that some part of him is still Anakin Skywalker, and she’s going to convince him of that. No matter how many times he tries to kill her for it. ✦ Refuge by Ljparis, rainydayadvocate, obi-wan/padme, 2k    On Mustafar, Padmé takes matters into her own hands. Obi-Wan is there for her when the dust settles. ✦ The Pleasures of Life by AngelQueen, obi-wan/padme, NSFW, 6.2k    During her early months as a Senator, an irritating soirée takes an interesting, unexpected turn for Padmé. ✦ Along Our Twisted Path by ambiguously, anakin/ahsoka & cast, nsfw, 12.5k    Ahsoka steps out of the World Between Worlds, but not into the galaxy she remembers. ✦ Difference in Degrees by maebmad, obi-wan/anakin/padme (pre-relationship?) & ahsoka & rex & cast, 8.6k wip    An anthology of stories in a universe that is both better and worse than the one we know, in various ways. It is difficult to sort each part into good and bad, after all, when everything is so often both. Evil is not created overnight. Empires are not built in a day. Good intentions don’t guarantee righteous acts. ✦ he will tear your city down by collegefangirl3791, obi-wan & cast, 11.8k wip    Obi-Wan planned to keep a low profile on Tatooine, after Order 66. He was there to protect Luke, and that was all. ✦ Getting to Know You by ambiguously, thrawn/padme, 2.8k    Padmé has agreed to this. That doesn’t mean she’s happy about it. ✦ Let My Second Love Be Kind by nichestars, obi-wan/padme & cast, 3.1k    When Padmé holds her children in her arms for the first time, she thinks: This is the fewest number of beings with which I have been entrusted since I was twelve years old. ✦ Wedding Braids by skatzaa, bail/breha, 1.7k    Breha meets her reflection’s gaze. She was right: the glow from her pulmonodes turns her dress from pink fabric into a living sunset. But she hadn’t anticipated the way the light would catch on the loops and curls of her wedding braids as they cascade over her shoulders. ✦ Warm me up by Ljparis, bail/breha, 3.1k    After enjoying a brisk winter hike in the mountains of Alderaan, Bail and Breha get trapped at the Antilles’ family cabin during a snowstorm. ✦ The Very Best of Acquaintances by Skyberrie (LyaStark), bail/breha, 1.5k    It wasn’t love at first, second, or even twentieth sight for Bail and Breha. But they managed to get there just the same. OBI-WAN/ANAKIN RECS: ✦ Each Day Is Your Last by Nisa, obi-wan/anakin & mace & dex, NSFW, 15.4k    I have always wanted to write what really happened after the Poster Boy scene in ROTS. ✦ Don’t Let This End by SoftlyFocused, obi-wan/anakin & cast, NSFW, 4.9k    Anakin is frustrated by how devastatingly handsome Obi-Wan looks at one of Padmé’s political parties, he gets drunk to cope. Obi-Wan is frustrated with how needy and demanding Anakin has been, he gets drunk to punish him. Both of them really need to release some tension after this seemingly endless war. ✦ Miasma by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin & rex & cody & fives & kix & cast, sith!obi-wan, 12.6k wip    Obi-Wan never believed his best friend and lover Anakin would die first. But he has. ✦ Nice to Meet You Again by darlingamidala, obi-wan/anakin/padme, soul mates, 3.3k    A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, three people met, and fell into a love so deep that it bound their very souls together for all eternity. ✦ To Be Found by darlingargents, obi-wan/anakin/padme, 7.1k    When Anakin and Obi-Wan are caught during a battle and imprisoned alone for weeks, it leads to some revelations. From Coruscant, Padmé, with the help of Ahsoka, is tracking them down – and coming to some realizations of her own. ✦ A Gift for the Hurting by by Petralice, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 1.9k    I’m not even gonna try to be fancy here; this is self-indulgent Obikin smut. They’re banging, folks. ✦ Bedroom Hymns by JediMistress, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, spanking, bondage, bdsm, d/s, 10.9k wip    Anakin Skywalker is a young student with some kinky interests, and his search for a Dom leads him to Obi-Wan, a former professional. Obi-Wan has retired, but their purely professional kinky relationship changes the lives of both men. How long can they keep it professional? And what happens when they start falling for each other? ✦ 36 Questions by thelivingcontradiction, obi-wan/anakin, 24.9k wip    In a study by psychologist Arthur Aron, they found that strangers would fall in love when asked to answer 36 questions together. ✦ Exile Vilify by nessa_j, obi-wan/anakin, nsfw, 1.4k    Anakin struggles with the horrors of war, Obi-Wan tries to offer comfort. ✦ feening by mexicanfood420, obi-wan/anakin & padme & cast, 15k wip    Anakin Skywalker, an angsty mess of hormones and resentment, is thrust elegantly into the hands of temptation, and is expected to turn down every little thing he’s ever desired. ✦ The Blessed by lilyconrad, obi-wan/anakin/padme, soul mates, 1.4k    Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker can see something few others can, a special gift the Force gives only to those with a soulmate: color. ✦ Saber’s Hilt by lovelykenobi, obi-wan/anakin, NSFW, 2.3k    Anakin’s a boy with a mouth and a sassy attitude. Obi-Wan reacts accordingly. ORIGINAL TRILOGY RECS: ✦ whatever a sun will always sing is you by victoria_p (musesfool), luke & leia & cast, 2.2k    Leia has a lot of things to do, but first, she needs to speak with Luke. ✦ Edges of the World by glompcat, leia & luke & anakin & padme & han & ahsoka & ventress & sana & bail & breha & obi-wan & cast, 228.4k wip    Leia Organa finds herself stuck in a strange alternate/parallel universe where the Empire never came to exist. Meanwhile, trying to navigate a galaxy ruled by the Sith weren’t exactly the Jedi Trials Leia Skywalker had expected. ✦ If That Mockingbird Won’t Sing by ambiguously, obi-wan/beru, 3.1k    Obi-Wan brings Luke to the Lars homestead only to discover Owen Lars isn’t there any more. ✦ Gingerbread Cottage All Covered in Sweets by ambiguously, luke/leia & anakin, NSFW, dark themes, 7.1k    Luke will do anything for Leia, even if it means seducing her to the Dark Side. ✦ Bedtime Stories by kurage_hime, obi-wan & leia & cast, 1.1k    Prompt: Leia being so madly in love with tales of Obi-Wan Kenobi and crushin’ so hard on him IS MY JAM. Doesn’t have to be requited, or happen irl (I don’t mind if it does). ✦ Only In Memory by rainydayadvocate, han/qi'ra & han/leia (sort of implied) & cast, 2.4k    Han, Leia, Luke, and Chewie are on sent on a fuel supply run, and Han suspects the supplier is someone from his past, someone that probably belongs there. ✦ Contentment by WritLarge, obi-wan/owen/beru & luke, ~1k    Both Owen and Beru had harangued him once they’d determined that he was harmless, relatively speaking. When tempting him with kindness and physical comfort hadn’t worked, Beru had begun guilting Ben. ✦ Truth by ambiguously, obi-wan/beru/owen & cast, 4.2k    Kenobi brings Beru and Owen a child to raise. ✦ Midnight by lilyconrad, obi-wan/luke, 1.1k    A gentle moment between two twined in the Force, set just before A New Hope begins. ✦ φοῖνιξ by ambiguously, luke/leia, 1.8k    Everything in Luke’s life has burned to ash. REBELS RECS: ✦ Four Doors by veritascara, hera & mon & cast, 10.8k    Hera and the Ghost crew return to Yavin IV, where she must confront tough decisions about what her future will look like. ✦ Speculation by Nana, zeb/kallus & ap-5, 1k    “AP-5,” Kallus said, “are you under the impression that Captain Orrelios and I are involved, romantically?” “It is common knowledge at the base, sir. You don’t have to deny it just because I am a droid.” ✦ roisters by spookykingdomstarlight, zeb/kallus, 1.8k    For once, he is willing to put aside his thoughts and act. “Garazeb,” he says, because he is the only one who calls Zeb by his full name and because he’s noticed the way Zeb’s fur ripples in pleasure after he says it and somewhere in the back of his mind he knows that means something. “A word?” SEQUELS RECS: ✦ We Met in Blood and Dust by lucymonster, leia/amilyn, 1.5k    Life is only ever a borrowed possession. Amilyn has borrowed twice now. ✦ never gonna get too close to you (even if it hurts) by bittersnake, luke/sana & finn & hux & cast, 2k    Sometimes death brings second chances. ✦ The storms are raging on a rolling sea by ambiguously, rey/phasma, nsfw, 5.2k    Rey is searching for an old Jedi temple and finds someone she was never expecting to see again. ✦ The Warm Sunlight by tspofnutmeg, rey, 1.5k    A Jedi knight, that’s what Rey is now. Well, she has been for a while, but she was hesitant to take on the title. FULL DETAILS + RECS HERE!

[hekate1308]

Facts & Sweets

At this very moment in the town of Lawrence, Kansas, Fergus Crowley was 45 year, four months, three weeks, two days and 23 minutes old. He was busy chasing down a burglar; not exactly the kind of case he liked the best, but he, like any other creature under the sun, had to pay his bills.

The man had made the mistake to try and escape over the roof; Crowley, agile and quick-thinking, had naturally followed him and would have caught him, if not for the unfortunate and yet inevitable laws of gravity.

Ellsworth Rading was forty-nine years, ten months, three weeks, two hours and forty-seven minutes old and had been burgling houses for most of his adult life. As he was running from the State’s best PI, he contemplated the choices that had brought him here, and decided that once this was over, he would have to rethink his life. Sadly, he wouldn’t be doing any more living after he missed a jump between buildings and fell down fifteen feet, after which his neck got acquainted with the edge of the dumpster standing in the small alleyway.

Crowley knew from the second he jumped that he wouldn’t make it, and that he wouldn’t reach him in time to save him. He only reached the ledge to look down, register the man with the bin who had just entered the alleyway and watch Ellsworth break his neck, wincing as he did so.

There was no doubt that the man was dead.

And then –

Through the force of impact, Ellsworth’s body bounced back from the dumpster and was thrown against the man with the bin.

And suddenly he stood up and started to run against if his neck wasn’t broken.

Crowley stared as the man hastened to follow him and –

Touch him, after which Ellsworth Rading dropped dead again.

The man’s shoulders slumped in relief before he looked up and realized Crowley had been watching the entire thing.

He couldn’t be entirely sure because he was too far away, but he thought he exclaimed “Son of a bitch!”

These were the facts: Dean Winchester was eight years, four months and thirteen hours old. His little brother Sam, four years, one month, eight days and 57 minutes old, had been gifted a puppy for his last birthday, a puppy he called Lancelot after the book Dean always read to him while their parents looked on proudly.

Lancelot the puppy was four months, three days, 2 hours and 11 minutes old, and he wasn’t destined to get older. Sam was taking a nap in the late afternoon, and Dean was reading a Batman comic while their mother was doing the laundry. It really was no one’s fault that Lancelot got away, the door just happened to be unlocked.

Because Dean’s room faced the street, he was the one to hear the accident, and he raced downstairs to find Lancelot dead on the pavement in front of their home.

Thinking only of how sad Sammy would be, he let himself sink down to his knees and reached out a hand to gently touch Lancelot, who sat up as if nothing had happened, barked and ran back into the house.

Dean Winchester wasn’t like the other little boys.

Dean Winchester had just learned that he could bring the dead back to life.

“Let me repeat that” Crowley said carefully. “Your touch brings the dead back to life, and yet you chose to become a pie maker and the owner of a slowly failing bakery.”

“Not so loud, for God’s sake!” Dean hissed. “We’re sitting right in the middle of my restaurant –“

“And it’s empty” he pointed out.

Dean glared at him. “No one asked you to be here ether, you know.”

“Oh, I know, but my chance at collecting the reward for Ellsworth’s arrest is currently lying in the morgue.”

“That’s not my fault! He fell off the roof!”

“Couldn’t you have kept him alive long enough for me to collect my fee?”

This was the moment where Dean should probably have lied, should have told the irritating yet handsome PI that it had been a reflex to touch the burglar again.

Instead, he told him the truth.

“If I had allowed him to live for longer than a minute, someone in close vicinity to him would have died. And that includes the possibility of you passing on, so –“

“I see” Crowley interrupted him. “So you can bring back the dead back to life for one minute or you kill someone else. You must be real fun at parties.”

Dean stiffened. “I don’t go to parties.”

“Or anywhere else, really” a cheerful voice interrupted them. “Or talk to anyone voluntarily, ever. So who are you, mister, and do I have to threaten you not to –“

“Charlie” he said tiredly to the red-haired waitress who had apparently shown up out of nowhere, “This is Crowley.”

The man had steadfastly refused to tell Dean his first name. Not that it mattered. The sooner he got him out of here, the better.

“Hi, I’m Charlie!” she grinned.

He nodded.

“Since you are here, and you’re obviously a friend of Dean’s, you have to try our pecan pie!”

With these words she all but bounced to the back, despite Crowley’s protest that he didn’t care much for sweets.

“Does she knows?” he asked as soon as she was out of earshot.

Dean shook his head. “No, and I want it to stay that way.”

“Don’t worry, I am not going to tell anyone I met a pie maker who happens to be Jesus.”

“I am not Jesus. Jesus had control over who he brought back.”

“So do you, you can choose who to touch –“

“Yes, and I choose not to touch anyone” Dean replied firmly.

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“If someone has such strong principles, there’s normally a story behind it.”

“Which you will never hear.”

“I never said I wanted to, but it is certainly good to know there is one.”

Dean didn’t meet his eyes.

The story the Pie Maker didn’t want to tell and the PI believe he didn’t want to hear began two years, seven months, nine days and five hours after Dean had brought Lancelot back to live.

The puppy had grown and been in the best health since, even though Dean had noticed he never came to close to him anymore. But he was Sam’s dog anyway; there was no reason for Dean to touch him.

Mary Winchester had been grocery shopping, and had brought home a pie for her eldest son. But at the moment she unpacked it, an aneurism in her head burst, killing her instantly.

It was Dean who found his mother ten minutes later.

Some part of him knew that the dead were not supposed to come back to life. But what were he and Sammy and Dad supposed to do without Mom? And Lancelot was doing okay.

He reached out and touched her.

Her eyes blinked open and she sat up. “Oh, did I slip?” She smiled at him. “Who wants some pie?”

And so he sat down to have a cherry pie he wouldn’t eat.

Because in this moment, his father arrived home. Dean, as always, jumped up and rushed to greet him.

John Winchester smiled at his son for what would be the last time, opened his arms – and dropped dead to the floor.

Unknowingly, he had traded his mother’s life for his father’s.

He didn’t get to revive him because the tragic circumstances prevented him from doing so. His mother suddenly came running, tried to get to her husband – and brushed Dean on the way to him.

She died instantly, and despite Dean touching her, stayed dead.

And he knew that this would happen to Dad as well; and that, should he try and save him, someone else would have to die, and the only one in the house was Sammy.

He couldn’t harm Sammy.

So he called 911. His parents had taught him that.

Later that night, their Uncle Bobby came from Sioux Falls to take them away and look after them as best as he could.

Bobby believed that Dean’s withdrawn and taciturn demeanour in the weeks that followed was the natural reaction of a little boy who’d lost both his parents to undiagnosed heart conditions on the same day.

In truth, Dean was contemplating the gift – or, as he was inclined to think, the curse – that had been bestowed on him.

He couldn’t risk bringing anyone else back to live, only for someone else to die, and then for the first person to perish again when they touched him.

He needed to know the rules.

After a few experiments with houseflies, he figured it out: he couldn’t allow anything dead to return for more than a minute if he wanted to avoid the consequences.

The newly orphaned Dean swore to himself that he would never touch a dead thing again, and that he’d never grow too close to anyone unless he’d be tempted to break that solemn oath.

As the years went out, even his brother, after being constantly rebuffed, stopped trying to get close to him; the only one who ever did think he must have his reasons and should be treated with consideration turned out Charlie Bradbury, who he met in High School because she would introduce herself to the quiet boy who so often were Batman t-shirts. And even her he kept at a distance.

And so he became the lonely Pie Maker, owner of Pie Hole, until twenty-one years later, when a dead man fell from the roof.

“What I don’t understand” Crowley began, only to be interrupted by Charlie. “Here’s your pie! Enjoy!” She wandered off and he realized he would actually have to try.

He did.

It was... eatable for something sweet, and that was the highest compliment Crowley had ever bestowed on a pie.  

“And?”

“It is not the worst thing I’ve ever eaten” he told Dean. “But really, I told you, I don’t like sweets. Do you –“

“Can’t. The ingredients would rot.”

He understood. “One way to save money, I guess. I still don’t understand why this place is failing, however.”

“If customers fail to –“

“Not what I meant. Like it or not, you have a gift. You might as well put it to good use. I am sure people would pay for the opportunity to say goodbye, even only for a minute –“

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Your loss then. But I do have to point out that quite often, if someone meets a violent end, their loved ones are willing to promise a reward to anyone who can catch the killer.”

“So?” Dean asked, only to realize he had made a mistake when Crowley grinned devilishly.

“So you can help me with that. It’s much easier to solve a murder if you can ask the murdered person who did it.”

“I said no –“

“Oh yes, dear reporters, there IS a man who can bring the dead to live –“

“No one would believe you.”

“Really? There are a lot of crazy people around.”

Dean stared at him. “Are you blackmailing me? You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you, I am always serious when it comes to money. And I will even be generous – we’ll share half and half.”

Dean didn’t have any choice. “Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

“Oh, it’s quite enough for me that you’re at my back and call because you have to be.”

Crowley grinned again in that unsettling way of his.

That night at his apartment, Dean tried to watch TV, but he was still seething. How dare that guy just show up out of the blue, learn his secret and get away with it? It seem utterly unfair to him.

And, perhaps, in a corner of his mind, he considered it no less unfair that the PI was actually rather attractive when he smiled, even thought it looked devious as well.

Crowley, meanwhile, sitting in his office across town, had no such misgivings.

He also didn’t deny to himself that the Pie Maker was very handsome indeed.

The facts were these: Steven Shoemaker was forty-nine years, ten months, seven hours and 24 minutes old when he had the misfortune to drop dead in his own bathroom, his eyeballs all but exploding.

Mr. Shoemaker left three ex-wives and ten children, so naturally there were disagreements regarding the inheritance.

There was, however, one person in the world who hadn’t cared for his money; and this person was his secretary, who’d been a close friend of his for over twenty years.

Not only grieving for her best friend, but also enraged at one of the comments of the ex-wives suggesting that her and the dead man’s relationship had been more intimate than it actually was, she decided to act by offering a reward.

And where money was, there was a good chance Fergus Crowley, P.I., wasn’t far away.

“Dude” Dean said slowly, closing his eyes, “His face.”

“What about it?” Crowley asked carelessly.

“His eyeballs all but melted” he hissed.

“And?”

“And!? I can barely stand to look at him and you want me to bring him back to life?”

“Oh, is this CNN?” Crowley said, holding his hand up to his ear and mimicking a phone call, “Just imagine what I found –“

“Yeah, yeah, I got it” Dean pressed out through gritted teeth, “But if he starts coughing blood it’s not my fault.”

“Duly noted. Now, if you’d be so kind...”

Dean activated the alarm on his cell phone, set for one minute, and touched Mr. Shoemaker’s hand.

He sat up. “I can’t see!”

“It takes a while to get used to the surroundings after you pass on” Crowley said smoothly. “Don’t worry.”

“Dead? I’m – oh, of course. She poisoned me. Put it in my Diet Coke, never could resist that stuff. Am I going to Heaven?”

“Yes” Dean said quickly, watching the seconds tick by. “Who poisoned you?”

“My ex-wife, of course –“

In this moment, the door opened and Dean quickly touched Mr. Shoemaker, returning him to the state he’d been in.

It was the coroner. “You got everything you need?”

Dean nodded, although that was a lie.

“That was absolutely useless” Crowley commented as they strolled out of the morgue.

“Not completely” Dean argued, “We know that one of his ex-wives killed him.”

“Exactly. There are three of them, and they were always the main suspects. So he told us nothing.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let the doctor see the dead man sitting up and talking to us?”

“You did what you had to do” Crowley acquiesced, surprising him. “But now we have to do this the hard way.”

“It’s your job, and... wait, we?”

“Of course we. You agreed to take on the case, remember?”

“I agreed to touch the corpse!”

An old lady walking by shot him a scandalized look and Dean lowered his voice. “You wanted to talk to him, we did.”

“Need I remind you that –“

“Yeah, yeah, you own me” Dean spat. “I get it.”

“I wouldn’t imply ownership. More... forced company.”

“If you say so. Let’s get this over with.”

Sadly, grieving widows, or would-have-been-if-still-married-widows, are not prone to let people who suspect them of murder into the crime scene.

Sometimes, as Crowley would have said if Dean would have given him the opportunity, you have to improvise.

“Did I mention I don’t like heights?”

“Is there anything you like aside from pies?”

“Let me rephrase that. I don’t like heights I can fall down from. And this definitely counts.”

“Whatever you say, now hurry, I want to search his office while it’s still night!”

Dean grunted and forced himself to climb up the last few branches to the window, Crowley at his heels. He managed to open it and pull himself into the office, sinking to the floor and gasping.

“Don’t be like that” Crowley said, jumping in as if they hadn’t just escaped certain death. “You looked pretty confident. A regular squirrel.”

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with. What are we looking for anyway?”

“Anything that proves he was at odds with one of his e-wives.”

“Didn’t he have to be in order for them to become his ex-wives in the first place?”

“That may be the case, but in my experience there tends to be an immediate stressor for murder.”

Dean shook his head. “Man, your life must be cheerful.”

“Says the baker with the life-returning touch.”

Dean grumbled something unintelligible but continued to search the room.

Eventually, Crowley found a concealed button on the desk and pressed it; almost immediately part of its surface slid back, revealing a hidden compartment. “Hah.”

“How did you know that was there?”

“I have been in this business for a while” he replied simply as he reached into the secret drawer and took out an envelope. “Now, what do we have here –“

“Are you supposed to open that?”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t know what was in it.” Crowley opened the envelope and read its contents.

“Well?” Dean finally asked when he didn’t say anything.

“I thought you didn’t want to know, your principles and all that...”

Dean reached for the letter. Crowley gave it to him.

“A will?”

“And” Crowley pointed out, “Frome a later date than any of the others. Only a day before his death, in fact.”

“The secretary gets everything?”

“With some provisions for the kids, of course” Crowley drawled. “I assume he want2ed to leave them well taken care of.”

“Small wonder you only talk about this theoretically” Dean muttered.

But the Pie Maker didn’t know that the PI’s knowledge regarding children was, in fact, far from theoretical.

Much to his astonishment, he found himself tempted to talk about himself to a near stranger for the first time, to tell him his secrets, to let him know the man beneath the Armani-clad facade.

He stomped the impulse.

“Crowley?”

“Just thinking” he said quickly. “We definitely have a motive there.”

“I’d say so. All those millions running through their fingers... But who even knew this will existed?”

“Excellent question. We’ll make a detective out of you yet.”

“Thanks, I’ll pass” Dean said, taking a calendar from the desk and leafing through it. “Hey, wasn’t ex-wife number 2 called Katerina?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because there is a meeting with “K” here the day before he died. If he mentioned something...”

Katerina née Tassel was thirty-nine years, two months, ten days and six hours old when she was arrested for murder, still feeling getting her husband’s money was her right since she’d “lived with him for ten miserable years.”

Sarah Forde went on to inherit the money and found a charity for the homeless – after she’d paid Crowley quite handsomely.

“Admit it” Crowley announced a few days later at the Pie Hole, having just stepped in to tell Dean everything had worked out perfectly, “You liked it.”

“I didn’t.”

“Come on, you got to solve a murder case, bring justice to the victim –“

“As if you care about that” Dean replied. “You only want your money.”

“Yes, but I don’t mind if justice is done while I get it.”

Dean snorted.

“So you got her?” Charlie asked excitedly. She’d loved to hear that Dean was “out there” making friends, although he could hardly tell her that aside from Crowley, the one he’d talked to the most had even the dead guy he’d brought back to life.

“That we did, Miss Bradbury.”

“Excellent, I’ll get you a pie!”

It seemed that Charlie had decided that she would get Crowley to like sweets eventually, for all of his protests didn’t help; she brought him a piece of apple pie.

“Charlie” Dean said, pulling her into the kitchen, “You can’t keep giving out free samples if we are to make any profit –“

“It’s just one piece of pie” Charlie said, “Plus you can’t lie to me, Mister. I have seen your face when you think he can’t see you. You like him.”

He blushed scarlet. “Do not!”

But, try as he might, the Pie Maker couldn’t deny that the PI could be funny and charming when he wanted to be – although he also happened to be quite selfish and greedy.

Little did he know that while he was pondering this, Crowley was eating the pie and admitting reluctantly to himself that for some reason, he suddenly found he might get used to the taste eventually  and was growing rather fond of the Pie Hole as a whole, as well.

Their arrangement continued. Whenever there was news of a strange murder, Dean brazed himself for Crowley calling him, and he usually delivered. Soon enough, they’d developed a routine. Dean would usually be baking, or home alone, or hanging out with Charlie, who’d become more and more insistent that he “should have a life outside of the Pie Hole” when Crowley called him, and they’d meet up at the morgue. He never quite figured out why the coroner let them in at all times but suspected Crowley had something on him.

They’d take a minute – literally – to talk to the corpse, who usually but not always provided the direct resolution to their problem, and then Dean would leave Crowley to find the evidence he needed.

A few days later, he’d get the money and ask no questions.

He didn’t exactly feel clean doing all of this, but the Pie Hole was finally making profit – not due to his pies, but still – and he told himself that this curse he had been born with at least brought some good into this world.

And then there were the other cases, cases where it wasn’t so easy, and somehow, he found himself sticking around for them. After all, Charlie could hold down the fort, and he figured if Crowley ran into danger because of the information he’d provided, it was sort of his fault.

At least that was what he made himself believe.

But it wasn’t the truth. The truth was, as it often is, more complicated, stranger and a bit madder than that.

In truth he was slowly starting to enjoy working with Crowley a great deal.

Even if there were a few setbacks.

“I can’t believe we’re digging up an old corpse” he complained, “You do realize that his tongue will probably have fallen off by now, right?”

“Shut up and keep digging, Squirrel”. The nickname had stuck despite Dean’s many attempts to make him stop calling him that.

Dean’s shovel – he couldn’t quite recall the reasoning that had led to him being the one to do the actual digging – hit the coffin and they opened it to find Mr. Van Hutten’s actually rather well-preserved corpse. Thank God.

“Ask him where he hid the family jewels so we can get out of here and I can demand my payment.”

“It’s our payment, and when I think about it, I should be the only one to get paid since I do all the work.”

“You’d never do it if I hadn’t persuaded you to.”

“Persuaded” Dean mussed. “Yeah, right.”

He still reached out to touch Mr. Van Hutten’s hand.

And then things almost went awry. Mr. Van Hutten was so upset about his relations’ greediness that he started moving around in his coffin too much as he explained where he had hidden the family treasure, and the lid fell down and got stuck.

Dean cursed. “Quick, Crowley, help me to –“

He turned around and saw that Crowley had taken off. Of freaking course.

He managed to pry open the lid and touch Mr. Van Hutten again just in time.

Crowley was waiting in his car in front of the cemetery. Dean got in, fuming.

“Did you get the –“

“Yes, I did! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I didn’t want to die.”

“So you just left me there?”

“It seems logical to assume that you won’t be stricken down dead since these are your powers, so –“

“It could have been anyone else! You could have helped me!”

“I knew you would manage.”

“Knew I would – forget it; I’m walking myself home.”

Dean got out of the car and slammed the door behind him. What a jerk.

The next day, counting his money in his office, Crowley couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t feel as enjoyable as it usually did. After pondering the problem for a few moments, he realized that he felt something he hadn’t felt in quite some time – guilt for having left Dean at the cemetery when the time was running out, and that he had just allowed him to walk away into the cold night.

Really, it was rather disconcerting for him to realize how often his thoughts came straight back to the Pie Maker, even when there was no case he could call him in on.

It almost felt as if he – cared about Dean, and not just because he was useful.

What a strange feeling.

And yet he couldn’t help it. He decided he would do one good thing for Dean Winchester, to make him and Crowley himself feel better and get this... surge of humanity out of his system once and for all.

The problem with his solution to his other problem, Crowley reflected a few weeks later, was that it was damn difficult to get to know Dean well enough to learn what sort of things he liked. He only ever talked about their cases when they saw each other (and he mostly complained then). He barely mentioned his past or any personal details at all (not that Crowley was the poster child for that).

Still...

And for some reason it felt wrong to investigate Dean like he had so many others over the years.

But gossiping with Charlie... that could hardly be called investigating, now?

Plus she was bound to come over with a pie every time he entered Dean’s place.

She did exactly that the next time there was a corpse, and Dean hadn’t yet forgiven him, it seemed, since he let him wait.

“You do know this won’t ever change a thing, right?”

“And yet here I am, and I keep trying.”

“Like with Dean, when he doesn’t want to leave his kitchen?”

“Exactly” she said, her eyes sparkling. As he had expected, she sat down across from him, eager to make conversation since he allowed it for once. “Dean’s still young, just thirty-one, he should have fun now and then.”

“What makes you think he doesn’t?”

“When he’s with you, sure” she said, surprising him. He was rather certain that Dean had never really enjoyed their excursions.

And definitely not the last one, he thought ruefully.

“But other than that...” she continued. “I never got why he moved away from Sioux Falls so quickly after school. Can you believe he hasn’t visited his little brother and his uncle once since he graduated?”

“He has a brother?”

She nodded. “He talks about him a lot – only with me, of course, but he has no one else, really, and I already knew about Sam. He’s a lawyer now, but they don’t talk.”

“Why?” In truth, Crowley didn’t have to ask; it was easy enough to guess; Dean was terrified of what he might do if something happened to someone he was close to; and so he had distanced himself from 2everyone in his life.

Dean must be rather lonely, he thought.

But then, Dean probably didn’t know what Crowley knew.

Because he knew that, when push came to shove, Dean would do the right thing.

Dean Winchester was a good man – so good as to be even called righteous – and he would never purchase the life of a loved one with that of another. He was not capable of making such a decision, not when it had the potential to hurt others.

He wondered if Dean was ever tempted to reach out to his family. Probably.

Now how to get him to mention it so they could talk...

Dean Winchester didn’t quite know what to feel when he came out of the kitchen to find Crowley and Charlie conversing. Charlie Bradbury was the only friend he’d made in his lonely life, and that simply because she’d refused to let him go when he tried to; she also happened to know quite a few of his secrets, although she was naturally ignorant of the greatest of them all.

And Crowley...

Crowley knew he could bring the dead back to life, but nothing else about him, so between the two of them, he and Charlie knew Dean inside out.

Problem was that Charlie liked to talk, and talk about him too.

And he wasn’t quite sure he wanted Crowley to learn details about his life.

But some things, as the Pie Maker had learned at a very early age, can’t be helped.

“Crowley” he greeted him tiredly, sitting down next to him.

“Hello, Squirrel.”

He expected to be taunted about having run off the other night, but Crowley said nothing.

He narrowed his eyes. “What is it?”

“A case, of course. What did you think?”

Dean looked at Charlie. She raised her hands. “I know, I know. I’m gonna go do my job.”

“So what are the facts?” Dean asked as soon as she’d gotten up.

The facts were these.

Tommy Collins, twenty-one years, eleven months, thirteen days and ten hours old, self-sufficient caretaker of his family, had been found dead at his place of work, a construction site, in the middle of the night when he had no reason to be there.

The fact that the murder weapon – a hammer – found next to his body didn’t come from the scene of the crime, but was the hammer kept in the Collins family home, led suspicion to fall on Hailey Collins, Tommy’s sister, twenty years, two weeks and ten minutes old.

Their little brother Ben Collins, eighteen years, four months, fourteen weeks and twenty hours old, didn’t have the money to offer a reward, but the people in their neighbourhood, fond of the whole family, had collected money.

Which had naturally caught a certain PI’s eyes.

Hailey Collins looked pale but determined when they went to see her in custody.

“I would never hurt Tommy” she assured them. “Our parents died when we were young; we’re all we have.”

Crowley saw Dean swallow out of the corner of his eyes and noted that this might be what he needed to bring up his brother later; but for now, they had to work on the case. 

“Ugh” Dean exclaimed in the morgue when he pulled the sheet back, “I was hoping for a bit more... skull. Not sure if he’ll even be able to talk.”

“We can only try.”

“Of course you would say that” he mumbled, but he still touched Tommy’s hand.

He said up and started talking immediately. “Are Hailey and Ben alright?”

“She’s going to be charged with your murder unless you tell us who did it.”

Even with his face smashed in, he looked shocked. “Hailey? She would never do something like this! We’re all we –“

“Yeah, we heard that already. So who did you in?”

“Is he always like that?” Tommy asked Dean.

“Unfortunately yes.”

He hummed. “It was my boss. Found out he was stealing stuff from the site, as a way to make more money. Wanted to get proof before i went over his head. Didn’t work out to well.”

“Don’t worry, we’ll see that justice is done” Dean said.

“Thank you. Hey, before I have to go, can I ask you to tell Hailey and Ben that I know they’ll be fine and do amazing things?”

Dean’s throat felt tight, and he nodded before touching him gently.

The boss broke down immediately when they confronted him with what they called their “suspicion.”

“Didn’t have enough blood in him for true villainy” Crowley remarked as they watched him being led away by the police.

Dean didn’t really listen. “We should tell his siblings. Or something like it, anyway.”

“You mean the thing about them doing their best?” Crowley asked, looking bored.

“Yes! It’s their brother’s last message!”

Crowley shrugged. “I couldn’t get away from my half-brother fast enough. We’re not in contact anymore.”

Dean turned to look at him, but he wasn’t really seeing him; no, he was seeing a small boy with a big smile and a book in his hands, “Dean, will you read to me?”

“Haven’t talked to Sammy in ages” he replied roughly.

“Who’s Sammy?”

He snapped out of it, but the damage was done.

“My brother” he said curtly, but sadly, that didn’t seem to deter Crowley.

“You’ve never mentioned him before.”

“There was no reason to. As I said, we haven’t talked in ages.”

“So you were never that close?”

When he was silent, Crowley sighed. “Come on. Can’t eb that bad.”

“It is” he snapped. “And I don’t want to talk about it.”

Well, that hadn’t gone well.

But at least Crowley had got an answer. Now he knew that yes, Dean definitely had a brother, and there was a history behind it. Had they had a fight? Must have been a bad one, in that case; or maybe they’d never really seen eye to eye... No, he couldn’t imagine that. Not with Dean. Now, him and Oskar, that had been something totally different.

Alright then. He’d laid the ground stock; now he had to slowly extract more information as time went on.

Shouldn’t be too difficult.

But, the PI learned over the course of that spring, it was rather difficult. The Pie Maker, angry at himself for allowing even so much to slip past his lips, was more determined than ever not to talk about his past; and so Crowley was doomed to wait and hope and pounce whenever there was a chance for information. Which meant that he went to the Pie hole at least two times a week, even if there was no case, much to Charlie’s delight, who was still trying to find a pie he liked.

“Everything, please, everything but strawberry again” he was pleading one day.

She huffed. “Strawberries are delicious.”

“That’s your job to say, you’re a waitress.”

Unimpressed, she threatened to stalk off until he casually said, “I think you’re right. Dean misses his brother.”

Her face softened. “I knew it. He used to talk about him all the time when we were kids, and then after graduation he just... disappeared.”

“You found him again, though.”

She looked away. “I might have... there was some trouble, you know. I am quite good with computers and I needed to lay low for a while, and when I came here... I saw the sign, and just went in. It reminded me of Dean. Small wonder, really.”

“And then you made him give you a job?”

“You really think – he offered. He saw I was a bit down on my luck. That’s just who he is.”

Crowley was inclined to agree.

But, Charlie agreeing with him or not, Dean still didn’t give him any information.

Until another case came along.

These were the facts.

Matthew Horner, thirty-eight years, four months and six hours old, was found dead in a local bar – according to the blood tests, he was completely sober at the time of his death.

That wasn’t what attracted Crowley to the case, however – apart from the usual reward, naturally.

No, it was that no one could discern the cause of death.

He had never been able to withstand a good puzzle.

Which might also have explained his fascination with Dean Winchester, Pie Maker and very lonely man.

Dean should have been relieved that the case, despite certain weird details, was an open and shut one, but he couldn’t.

Because it had been Matthew Horner’s brother, chemist, who had poisoned him with a difficult to trace and even more difficult to pronounce substance, and now he couldn’t stop thinking about Sammy.

Maybe it was weird that he’d dealt better about the siblings who actually loved each other than the ones who had hated one another, since he and Sam had been close until he drew away –

No. No that wasn’t strange at all.

Because ever since he had left home, one of his persistent fears had been that Sam had grown to hate him in their years of silence.

Hell, Sam almost didn’t go to his high school graduation, but Bobby insisted on it. Dean hadn’t been supposed to know, but he’d eavesdropped. Accidentally, of course.

“Hey”. A gentle touch on his arm. “Where did you just go, Squirrel?”

He blinked. Crowley sounded... almost worried? “Just thinking, that’s all.”

Crowley looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “You need a drink” he decided.

Dean Winchester was sixteen years, eight months, two weeks, four hours and thirty-four minutes old and had just woken up with the worst headache he had ever experienced when he made a very wise decision, given the circumstances that had shaped his life.

He’d be very careful how much he drank in the future.

However, as good a decision as it was, it left him with little to no resistance to hard drinks, especially Craig that had aged for thirty years.

“Dude” Dean said, his eyes widening, ”You have a mansion.”

“And?”

“And what? You have a mansion.”

“I like to have space.”

“He likes – why am I not surprised?” Dean muttered. “Could freaking well feed an army, but stays on his own.”

“You prefer your own company as well.”

“So I don’t make any stupid mistakes and wake the dead, there’s a difference – why are we here anyway, and not in a bar? I was under the impression you’d buy me a drink. Should have known better –“

“Do you really think I don’t have better taste in alcohol?”

That shut Dean up.

Still, the pit bull who came to greet them as soon as Crowley unlocked the door was somewhat of a surprise.

“Did you miss Papa?” Crowley cooed – actually cooed – at her. “This is Dean. Dean, this is Juliet.”

“Hello... Juliet” he said, somewhat lamely, but how else was he supposed to react?

He decided he’d had enough for the day. “Where did you say the alcohol was?”

Crowley would never have guessed that Dean Winchester was the type to get drunk after only two glasses of Craig, but here they were.

Dean giggled. Actually giggled, and normally Crowley would have been disgusted, but instead he couldn’t take his eyes off of him. “You know I normally never drink this stuff because I’m afraid I might do something stupid like try to dig up Dad”.

At least that was what Crowley thought he said; his pronunciation wasn’t exactly the clearest anymore. “Your father? Why not your mother?”

“Because I didn’t kill her and anyway, already did that” Dean laughed again and then, without a pause, he started to sob.

Crowley really had no idea what to do.

Thankfully, Dean saved him the trouble of finding out by leaning against him and crying himself to sleep after telling him his life’s story, while the P.I. did his best to try and stay calm.

That night, a drunk and very sad Pie Maker fast asleep in his lap, as he made his tenth attempt to make them both comfortable because he didn’t want Dean to wake up alone, Fergus Crowley made a discovery he’d much rather not have.

Despite years of trying to prove to the world that he didn’t, he still had a heart.

And it beat suspiciously faster ever since Dean had touched him for the first time.

When he woke up, he almost felt like he was sixteen and hung-over in his bedroom at Bobby’s house again.

Mostly because he had never felt that sick quite again.

At least he’d made it home, thought; he was lying in bed, and –

He heard a faint noise of clattering from what must have been the kitchen. He pried his eyes open –

And realized he wasn’t in his bed, but still lying on Crowley’s couch, actually tucked in.

The thought of Crowley doing this for him caused him to – feel – something.

He was too hung over for this.

Hell, Crowley had even left a glass of water and some painkillers on the table in front of him.

Dear God, what had happened last night?

He was dressed at least, so not.. that, Thank God; but everything else was on the table...

Problem was, because he had all but stopped drinking when he was sixteen, he had no idea what kind of drunk he was.

When he entered the kitchen, Crowley was making breakfast, and he frowned.

“Trust me, you’ll want some soon enough.”

“You seem to know more about being hang over than I.”

“The wisdom of experience, my friend.”

“More like the experience of old age.”

Crowley shot him a dirty look. Dean grinned. At least he could annoy the P.I. while he was waiting to feel better.

He was right, too; once he sat down and the pain meds kicked in, the smell of the bacon Crowley was making caused his stomach to remember that food was actually good for him.

They were quiet as they ate; Dean was thankful to Crowley for not –

“So” he said cheerfully, “Want to tell me about how you killed your father when you were ten?”

Dean almost choked on a piece of bacon.

When he was done coughing, he stared at Crowley in horror. “What the –“

“You mentioned it yesterday – as far as I could make out what you were rambling on about. Just so you know, you’re a weepy drunk.”

Dean pushed his plate away, not feeling hungry anymore in the slightest.

“Come on. It was just a question.”

“How – how is that just a question?”

“It is because you were a child, and I know about your powers. You didn’t want to.”

“You’ve figured it out, haven’t you.”

Not that Dean was surprised; he couldn’t remember his drunken ramblings, but Crowley was clever.

“Let’s just say, I assume you were young, you knew you could bring the dead back to live, but you had no idea about the terms and conditions?”

He nodded, and then suddenly, he started talking.

He’d never told anyone; he’d never revealed this one, this terrible secret, had indeed sworn that he never would after he’d tried to explain it to Uncle Bobby and he’d simply ruffled his hair and hugged him, thinking he was just a traumatized kid.

When he was done, he looked away.

As the Pie Maker unburdened himself, Crowley found himself not only listening attentively, but also experiencing another emotion he had no longer considered himself capable of.

He wanted to comfort him.

He was surprised when Crowley gently squeezed his shoulder. “That... cannot have been easy.”

He sounded as astonished at his own compassion as Dean felt. He looked at him. “It wasn’t. Never really touched someone else after that.”

“And your brother?”

“He doesn’t know, of course. “Hey Sammy, it’s me, remember the big brother who more or less abandoned you as soon as he turned eighteen? I also killed our parents. How’s life?””

“You didn’t kill your parents.”

Dean huffed.

“You didn’t kill your parents” he said firmly, still surprised at himself. “Your mother died of natural causes, and you didn’t know your father had to died so she could live on.”

“I could have brought him back.”

“And killed your brother? I don’t think so.”

“Do you have to be so damn logical about it?” Dean argued, but the corners of his lips lifted up slightly. “I am trying to blame myself for everything that’s gone wrong in my life here.”

“And I’m not going to allow it.” After a pause, Crowley added, “Your talent does bring home the money, after all.”

Dean snorted. “Yes, am I glad that I can make sure you can buy more of these needlessly expensive suits.”

“Some of us like to be well-dressed, thank you” Crowley replied.

Hangover and all, Dean felt much better than he had expected to when he left the P.I.’s place that morning.

If only things could go smoothly for a few days...

Things did not go smoothly.

Competition is  fact of life in the business world, and when a new sweets store opened on the opposite side of the street, Dean didn’t think much of it.

Until suddenly, fewer people than before came to eat his pies and he found out through a faithful old client that Dick Roman, owner of Bitter Sweets, had been spreading rumours about his ingredients.

It would have been much worse if he had known the truth – that Dean used formerly rotten fruits brought to life again after a touch in many of his pies – but still.

Crowley had been busy with a fraud case and didn’t know what was going on, and anyway, the Pie Maker decided he could very well deal with that on his own.

Sadly, when he went to confront Dick Roman, he found him dead in his office; he’s just woken him up to question him when the police burst in and he could only touch him again to keep his secret.

Sadly, this meant that he was found with his hands on the corpse of a recently murdered man.

“Run that by me again, Squirrel. You were dumb enough not only to go there alone, but when you found him your first instinct was to bring him back to life? I thought you didn’t like to do that:”

“I thought while I was there I could make myself useful” Dean hissed, “And you know whose fault it is that I’m used to it –“

“I’m not the one in the jail cell, am I”.

“Are you going to help me or not?” Dean asked through gritted teeth. “I have money saved from all our cases, and –“

“Do you really think I’d ask you for money?” Crowley interrupted him, staring at him.

Dean stared right back.

What followed was the most awkward minute of their entire acquaintance, with Crowley suddenly remembering that he was a heartless bastard and clearing his throat. “I meant to say that you are an asset I can’t afford to lose.”

“Yes. Yes of course.”

Crowley said goodbye soon after that.

Unbeknownst to the Pie Maker, the P.I. had a plan.

“Charlie” Crowley said, bursting through the doors of Pie Hole.

“Crowley. How is he?”

“What?”

“I know you went to see Dean. What else would you do? So. How. Is. He.”

“He’s... holding up” he supplied.

Charlie nodded. “I’ll visit him myself later, of course, but still. Now – you have a plan. I can tell from the twinkle in your eye.”

“Dean told me you were good with computers” he replied without beating around the bush. “Illegally good.”

“Traitor” she muttered. “What do you need?”

“Dean is going to need a very good lawyer. Now, I was wondering if his brother’s interest in law had caused him to...”

“What makes you think I would know?”

He shot her an unimpressed look.

“Alright, maybe I did my research. So what?”

“Don’t you think this would be a good opportunity to reunite two estranged brothers and get Dean the legal aid he needs?”

Two days later, Crowley was in Florida.

So this was where the younger Winchester worked. Crowley studied the law firm from across the street. According to his research, they were the up and coming stars of the branch; that certainly told him something about Sam’s ambitions.

It also meant he had to be good at what he did, and Dean needed an excellent lawyer if he was supposed to get out of the scrape he had gotten himself in.

Feeling that he probably wouldn’t like being ambushed in his office, Crowley waited until he went out to lunch.

Hm. Interesting. Apparently he preferred his own company. Well, it just made it easier.

To Crowley’s surprise, Sam Winchester didn’t get lunch, but instead walked to a nearby park where he sat down on a bench.

“Clearing your head, MR. Winchester?” he asked.

Sam jumped up and turned to face him. “Who are you?”

“Name’s Crowley, I’m a P.I. from Lawrence, Kansas.”

Something like comprehension flashed across the younger man’s face before it settled into a blank mask. “And?”

“And your brother is the only suspect in a murder case and needs help” he replied. Better to rip off the band-aid immediately.

“Dean is what?”

“He is –“

“No, I heard you. But what do you want me to do about it?”

“You’re the lawyer” he reminded him.

“And Dean hasn’t talked to me in years. Do you expect me to jump to his rescue?”

Crowley shrugged. “i assumed some kind of brotherly feeling still lingered in your chest. Not my fault if I was wrong. I thought it couldn’t hurt to try.”

He could have spend more time trying to convince him to help, but frankly, he had better things to do. Like getting Dean out of jail himself, if this hot-shot lawyer didn’t want to help.

Still, one last shot –

“I’ll be going” he said, “By the way, did you ever notice something strange about your childhood dog? Lancelot, was it?”

With these words, he left him there.

Or would have.

Because after he’d made a few steps Sam ran after him and grabbed his arm. “How do you know about Lancelot?”

These were the facts.

Sam Winchester was by no means an exceptional boy; he was smart, but he also loved playing with his big brother, both of his parents, and the dog they had gotten him for his birthday very much.

Losing one’s parents at the age of six years, three months, ten weeks, three days and nine minutes was not easy; but Uncle Bobby’s carer and love soon made him Sam smile again, and of course he still had Lancelot.

Who over time became more important than ever because Dean refused to speak to him, even months after they had moved to Sioux Falls.

By the time Dean turned eighteen and left, Sam believed himself to be thoroughly indifferent. He’d lost his big brother the day he’d lost his parents, and he had to live with it.

What he didn’t expect was how much he would miss him, regardless.

And then there was something else.

By the time he himself became eighteen and went on to study pre-law, it had become clear that Lancelot hadn’t aged ever since he had reached adulthood.

“I have my ways” Crowley said simply.

“I –“ Sam swallowed. “But Dean can’t know, Dean moved out –“

“You’d be surprised.”

Sam swallowed again. “Fine. You’re buying me lunch.”

Normally Crowley wouldn’t have been too keen on spending money on anyone but himself, but Sam suddenly seemed a lot more amenable, and he had to try, as long as there was a chance.

He told himself he only cared about Sam being a good enough lawyer to get Dean out, and that he wasn’t thinking about the night a drunken Pie Maker had cried to him about his brother.

“But Dean can’t have told you” Sam argued once they’d found a small restaurant and sat down. “I only noticed myself after he’d left.”

“How old is Lancelot?” Crowley asked carefully.

“Twenty-two; and the last vet I took him to thought he was about five” Sam admitted.

“I assume you no longer take him to the vet.”

“It’s better that way.” Sam hesitated. “Did Dean – no, he was just a kid himself. He can’t have –“

“You’d be surprised what you don’t know about your brother.”

“He’s in jail on his birthday too” Sam mumbled, and it was only then that Crowley learned what day it was.

So Dean had been born in January. Instinctively, he wondered how old he was, exactly – only to tell himself that it was of no importance.

“Did he hire you to prove he’s innocent?” Sam asked. Dean, Crowley thought, would at least take some comfort from knowing that his little brother had automatically assumed he was innocent, no matter how their little chat ended.

“No. We’re... business partners” he said carefully.

Sam frowned. “Last thing I heard, Dean had become a baker.”

“Pie maker” he corrected him automatically. “Yes, but he also helps me out on cases now and then.”

“Is this how he got in trouble?”

“Kind of.”

Sam nodded. “Dean always had a talent to do just that.”

“He has been very... helpful to me” Crowley continued. “And since he wouldn’t be in this predicament if we had never made our deal, I considered it only fair that...”

He trailed off when he saw the look Sam gave him. “What?”

“Nothing. It’s just.-.. if you’re more than partners, you can tell me. I’m not a homophobe.”

“We aren’t-. We’re just... friends.”

He had never called anyone his friend in his entire life.

Sam didn’t look convinced, but thankfully he changed the topic. “What exactly do they think Dean did?”

Crowley told him. 

Dean was getting nervous. This had been the second day in a row without a call or a visit from Crowley. Charlie, of course, came to see him daily, but she couldn’t tell him anything about what he was up to, either, and he was getting the impression that he as being left behind since he was no longer useful.

Not that he’d expected anything else. Crowley had only ever been i9n it for his own gain, and Dean had known that. One drunken night of him crying about how his curse had ruined his life before it had even really begun wouldn’t change anything.

It only felt like it had fro Dean.

He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care that Crowley had indeed only been in it for the money, but then...

Crowley might not have been the nicest guy around, but he had been around. They had spent so much time together that Dean would probably have called him a friend if he had to.

It also didn’t help that Charlie was decidedly nervous on this day.

“What’s wrong, Bradbury?” he finally asked.

She bit her lip. “Remember how I am the best friend you ever had and that I’ve always been loyal to you?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Good. I want you to remember that for a second longer.”

“Charlie, what the –“

The door opened and the guard showed two more people in. “Fifteen minutes.”

Dean barely heard him.

Because standing next to Crowley was –

“Sammy?”

“Dean” he said neutrally. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you.”

He winced. He deserved that, for what he had done, of course, but still –

He looked at Charlie. “You helped Crowley find him, didn’t you.”

“As a matter of fact, I would have found him on my own, but Miss Bradbury happened to already know where he lives and works” Crowley supplied.

Dean looked at her, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes. Of course she had known. Of course she had.

“We’ll talk about this when I’m out of here” he said flatly.

“Alright, first of all, why are you in a cell to begin with?” Sam asked.

So that was it, then. Simply a client-lawyer meeting. And what else could have been expecting, even if he had known Sam was coming? He’d cut him out of his life deliberately to protect them both.

Charlie was frowning at Sam. “That’s all? You see your brother for the first time in years and that is your reaction?”

“Charlie” he said, throwing Crowley a glance.-

He understood immediately.

“Alright, red, let’s get out of here and allow them to talk.”

Charlie understood when arguing was useless.

After the door had closed behind them, Sam asked, “Didn’t you know a Charlie at school? You mentioned her from time to time – when I could get you to talk.”

“That’s her. She found me – ran into my place, really.”

Crowley told me you were a Pie Maker.” After a pause, Sam added, “Would have been nice to be given the option to learn that from yourself, just saying.”

Dean sighed. “Look, Sammy, I can’t give you an explanation. If you can’t live with that, you should leave.”

“But why?” he asked. “Dean, you and Uncle Bobby were all I had, except for Lancelot. And you just... you lived with us, but it was as if you weren’t really there anymore. Why can’t you just tell me –“

“trust me” he said tiredly, “Even if I did, you wouldn’t believe me.”

Sam hesitated, then swallowed. “Does it have something to do with Lancelot?”

“Lancelot? Why?”

“Because Crowley mentioned him and... and...” Sam looked around the empty room as if to make extra sure no one was listening. “Dean. I know how this will sound, but I think my dog is immortal.”

“Lancelot’s still alive?” Dean asked, surprised. Weren’t dogs supposed to die when they were about twenty?

“Yes. He just... stopped aging when he stopped growing. When someone asks, I just act as if I called him the same name.”

“Smart.”

HE didn’t acknowledge the compliment. “Dean... do you know something about this? Crowley made it seem like you did. And if you – does it – is there a reason you just walked out on us as if we’d been nothing but your roommates? Bobby still asks if I’ve heard from you occasionally.”

Dean swallowed, his heart beating fast. He couldn’t tell him, he couldn’t let his brother know that he’d killed their parents... and anyway, he couldn’t prove anything, and why should Sam believe him?

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Sam, yes, there is a reason. But it’s pretty incredible, and I can’t prove anything while I’m in here. If I get out and you still want to hear the truth, I will show you. I promise.”

Sam turned his head, suddenly looking like the little boy Dean recalled playing with Lancelot.” You promised we’d always be friends, once” he said quietly.

“And I meant it, then. All of this... happened later. But I will keep this promise.”

Sam looked at him, then gave a short, sharp nod. “Alright. Let’s get you out of here.”

There are no boundaries for what a few clever minds, once they put their heads together, can do; and Sam Winchester was indeed, as Crowley had imagined, an excellent, albeit young, lawyer.

“My brother is innocent” Sam insisted. “The autopsy report says Mr. Roman must have been killed one to two hours before the police found him. Do you really think he stayed near the body of the man he’d murdered for an hour?”

“Maybe your brother was looking for something” the police man insisted.

Crowley sighed and dragged both Charlie and Sam out of the place. When Sam tried to protest, he shook his head. “I know the type. We won’t get him out unless we present the murderer to him on a silver platter.”

“Thank God you’re good at your job” Charlie said.

“I am.”

Still, Crowley thought, someone like Dick Roman was bound to have made a few enemies along the way.

This proved to be true later that day, when they broke into his office, Sam quietly complaining. “Is this what you drag my brother into on a regular basis? Small wonder he’s in jail –“

“Would you stop nagging at me for one second? I’m trying to get him out, for Christ’s sake –“

“Nothing so far in here” Charlie, who had happily agreed to breaking and entering and had immediately hacked into Roman’s computer as soon as they entered the room, reported.

“Good, now let’s see –“

Crowley went through the desk while Sam automatically searched through the files in the drawer.

“I can’t believe it” he breathed two minutes later.

“What is it, Moose?”

He stared at Crowley.

“Squirrel is already in use.”

“Yeah, right... anyway, the guy has a binder labelled “death threats.””

“That’s useful” Charlie said.

“Yes, but don’t you think this is... weird?” Sam asked.

“You clearly haven’t talked to your brother yet” Crowley mumbled as he took the file out of his hands.

“What is that supposed to mean –“

“Let’s see” Crowley said, “We can discount the extremely angry ones – they usually just bark. But the subtle ones...”

“How do you know that?” Sam demanded. “You can’t just –“

“I’ve been in this business for quite a while.”

Sam shook his head, clearly disapproving, but there was nothing he could do but hope that Crowley was right.

They returned to the Pie Hole with the binder tucked firmly under Crowley’s arm.

“This is depressing” Charlie decided half an hour later, “I don’t think anyone liked this guy – this one’s from his own mother.”

“That’s what happens during a family feud” Crowley said pleasantly.- “My own mother wanted to kill me.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Trust me I do.”

Sam looked at them, then apparently decided he wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole and just shook his head.

Eventually, he said, “Wait... this one sounds about right.”

“Why?” Crowley asked, taking the letter. “Hm... business-like, so he means it... Okay, that does sound nasty... Oh, and it’s Arthur Ketch! I should have known.”

“Known what?”

“To call Arthur Ketch a asshole of a coyote would be an insult to the baby snatchers.”

Sam blinked. “Alright. I am going to ignore about fifty percent of what you’re saying from now on.”

“My mother always fared well with that technique” he conceded, anticipating the meeting with Ketch already; he always felt like this when he knew he was getting close, and of course this time something was at stake, Dean was at stake. “We need to go see Arthur ketch. Now.”

Charlie was already getting up when Sam said, “Wait. You think this guy has committed murder... and you’re going to accuse him to his face? Did I get that right?”

“Of course, Moose. What else are we supposed to do?”

“You...” Sam sighed. “What did my brother get himself into?”

“Don’t worry, we’re getting him out” Charlie said cheerfully.

Sam didn’t answer, but he still accompanied them. 

Arthur Ketch welcomed them into his office.

Crowley had made a few deals with him over the years – although none since he had met Dean, he realized – and had come to thoroughly dislike the man. He could have lived with his cold and conniving nature – after all, both were insults that were routinely thrown at Crowley himself – but there was something slimy in his attitude, something begging for approval, and that he could not abide.

“Mr Crowley! Long time no see.”

“Indeed” he answered, rolling his eyes; as always, Ketch had made sure his accent sounded even more British than it had to. Compared to him, Crowley himself sounded almost American.

“What can I do for you – and your friends?” he asked, his eyes sliding over Sam and Charlie with equal hunger.

Now, Crowley had never condemned any sexuality – one of the few things he wasn’t was a hypocrite – but he’d never liked the way Ketch looked at people he found attractive.

Thankfully, the disdain between them was mutual.

“Did you hear of Dick Roman’s death?” he asked.

“Oh yes. A tragic loss to the business world” he answered, but his eyes were laughing.

He didn’t think they could prove anything.

“What do you say to this”? Crowley asked, holding out a copy of Ketch’s letter.

He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, I am sure Mr. Roman got a lot of those. It would have been far more suspicious if there hadn’t been one of mine, don’t you think?”

Crowley had to admit he was right, but then he’d always thought Ketch was clever.

“He definitely did it” Charlie decided as soon as they left the building. “Did you see that murderous gleam in his eyes? Haven’t seen that since Khan decided to hurt Kirk by –“

“Are you using –“ Sam began, but Crowley interrupted him.

“Yes, he definitely did it, the problem is we need proof.”

“Do we have to break into the morgue?” Charlie asked, her eyes sparkling.

She was enjoying herself a bit too much, Crowley decided. “No need to break in, I have my methods.”

“Of course you do” Sam muttered, if only to himself.

Soon enough, they were at the morgue.

“He was strangled alright” Crowley said calmly.

Even if Dean hadn’t been disturbed, Roman probably wouldn’t have been able to talk.

“So do you think the killer left DNA?” Charlie asked while Sam just eyed the corpse.

“He was definitely strangled with some kind of cord, so good luck with that”.

“There has to be something... what about his personal effects?”

Charlie was remarkably efficient, Crowley reflected as she went through everything that had been found on the body (once again, it hadn’t been difficult to get there, thanks to his contacts within law enforcement). They should bring her along more often.

“I knew it! Someone like this guy wouldn’t walk around without protecting himself – or rather, without making sure he got proof of people threatening him” Charlie announced with a flourish as he held up –

“His tie?” Sam asked. “What –“

“A small recording device sown in, I presume?” Crowley asked calmly, even though he was angry at himself that he hadn’t been the one to find it.

He’d been too worried about Dean.

He should probably spend some time alone after this, he decided. The Pie Maker was taking up way too much of his thoughts, these past few weeks.

That same evening, the doors of the jail opened for the Pie Maker as they closed behind Mr. Ketch for good.

But he couldn’t feel quite as happy about that as he should have been.

Because he knew his brother would ask him a question, and that he would have to give the dreaded answer this time.

Charlie had immediately drawn him into an enthusiastic hug. Dean’s eyes met Crowley’s as she was still trying to squeeze all the jail air out of his lungs, and they nodded at one another.

After she’d let go, he turned to his brother, who seemed conflicted whether to hug him as well.

He’d clear that up, at least.

“It’s time to keep my promise, isn’t it” Dean sighed, sure that Sam would run for the hills – if not because of his powers, then because of what he’d only ever told Crowley – that their parents’ deaths were his fault.

But still –

It was only fair Sam should get to hear the story from Dean.

And then there was someone else –

He turned to Charlie.

She’d been his friend long enough; if he was being honest, she had grounded him, given him a reason to get up in the morning, always cheerful, always friendly, even on the darkest of days.

“Charlie... I think you’ll want to hear this too.”

“Here” Crowley said dramatically as he put two cages on the table, one containing a dead rat, and one another who was very much alive.

“Dude, that’s my kitchen – wait did you –“

“Relax, Juliet caught them. She was a bit overenthusiastic –“

“Juliet?” Sam asked.

“His dog” Dean answered. “She and Lancelot would get along great, I bet.”

Sam looked sceptical.

“So what are you trying to prove here?” Charlie asked. “I fully expected you to blow a fuse, but seriously – only one comment? What are the rats –“

“Because this makes it easy” Dean sighed. “Thanks, Crowley. Although I could have done with insects or something –“

“Juliet is rather big for her breed, how is she supposed to –“

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you. Let’s get this over with.”

Dean sat down and looked at the cages. This was it. In a minute, he’d either have lost his brother and his best friend in one swoop, or...

Or...

He had no idea.

He almost jumped when Crowley squeezed his shoulder – in support, as he realized, feeling Sam’s eyes on them.

He cleared his throat. “Sammy, I promised you I’d tell you the truth and here I am. Would you please make sure the rat is truly dead?”

“What is this, some crazy magic trick`?” he asked.

“Please, Sam. It’s important.”

With obvious confusion, Sam made certain that the animal was dead. Juliet had done a thorough job.

“Now what –“

Dean reached through the bars and touched the rat.

IT jumped up immediately.

Sam sprang up too, his eyes wide. “What...”

“Please, wait a minute” Dean begged, “Just a minute”.

Since he was telling Sam the truth, he was determined to tell him the whole truth.

He didn’t look at him, instead he watched the seconds tick by on his cell phone.

A minute passed.

He didn’t have to see it to know the other rat had just died.

When he raised his head, Sam was staring at the two cages, his mouth hanging open. “But... how...”

“This is what I did to Lancelot” Dean explained, suddenly feeling very tired. “I was a child, and I didn’t know. I suppose an animal from around our neighbourhood died.”

Sam was still staring at the rats. “But then... Lancelot already died once” he said slowly, “And you brought him back.”

“Yes. There are only two rules: I touch something I brought back, it dies again and forever this time; and if that something stays alive for more than a minute, well...” he gestured towards the now-dead rat before finally meeting Sam’s eyes again.

And what he saw in them was a suspicion, almost knowledge –

“When – when Mom and Dad – did you?” He couldn’t finish the question.

Dean laughed, sharp and bitter; Crowley’s hand came to rest at the small of his back and he barely even noticed. “Yes. Yes I did. Why do you think they both died on the same day? Mom just – collapsed and I didn’t know. I didn’t know what would happen. Dad came back at that moment, and – she touched me when she tried to get to him...”

He stopped talking. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had said made any sense, but his brother seemed to have understood.

Sam looked at him.

Then, without a word, he got up and left.

Only when a drop landed on his hand did Dean realize he’d started to cry.

How freaking embarrassing, that was the second time he bawled in front of Crowley, plus his best friend –

Charlie had yet to say anything. He wondered if she’d leave to, closing his eyes.

He heard her indeed get up, but the next moment, she gathered him in her arms. “It wasn’t your fault” she muttered into his hair, “You were just a kid. Like you said. It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean heard Crowley mumble something about “Taking care of those” and understood he was carrying the rats away.

“He’s never going to forgive me, is he” he mumbled into Charlie’s shoulder.

He thought Crowley had already left, but from the direction of the door he still heard his reply, “It would be his loss if he didn’t.”

Dean didn’t know how long he cried for, but when he was done, he drew back and sniffled. “Sorry, Charlie. I’ll pay for the shirt.”

“Don’t be overdramatic, it’s nothing. Are you feeling better?”

He nodded. At least his secret was out, now. At least that burden was gone.

“You know” she grinned, “It’s actually kind of cool to have a boss with superpowers.”

“Not that cool to have them” he answered simply.

She immediately grew serious again. “Of course. Is that why you don’t like touching people?”

“Yes. If I get used – if I get too attached – God knows what I might do:”

“You’d do the right thing. You always do.”

He snorted. “Pretty sure my parents would disagree.”

2Dean, look at me. You were a child, and you didn’t know. This isn’t your fault.”

“But what if – “

“No what ifs. You were a kid, you were scared, and you didn’t know what to do. I am certain Sam will see it that way eventually.”

“Or not and he’s calling CNN right now to talk about his brother’s magical touch.”

“He won’t do that, Dean. Trust me-“

“I am trying my best” he promised.

At least when they came to drag him into the spotlight he’d have his best friend by his side.

“I’m sorry” Dean finally said after he had calmed down. “I didn’t mean to –“

“Hey, it’s alright. We all need a shoulder to cry on sometimes... Although I’m not sure Crowley didn’t want to be that particular shoulder today.”

“He’s probably glad you provided him with an out” he said.

“Oh, hush. Don’t think I haven’t see the eye sex.”

Dean shook his head. “What if Sam never comes back?”

“Then I agree with Crowley. It would be his loss.”

“How are you not freaking out about this?” he asked. “I just proved to you that I can bring the dead back to live, my brother ran away, and yet you’re still here –“

“Dean, I’ve spent my whole life playing D&D and wishing magic was real. I won’t freak out because I learn it is.”

“That’s... actually pretty good” Deans aid carefully. He wasn’t used to good things happening to him.

“Exactly, good things do happen. Sam will return, you just have to give him time.”

He wanted to believe her, but he still wasn’t quite sure he could.

Fergus Crowley knew that it had been the right thing to leave Charlie and Dean alone. She had known him far longer than Crowley, and she would know how to calm him down.

After all, the one time Dean cried in front of him, he’d been drunk.

Still, what worried him far more was that feeling that had once more settled in his gut.

He wanted to be the one to comfort the Pie Maker, to make him feel better.

He was not used to such emotions, and he didn’t want to get used to them.

The problem was that he suspected he would have to, if he and Dean Winchester continued their... association.

Charlie had finally left him alone at his own insistence. Dean had wanted to be alone with his thoughts, only for a while.

As he watched darkness descend over the city through his living room window, he thought of Sam. Was he safe? Had he found a hotel? If not, where was he staying?

All his old sense of protection had returned the second he’d set eyes on Sam, but what could he do? He’d probably never see him again. If only he hadn’t demanded answers...

For a second, he was almost angry at Crowley for bringing his brother into this. But he’d only wanted his best. In the end, it wasn’t his fault.

No, it was Dean’s fault. Dean’s and his powers.

Quite strangely, he found himself wishing Crowley was here. True, he’d looked after him when he was drunk, but that didn’t mean Dean enjoyed his company.

At least that was what he was busy telling himself when there was a knock on the door.

Theoretically, the P.I. knew there was very little he could do about the situation with Dean’s brother, and that he shouldn’t interfere.

And yet he found himself in front of his door, wondering what he was doing. He’d never really felt the need to comfort or be there for anyone, so why now? Why him?

He had not yet found the answers to these questions when the Pie Maker opened the door.

“Crowley?”

“Squirrel. I was nearby and thought I’d check how the family reunion is going...”

It was the wrong thing to say, he could read it in Dean’s face.

“Wonderful. When even you are feeling sorry for me –“

“I’m not feeling sorry for you. I assure you I got rid of such emotions a long time ago.”

At least Dean laughed at that. “Might as well come in. I’ve been experimenting on a few new flavours; you can tell me if you like them.”

He frowned. “Pie, I assume.”

“Yes, pie, Mr. Not Sweet Tooth. Come on.”

Although the P.I. would never have admitted it, at this point he would have done anything to make the Pie Maker feel better; and so he decided to taste the sweets he normally would have scorned.

After three pies, it became clear that Crowley wouldn’t be as easily won over as Charlie had always assumed he would.

Dean still didn’t give up. It gave him something else to think about than Sammy out there.

“And this” he announced with a flourish, “Is a peach pie. You’ll love it.”

“That’s what you said about the other three” Crowley complained.

“Never give up, that’s what I say. There’s the right sort of pie out there for everyone if one just knows how to make them right. Now, come on; try the peach pie.”

Crowley sighed but did as he was told.

And then, on this day, in the kitchen of the man who baked pies and woke the dead, a miracle occurred.

Fergus Crowley found that he liked it.

“There it is” Dean said with satisfaction.

“i haven’t said anything.”

“Do you really think an old pie professional like me doesn’t know immediately?”

He had to concede the point. “It is good.”

“Charlie will be angry that she wasn’t here, Peaches.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Why? It was the peaches who made the miracle happen, wasn’t it?”

Crowley grumbled a bit about it, but there was nothing he could do now that he had admitted the impossible was indeed possible.

Crowley knew that he was probably outstaying his welcome, but Dean seemed to feel better and better as time went on and for some reason he still couldn’t name that made him feel good, in turn.

They were currently watching some awful medical drama that Dean was riveted by and Crowley was rather sure had been created directly in Hell to torment him.

“And why is he wearing cowboy boots, that’s hardly appropriate – “

“Crowley, this isn’t supposed to be accurate.”

“But why should I carte then –“

“For God’s sake you’re just supposed to have fun and lust after Doctor Sexy. So why don’t you do that.”

“Because I do not find Doctor Sexy particularly sexy.”

“Excuse you, he wears cowboy boots.”

“In that case perhaps I should invest in some hideous footwear” he drawled.

Dean looked at him and – was that a blush?

Yes, he was definitely blushing.

How ... interesting.

Dean’s gaze wandered down to his lips. Without meaning to, he licked them.

Dean’s eyes snapped back to his.

They leaned forward –

A knock on the door.

As the Pie Maker hastened to open the door, the P.I. couldn’t help but wonder what exactly that knock had interrupted – and what they should do about it, if anything at all.

He opened it to find Sam.

“Sammy?”

Without another word, Sam drew him into a hug. Dean stiffened.

“I’m sorry for storming off” his giant of a brother mumbled.

“You had every right to –“

“No I didn’t” he said, letting go of Dean. “I’m sorry, I just – needed some time to take it all in. But you were ten. You weren’t even in high school yet! How were you supposed to know what to do?”

Dean hugged him back, holding on tight.

Crowley cleared his throat behind them. “Well, then, now that the brothers are reunited... exit stage Crowley. Squirrel, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah” he managed to say, turning away from Sam to watch him walk out the door.

Dear God, what had he been about to do when Sam had intervened? He and Crowley were business partners, and to be precise, he’d blackmailed him into that in the first place.

He didn’t even like Crowley, let alone this way.

He didn’t.

“Say” Sam began, drawing back, “That was weird even for Crowley. Did something happen?”

What was he supposed to say? No but almost and I kind of would have wanted it to happen only for the part where I shouldn’t?

“Found a pie he likes. Peach.”

“And that’s strange?”

“For Crowley, yeah. Guy doesn’t like sweets much.”

Sam seemed to accept the explanation. “Can we talk?”

Dean nodded.

The brothers talked until late into the night, slowly learning more about each other. After twenty years of silence, they finally told each other the truth.

“Always knew you’d make it as a lawyer, Sam” Dean said.

“It was as much being stubborn as actually being any good, I’d say”.

“Come off it, you always wanted to go for law, even when we were kids.”

He nodded. “Speaking of when we were kids... So you touched Lancelot?”

Dean winced, but still told him the truth. About how he hadn’t paid attention, the car, Lancelot’s dead body.

“Any idea how long he will...”

“None. I’ve brought no one else back. It’s why I kept my distance.”

Sam nodded. “I can understand, finally. I just thought... I just thought you didn’t care.”

“That’s not true. I cared too much.”

He still feared something would happen to Sam, Bobby, Charlie, Hell, even Crowley, and he’d be faced with the choice to bring them back but know it would mean killing someone else, and that he wouldn’t –

He swallowed and tried to focus on Sam being back in his life. It was more than he’d ever have dared asked for.

“Dean” Sam said slowly, “I was angry at you for years. I won’t deny that. But... I always assumed there had to be a reason. That’s why I came here the second Crowley told me you were in trouble. I knew you couldn’t have done what they said you had.”

“Sammy...”

“It’s true. I mean, Dean – you have superpowers, and yet you still decided to bake pies instead of profiting from them. If that doesn’t tell people what kind of man you are...”

“I do help Crowley” he said sheepishly, because even though most of the time he felt annoyed that the P.I. had blackmailed him into working with him...

The truth was that he enjoyed it, enjoyed solving cases and seeking justice, helping families to heal after a tragedy.

And Crowley wasn’t bad company, either.

He only had to remember what had almost happened to prove that.

He sighed.

“Dean? I did interrupt you and Crowley, didn’t I.”

“Sammy, do me the favour and don’t ask.”

While the brothers were busy forging a new bond, the P.I., who had quickly returned to his own apartment after being interrupted, was busy trying to stomp all traces of a new-forged bond in his heart before it could become a problem.

Being completely unaccustomed to wanting someone more than in a physical manner, he was sadly not up to the task.

Normally when a day hadn’t gone the way he wanted, he would have visited the Pie Hole to see Dean, and that realization told him all he needed to know.

He was already half-way to... having feelings for the younger man, and he hadn’t even realized he’d begun to go down the slippery slope.

Crowley had always been careful not to grow attached to anyone. People simply didn’t seem to fit into his life.

And yet Dean Winchester had somehow managed to find a place for himself in Crowley’s existence.

It didn’t make any sense.

He’d best keep his distance for a few weeks, he decided, and solve a few cases on his own, just until those... feelings went away.

“Don’t look so glum, boss. I’m sure he’ll show up any minute now” Charlie said a few weeks later, but he could tell even her cheerfulness was forced.

There had been no calls or visits from Crowley since the night they had almost kissed, and Dean had early on decided that he had got the message.

That didn’t mean he didn’t at least want to know the guy was okay. Just... a little text or something saying that he was alright would have been quite enough.

Alright, that was a lie, but still, was it too much to ask to at least wanting to be told goodbye after over a year of them solving cases together?

Dean only now realised how much time he had actually spent with Crowley, how many late night stake outs they had had, how often he’d met him in the morgue to wake someone up.

How often they had hung out even after they had solved a case for no other reason than they could.

And Dean only now admitted to himself just how used he’d gotten to the status quo, and that he really wouldn’t have had anything against Crowley kissing him that night.

Of course he’d only know after the P.I. had already fled once and for all. Of course he would.

The one good thing that have come out of all this was that Sam was back in his life. He was even making plans to move back to Kansas, and Dean had talked to Uncle Bobby for the first time in years last week. Only on the phone, but still.

He hadn’t yet confessed the whole truth – was uncertain if he would – but it was a new beginning.

And if Crowley didn’t want to share that with him – that wasn’t Dean’s problem, except where it was.

He sighed.  

“Excuse me” a young man interrupted his thoughts, “Are you called Dean, by any chance?”

He looked up to find a young dark-haired man starting at him. “Depends on who’s asking?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just – my father’s in the hospital, he’s hurt rather badly, and when he woke up for a short while, he mumbled something about “peach pie” and someone named “Dean”, and I didn’t think much of it until I saw this place and thought I might as well ask –“

Dean’s throat felt suddenly dry. He swallowed. “You aren’t – he isn’t – your father’s not a P.I., is he?”

The man’s face told Dean everything.

Ten minutes later, after a hasty explanation to Charlie, who immediately agreed that she would stay behind and look after the Pie Hole, Dean was sitting in a taxi with – Crowley’s son.

“I didn’t know Crowley had a son” were the first words out of his mouth. He winced. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

All his years of staying away from human contact certainly hadn’t helped his social skills.

“It’s fine. Father and I never really got along. Mom raised me on her own, and after she was gone... I didn’t even know he had me listed as his emergency contact.”

“They probably told him he had to have one and he didn’t think he’d need it” Dean said.

“Sounds like him” Gavin said bitterly and he winced.

“I didn’t mean to say – he’s actually a good friend of mine. He –“

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend.”

He frowned. “What?”

“I know my father, and he wouldn’t just ask for any friend upon waking up. Never imagined he’d care enough for anyone to be that important to him, but still...”

“Did he realize you were there?” Dean asked, wondering if Gavin was feeling understandably jealous that his father had asked for someone else instead for him.

“Yes. Even squeezed my hand when I talked to him. The doctors say it’s a good sign.” He fell silent.

After a few moments, Dean asked, “What happened?”

Gavin told him.

The facts were these.

Fergus Crowley, P.I. and at the moment very frustrated man who would have liked to be someone’s lover except he was unable to admit that simple fact to himself, was once more chasing a man over a rooftop.

Except that this time, he was chasing a young man in his prime. Tobias Kemp, twenty-eight years, eleven months, one week, three days and seventy-two minutes old had no intention of falling to his death; and so he managed the jump between two high buildings.

Crowley, to his shame and unwelcome surprise, miscalculated the distance.

As he fell down from almost as high a building as Ellsworth had one the day he had first met Dean, he found he had only two regrets:

Firstly, that he had never tried to build a better relationship with his son.

And second, that he hadn’t kissed Dean that night.

So, when he became semi-conscious and realized one of his regrets might already be on its way to fixed, he uttered the other name that meant the world to him.

Dean didn’t really know what to do. Gavin had introduced him to the nurse’s as his father’s boyfriend – this time he hadn’t protested son he would be allowed in to visit – and gone off in search of the doctor, leaving Dean in Crowley’s room.

Of course he had enough money to get that.

It didn’t seem right to see him all wrapped up in bandages, pale and hurt in a hospital bed. Crowley was always on top of things. Crowley always came through.

“Hey Peaches” he managed to say, “Have to say, you always know how to surprise me. But this one’s not exactly the surprise I wanted.”

He stood at his bed, unsure whether or not to take his hand, then decided to go for it. “I met Gavin. Seems like a good man. By the way, mister, you’ll hear about this when you wake up. Charlie’s going to have your hide for not telling us you had a kid.”

He stuttered when he arrived at the word “when” and hated himself for it. Of course Crowley would wake up. He had to.

Whether or not he had to, he was destined to take his time to decide one way or another. Three weeks later, there had been no changes.

Dean didn’t know what he would have done without Charlie and Sam helping him support Gavin, or talking to Bobby on the phone.

But even with them – at this point, it had become pretty obvious that they knew about his feelings for the guy who had selfishly blackmailed him into solving crimes, and were remarkably relaxed about it – Dean couldn’t deny that sometimes – sometimes he thought...

“Do you think” he asked quietly one day, them having left Gavin at Crowley’s side to go back to the Pie Hole to rest, “if he doesn’t wake up, he’d still like to... wake up for a minute? To say goodbye to Gavin?”

Sam and Charlie traded a glance.

“I think” his brother finally said carefully, “Gavin wouldn’t be the only one he’d wish farewell.”

Dean looked away. His unspoken fear that he wouldn’t be able to –

“If it comes to that” Charlie said suddenly, “And I mean if it comes to that, I’ll be there, and I’ll push you two against one another if need be, so neither you nor Gavin have to feel guilty.”

His throat constricted. “Charlie –“

“It’s the least I can do” she said softly, taking his hand. “Dean, you could have thrown me out when I came here and told you I was being searched for, but you looked after me.”

“And vice versa” he replied.

She nodded. “So what’s one more little favour between friends?”

He laughed for the first time in days.

But there would be no miracle performed by the Pie Maker in order to bestow life upon Crowley for one more tearful minute.

Instead, he’d learn that sometimes miracles simply occur on their own.

For lack of a better thing to do, Dean was reading to Crowley while Gavin took a much-needed nap.

“With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs –“

“Frankenstein, Squirrel, really?”

The book dropped out of his hands. “Crowley?”

“Yes.” He looked at Dean and groaned. “Oh God. Am I alive?”

“Yes” he said, getting up.

“Will I be alive for longer than –“

“I didn’t touch you to bring you back, if that’s what you mean. You’ve been alive this whole time, and if I’ve got any say in the matter, you will be for some years to come!”

He rang for the doctors.

What followed was a flurry of Gavin sto9rming in as well as the professionals, people rejoicing, tests being performed.

It should take another three days for Dean Winchester and Fergus Crowley to be alone in his room together again.

More than enough time for a hardened P.I. to decide exactly what he was going to do.

Gavin had sent Dean in today, claiming that he needed to rest; but Dean had seen the looks he, Charlie and Sam were giving him.

He just didn’t know what they expected to happen. IF Crowley were interested, he’d have come around instead of falling of buildings.

“Hey, Crowley.”

“Dean. Would you please come here?”

He didn’t know what awaited him, but he did sit down on the chair next to Crowley’s bed.

He rolled his eyes. “I meant here” he said, patting the bedding with his right hand that miraculously wasn’t broken.

Dean obeyed, considering he’d almost died a month ago.

“What –“

Crowley gestured impatiently, then grimaced. “Help me out here. I can’t move that well yet.”

“What do you mean –“

“In case you haven’t noticed Squirrel, I take what I want. And right now, you’re slightly out of reach so...”

“Crowley...”

“May I kiss you, Dean?”

His heart started beating wildly. “That... would make everything complicated” he said slowly.

“Yes” Crowley confirmed.

“And I mean, your son is outside. You two will have to figure out where to go from here.”

“Yes” Crowley repeated.

“And then there’s Sammy, and Charlie’s still somewhat of a criminal if you ask the police, and did I mention my brother has an undead immortal dog...”

“How much longer are you going to talk, I’d really like to get to the –“

“My point is” Dean said carefully, “This sounds awfully like an adventure. IF we decide to go for it, that is. And you know how I feel about those.”

Crowley was silent.

“On the other hand, my life is already so crazy, why not?”

And Dean leaned forward and kissed Crowley.

It might have been a somewhat strange way for happily ever after to begin, but Dean Winchester and Crowley found they didn’t care.

Fifty years later

He didn’t wake up as he usually did unless there was an emergency – calmly, relaxed and ready to face the day; no, it was a sudden jolting into consciousness; and as he registered the mixture of love and grief on his husband’s face and the distance between them, as if Dean was careful not to touch him, he understood.

“One more minute?”

“More like fifty-five seconds” he said, his voice gentle. “When I woke up – you were already cold. I...” he trailed off.

Died in his sleep then, at the ripe old age of ninety-seven, next to his still dashing husband. Not a bad way to go by any stretch of the imagination.

They had talked about this, of course they had, a few years ago, briefly. He’d explained to his family he’d rather only have Dean at his side, as it had all begun, half a century ago.

“This is it, then. I have to say, it has been thoroughly entertaining. Give the others my love, would you?”

Now and then he’d thought about what he’d say to him during the last minute of his life. Now, after he’d told him this, he found himself simply looking at Dean, cherishing the sight while he still could. There was nothing to say, he realized, because they’d never left anything unsaid during their time together.  

Dean smiled; there were tears gathering in his eyes, and Crowley ached to wipe them off but forced himself not to. “It was quite the wild ride, wasn’t it.”

He nodded.

Dean swallowed. “You better wait for me, mister, wherever you end up because I am going to find you.”

“I don’t doubt that.”

They looked at one another; the seconds ticked by; and Crowley knew it was time to go. “You were the first kiss in my life that truly mattered. Want to be my last?”

Dean smiled through his tears. “I love you, Peaches.”

“And I love you, Squirrel.”

Dean leaned in and Crowley closed his eyes, accepting his kiss.

Sometime later

He’d got used enough to the memories of Dean that he shared his Heaven with that he knew immediately this was different. He’d just woken up from what he still stubbornly called “A good night’s sleep” and opened his eyes to find Dean watching him.

“You could have woken me up” he said as he reached out and confirmed that his husband was, indeed, here with him.

“You’ve been waiting long enough, figured I could do a little waiting myself” Dean answered, leaning into his touch.

“I missed you” he confessed.

“Right back at you.”

“How did you –“

“Same as you, in my sleep. Emma woke me up to say goodbye to them all.”

Dean had been hesitant at first to father a child, since he’d been scared she’d inherit his abilities; Crowley had assured him again and again that they’d deal with it when it came to it, and they had, admirably, if he said so himself.

“Gavin told me to look after you so you don’t get into trouble in the afterlife” Dean added with a fond smile on his lips.

“Ready for eternity, Squirrel?”

“With you, Peaches? Always.”

Dean rolled over him so he lay on top, grinned, and leaned down to kiss him.

At this very moment in their own personal Heaven, Dean Winchester and Fergus Crowley no longer cared about how old they both were.

They had all the time in the world.

[owenna6]

Monte Cristo AU

It is only a small part of the AU but I hope you will get the main idea. It mostly focuses on shidge, that’s why there is so much about Shiro and Katie here. Most of the story is based on the original novel so you can read Wiki or just ask me for more details (I do hope someone will be interested in this AU) :)

1. Plot

The story takes place in a fictional world which is similar to the one in “Akagami-no Shirauki-hime” or “Ella Enchanted”. There are Kingdoms here which remind of France, Italy, Russia, China etc. The people here speak different languages too. 

Takashi Dante is a 19-year old captain whose mother escaped her country when she was about 23. She was from one of the Orient Kingdoms that’s why he looks so extraordinary compared to others in his surroundings. His mother died giving birth to him and his father raised him all alone.

Allura is a 17-year old girl living in a small village callled Catalan. She is a fiancee of Takashi. Her cousin Lotor (21 y.o.) is in love with her but she sees only brother in him. 

Here the story is quite similar to the book. There had been a criminal attempt on the King’s life but several of the criminals managed to escape the authority. They are wanted around the Kingdom, no matter dead or alive. Takashi has just returned from a long journey and visited his dearest. He announces about his engagement with Allura that makes Lotor clench his teeth and scream silently. Lotor’s acquintant Throk (a book-keeper on Takashi’s ship) suggests him writing a fake delation that Takashi is one of the criminals guilty of the attempt. Lotor is not sure this will work, especially because Allura has threatened him to kill herself if something happens to Takashi. Throk who hates young captain himself finally manages to persuade him, though, throwing a written delation away and leaving Lotor alone with his thoughts. Lotor decides to give it a try. 

No one except Morvok, a tailor living near Takashi and his father, knows about this piece of paper but he was drunk then and too scared to tell anyone some time after so he keeps this dirty secret till the very death. 

Takashi got arrested a couple of days afer during the party organized in honor of his engagement. The royal public prosecutor Raht Villefort who knew that his father was one othe the alive criminals burnt the delation in front of Takashi in order to protect himself from the fate of being called the son of a terrorist. Takashi was sent to prison. The prison was the If Castle, the place for the most dangerous criminals including political ones. Mr. Mcclain, the man Takashi worked for, tried to save him but Villefort successfully persuaded him that everything possible had already been done. Villeforte moved away from the city a year after and Mr. Mcclain understood he would not be able to help Takashi. 

Takashi spent 10 years in prison. During the first 2,5 ones he wanted to die from famine but suddenly he met abbot Ulaz. This old man was known as a brain-sick who always talked about an enormous treasure hidden somewhere. However, Takashi saw that he was more than normal and tried to talk to him. It turned out Ulaz had been trying to dig a tunnel to escape the Castle. Unfortunately, he had miscalculated and had begun digging a bit higher than it had been necessary. That’s why he appeared in Takashi’s prison ward. 

Ulaz became Takashi’s mentor. He also helped him to figure out who was the reason of him being arrested so Takashi secretly promised to revenge those people if only he managed to get out of that horrible place. Ulaz taught him lots of disciplines, including 5 languages, history, geometry and algebra. Takashi also learnt some etiquette while listening to Ulaz. They continued making up a plan of escape but suddenly Ulaz got palsied and this meant death for him. Takashi refused to run away without his friend and Ulaz told him a secret of the treasure saying he had found the person who deserved it. At first Takashi thought the poor old man had gone crazy, but then he understood Ulaz was telling something quite true. He promised to find the treasure if only he managed to escape, though he still did not very believe the one exists. 

When Ulaz died from another apoplectic insult Takashi took his place in a bag and sewed himself  thinking of getting away of the prison as the dead abbot. But he didn’t know all the dead prisoners were thrown into the sea which surrounded the Castle. He almost died but managed to get out of the bag and reach some kind of rocks where he saw a little boat crashing. Then he noticed another one and decided to take himself on as an alive sailor from the boat. 

He found himself to be saved by smugglers and his sailing skills made them believe he was just a poor sailor not the prisoner escaped from the nearby Castle. Takashi took another name as Tarro and became one of the smugglers for a year in order to get used to this world and reach the Monte-Cristo island, the place where the treasure was said to have been hiddden. He finally managed to get there during one of the missions and made everyone leave him alone during its end because of an awful injury he got. This trick worked and he spent 2 days alone looking for the cave. Finally, the amazing treasure was in his hands and Takashi Dante started a new life the main aim of which was revenge.

Two weeks later a strange rich man appeared in the city and bought a house where the old Dante had lived. That day an abbot Busoni also visited a poor tavern of Morvok and left him a huge diamond saying that dead Takashi wanted it to be shared between his best friends Lotor, Morvok and Throk and also Allura and old Dante. This diamond was a present he received from a rich prisoner he was taking care of during his illness. When this man was emerging from the prison he left him the diamond as a gift. Morvok, full of greed, told the abbot the true story about Takashi’s arrest and the people who had betrayed him. They had been Lotor and Throk. He also told that Lotor persuaded Allura to marry him after returning from the East campaign where he had become enormously rich and famous as a general. Now he was the count Morser and had a son, Alberro. 

Takashi (yes, the abbot Busoni was Takashi) also found out that the only person who had been trying to help him was Mr. Mcclain and helped him not to go bankrupt, anonimously rebuilding the last ship the had lost, and leaving him a bunch of paid bills. From that moment he ended up with gratitude and disappeared for 8 years to return then and begin his revenge. 

He continued travelling and learning as Syndbad or the Count of Monte Cristo, stroke up acquaintances with various people including bandits and empoyed loyal people. Coran, a middle-aged smuggler who knew everything and could find information about all the things he did not know, became his butler and a kind of spy after being recommended to the Count as a good and honest fellow by abbot Busoni (telling the truth, it also was Takashi himself looking for loyal men). 

The Count also has a dumb servant Rovero whom he saved during his travelling to Eastern Kingdoms. Rovero loves his master and looks like his slave sometimes. The last person close to the Count is Katherine Holt (Miss Pidge how she makes Coran call her, or Katie for the Count). Katie is a daughter of a noble who was a governor in one of the eastern land and was killed by Lotor (though no one still knows it was him) during the eastern campaign. Katie ws about 5 years old then and the Count met her when she turned 17. The next 6 years she accompanied the Count in all his journeys. He gave her freedom in the very beginning and said she would be able to live on her own after turning 19 and helping him in one thing.

Katie is also the only one who knows his real name, Takashi, and she calls him so when they are alone. Takashi finds real peace near this 22-year old girl who is incredibly smart for her age and status. She is also the only one who is not afraid of his cold manners and piercing gaze. She can tell everything to his face but acts diplomatic and feels for sure when he is suffering. She loves him as only a woman can love a man and in the end Takashi also falls in love with her and returns to the East planning to marry the beautiful girl. 

During his revenge Takashi also makes friends with Lance Mcclain, the son of Mr. Mcclain. He also forgets his spite to Alberro and admits that he will be far more better than his father. 

The story ends with the Count of Monte-Cristo leaving to the East on board of his favourite yacht with Katie, Coran, Rovero and some other servants, including the crew. He is holding Katie’s hand and feeling like he now has a new reason to live and a person who is able to heal his wounds.

2. Characters (not everyone)

Takashi Danto (The Count of Monte Cristo, Syndbad, Master Shirogane, abbot Busoni)

37 years old. A handsome man with black hair, white bangs and a scar on the nose. His eastern features, incredibly pale skin and a piercing gaze make him quite recognisable and even scary for those who can be his enemies. He is eccentric, more silent than talkative and has an unusual sence of humor. Most people consider him to be cold and strange because he makes them think so, when, on the other hand, real Takashi is kind and gentle. And Katie Holt knows this as no one else. He has influence on some pirates, bandits and smugglers who often become his weapons and spies. No one knows exactly how great his fortune is. Sometimes he suffers from nightmares about his lost days.

Katherine Holt (Miss Pidge, Katie, Young Mistress)

22-23 years old. She looks quite young so almost everyone who meets her says she is about 20, not more. Her beauty makes her popular with young men but she never pay more attention to them than she should because of etiquette. Her only love is her patron even though the age difference between them is rather big. Katie is a daughter of a governor, who was killed by Lotor and she hates this man with all her heart. After losing all her family Katie was sold to one of the eastern kings and lived in his manor as a concubine until Syndbad bought her out for a rare emerald. Since then she has been treated as a noble and become very close to the Count. Katie soon remembered her mother-tongue (as everyone had talked to her in one of the Oriental languages) so now she is able to speak more than 3 languages. 

Coran 

The Count’s butler and spy. He is about 42 and has magnificent ginger mouthtache which is his crown jewel. Katie really trusts him and finds entertaining talking to him as he knows a lot about farlands. Coran feels confident near the Young Mistress and often dares teasing her but Katie seems to like it. He highly respects his master.

Lance Mcclain

The son of Mr. Mcclain. This boy is only 26, but he is incredibly successful in his career as an officer. he loves his family and is ready to protect his nearest and dearest at all costs. He also has feelings for Nyma Villefort and marries her in the end. They inherit the fortune the Count leaves in Portneso (Paris in the original novel, the capital of the Kingdom where all Takashi’s rivals live).

Allura Morserf

The first love of the Count of Monte Cristo. A beautiful woman of 34 y.o. with amazing white curly hair and dark skin who still loves Takashi Shirogane. 

Lotor Morserf

The husband of Allura. The thought that Allura can learn about his secret often leads him to seeing nightmares. Nevertheless, he is quite smart and brave and is considered to be an interesting person in the society.

Alberro Morserf 

20-21 years old. The son of Allura and Lotor. Honest, lady’s man and a smart boy who really respects his parents. 

Hunk Garrett

Lance’s close friend whose main passion is cuisine. He travels a lot and collects different recipes. The Baron. He is going to marry Shay, a young lady he met during one of his trips.

Keith Kogane

24 y.o. One of the bandits the Count has influence on. A brave, but quite silent man with a sharp mind. Takashi once saved his life not knowing he was a bandit and Keith has been grateful for that for many years. He is loved by a girl he grew up with and she decided to go with him when he offered her to do so. 

[dfroza]

they wanted to seize and arrest our Creator and King

with their false accusations.

but what caused temporal harm led to a sacred act of eternal rebirth.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 11th chapter of the book of John:

In the village of Bethany there was a man named Lazarus, and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Mary was the one who would anoint Jesus’ feet with costly perfume and dry his feet with her long hair. One day Lazarus became very sick to the point of death. So his sisters sent a message to Jesus, “Lord, our brother Lazarus, the one you love, is very sick. Please come!”

When he heard this, he said, “This sickness will not end in death for Lazarus, but will bring glory and praise to God. This will reveal the greatness of the Son of God by what takes place.”

Now even though Jesus loved Mary, Martha, and Lazarus, he remained where he was for two more days. Finally, on the third day, he said to his disciples, “Come. It’s time to go to Bethany.”

“But Teacher,” they said to him, “do you really want to go back there? It was just a short time ago the people of Judea were going to stone you!”

Jesus replied, “Are there not twelve hours of daylight in every day? You can go through a day without the fear of stumbling when you walk in the One who gives light to the world. But you will stumble when the light is not in you, for you’ll be walking in the dark.”

Then Jesus added, “Lazarus, our friend, has just fallen asleep. It’s time that I go and awaken him.”

When they heard this, the disciples replied, “Lord, if he has just fallen asleep, then he’ll get better.” Jesus was speaking about Lazarus’ death, but the disciples presumed he was talking about natural sleep.

Then Jesus made it plain to them, “Lazarus is dead. And for your sake, I’m glad I wasn’t there, because now you have another opportunity to see who I am so that you will learn to trust in me. Come, let’s go and see him.”

So Thomas, nicknamed the Twin, remarked to the other disciples, “Let’s go so that we can die with him.”

Now when they arrived at Bethany, which was only about two miles from Jerusalem, Jesus found that Lazarus had already been in the tomb for four days. Many friends of Mary and Martha had come from the region to console them over the loss of their brother. And when Martha heard that Jesus was approaching the village, she went out to meet him, but Mary stayed in the house.

Martha said to Jesus, “My Lord, if only you had come sooner, my brother wouldn’t have died. But I know that if you were to ask God for anything, he would do it for you.”

Jesus told her, “Your brother will rise and live.”

She replied, “Yes, I know he will rise with everyone else on resurrection day.”

“Martha,” Jesus said, “You don’t have to wait until then. I am the Resurrection, and I am Life Eternal. Anyone who clings to me in faith, even though he dies, will live forever. And the one who lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?”

Then Martha replied, “Yes, Lord, I do! I’ve always believed that you are the Anointed One, the Son of God who has come into the world for us!” Then she left and hurried off to her sister, Mary, and called her aside from all the mourners and whispered to her, “The Master is here and he’s asking for you.”

So when Mary heard this, she quickly went off to find him, for Jesus was lingering outside the village at the same spot where Martha met him. Now when Mary’s friends who were comforting her noticed how quickly she ran out of the house, they followed her, assuming she was going to the tomb of her brother to mourn.

When Mary finally found Jesus outside the village, she fell at his feet in tears and said, “Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

When Jesus looked at Mary and saw her weeping at his feet, and all her friends who were with her grieving, he shuddered with emotion and was deeply moved with tenderness and compassion. He said to them, “Where did you bury him?”

“Lord, come with us and we’ll show you,” they replied.

Then tears streamed down Jesus’ face.

Seeing Jesus weep caused many of the mourners to say, “Look how much he loved Lazarus.” Yet others said, “Isn’t this the One who opens blind eyes? Why didn’t he do something to keep Lazarus from dying?”

Then Jesus, with intense emotions, came to the tomb—a cave with a stone placed over its entrance. Jesus told them, “Roll away the stone.”

Then Martha said, “But Lord, it’s been four days since he died—by now his body is already decomposing!”

Jesus looked at her and said, “Didn’t I tell you that if you will believe in me, you will see God unveil his power?”

So they rolled away the heavy stone. Jesus gazed into heaven and said, “Father, thank you that you have heard my prayer, for you listen to every word I speak. Now, so that these who stand here with me will believe that you have sent me to the earth as your messenger, I will use the power you have given me.” Then with a loud voice Jesus shouted with authority: “Lazarus! Come out of the tomb!”

Then in front of everyone, Lazarus, who had died four days earlier, slowly hobbled out—he still had grave clothes tightly wrapped around his hands and feet and covering his face! Jesus said to them, “Unwrap him and let him loose.”

From that day forward many of those who had come to visit Mary believed in him, for they had seen with their own eyes this amazing miracle! But a few went back to inform the Pharisees about what Jesus had done.

So the Pharisees and the chief priests called a special meeting of the High Council and said, “So what are we going to do about this man? Look at all the great miracles he’s performing! If we allow him to continue like this, everyone will believe in him. And the Romans will take action and destroy both our country and our people!”

Now Caiaphas, the high priest that year, spoke up and said, “You don’t understand a thing! Don’t you realize we’d be much better off if this one man were to die for the people than for the whole nation to perish?”

(This prophecy that Jesus was destined to die for the Jewish people didn’t come from Caiaphas himself, but he was moved by God to prophesy as the chief priest. And Jesus’ death would not be for the Jewish people only, but to gather together God’s children scattered around the world and unite them as one.) So from that day on, they were committed to killing Jesus.

For this reason Jesus no longer went out in public among the Jews. But he went in the wilderness to a village called Ephraim, where he secluded himself with his disciples.

Now the time came for the Passover preparations, and many from the countryside went to Jerusalem for their ceremonial cleansing before the feast began. And all the people kept looking out for Jesus, expecting him to come to the city. They said to themselves while they waited in the temple courts, “Do you think that he will dare come to the feast?” For the leading priests and the Pharisees had given orders that they be informed immediately if anyone saw Jesus, so they could seize and arrest him.

The Book of John, Chapter 11 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 1st chapter of the book of Ecclesiastes:

These are the words of the teacher, the son of David, king in Jerusalem.

Teacher: Life is fleeting, like a passing mist.

It is like trying to catch hold of a breath;

All vanishes like a vapor; everything is a great vanity.

What good does it do anyone to work so hard again and again,

sun up to sundown? All his labor to gain but a little?

One generation comes, another goes;

but the earth continues to remain.

The sun rises and the sun sets,

laboring to come up quickly to its place again and again.

The wind in its travels blows toward the south,

then swings back around to the north.

Back and forth,

returning in its circuit again and again.

All rivers flow to the sea,

but the sea is never full.

To the place where the rivers flow,

there the water returns to flow once again.

Words, words, words! So many words! They are wearisome things;

and yet people cannot refrain from speaking.

No eye has ever surveyed the world and said, “I have seen enough”;

no ear has ever listened to creation and said, “I have heard enough.”

What has been, that will be;

what has been done, that will be done.

Nothing is new under the sun;

the future only repeats the past.

One person may say of some idea,

“Pay attention to this; it’s original!”

But that same idea has already been expressed;

it’s been with us through the ages.

We do not remember those people and events of long ago,

as future generations will not remember what is yet to come.

I, the teacher, was king over Israel in Jerusalem. I decided to seek out and study the wisdom of the ages, of all that had been done under the heavens. I soon discovered the harsh realities of the work God has given us that keeps us so busy. I have witnessed all that is done under the sun, and indeed, all is fleeting, like trying to embrace the wind. There is an old saying:

Something crooked cannot be made straight,

and something missing cannot be counted.

I mused over it all and thought to myself, “I have done great things, and I have gained more wisdom than anyone who reigned over Jerusalem before me. I have contemplated great wisdom and knowledge.” I decided to study wisdom and instead acquainted myself with madness and folly. It, too, seemed like trying to pursue the wind, for as my wisdom increased, so did my vexation. As my knowledge grew, so did my pain.

The Book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter 1 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Thursday, may 20 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons about the True nature of prayer:

Yeshua taught us to be focused and to refrain from using "vain repetitions" (i.e., βατταλογέω - “babbling words”) in our prayers, since our Father knows what we need before we ask Him (Matt. 6:7-8). What He wants is “us” - all our heart and hunger for life - not some formula or recipe of words to appeal to him. Don't worry about the verbiage of your prayers, then, but attend to the inner groan of your heart (Rom. 8:26). "When you pray, rather let thy heart be without words than thy words be without heart" (John Bunyan). Ultimately prayer is a kind of teshuvah (תְּשׁוּבָה), a word often translated as "repentance," though it's more accurately understood as turning (shuv) to God in response to His call. Sometimes you just come and present yourself in God's presence, without words, without requests... You just sigh, or let your heart groan in silence. The point, of course, is that you come to the Lord to do real business with Him, not to play games or to offer "lip service." Are we really "showing up" when we pray? [Hebrew for Christians]

5.19.21 • Facebook

Today’s message from the Institute for Creation Research

May 20, 2021

Growing in Faith

“These all died in faith, not having received the promises, but having seen them afar off, and were persuaded of them, and embraced them.” (Hebrews 11:13)

All believers should hold fast the profession of their faith without wavering. A believer faces many challenges, but two seem particularly difficult to handle. First, our eternal destination cannot be seen with our physical eyes. Without something material to see or hold, our human nature is not satisfied and on occasion raises questions in our mind: “Is heaven really there?” “Am I missing out on something here on Earth?” The writer to the Hebrew Christians was aware that questions could lead to doubt, then to discouragement, and even cause some to “draw back” (Hebrews 10:38-39).

Though we cannot literally see heaven, we can “see [it] afar off” by faith. This is only done by implicitly believing the Word of the Lord. Paul said there is a special power in God’s Word enabling believers to grow “from faith to faith” (Romans 1:17). The fact that faith itself is the fuel to energize even greater faith is illustrated in our text verse. Noah, Abraham, and others had “seen” the promises by faith, which led them to even stronger belief until they were deeply “persuaded of them.” The promises eventually were so real to these saints that they “embraced them” like a fellow companion in their daily walk with the Lord. Only by faith do His promises become an integral part of our lives, able to guide our daily activities and long-range plans.

The second challenge we face is fear of the world’s reprisal, directed to anyone daring to not conform to its practices. This fear has stopped many believers from “confessing” their faith and is why the final step to “dying in faith” may be so difficult. Like nothing else can, being willing to publicly proclaim your belief in God’s Word builds faith and truly honors Him. RJG

[hatesnogs]

Quotes from Over the Garden Wall

The Old Grist Mill “If dreams can’t come true, then why not pretend?” “I can leave a trail of candy from my pants!” “Calm down, mister! Whatever you do here is your business. We just want to get home with all of our legs and arms attached.” “The beast haunts these woods…searching for lost souls such as yourselves.” “To help us?” “No! Not to help you.” “Sometimes I feel like I’m just like a boat, on a winding riving, twisting toward an endless black sea. Further and further, drifting away, from where I want to be, who I wan to be.” “Oh, I didn’t know that. Did you know if you soak a raisin in grape juice, it becomes a grape? It’s a Rock Fact!” “Aw beans. Where is that frog o’ mine?” *fearful* “You have beautiful eyes.” “Candy camouflage! Run run run run run run.” “Wirt, look! He spit up that turtle and now he’s my new best friend!” “Ain’t that just the way.” “I’m sorry. Maybe I can fix it? I can’t fix it.”

Hard Times at the Huskin’ Bee “Well, that settles it. I’m gonna walk up ten feet in front of you.” “Can you turn me into a tiger?” “Uh, no. I just said I’m not magical.” “It doesn’t have to be a magical tiger.” “So is it nice being a bird?” “Nope.” “So, it’s some kind of weird cult where they wear vegetables and dance around a weird thing. They seem nice enough.” “Patient is the night.” “Hey, buried treasure!” “What’d you find?” “A skeleton!” “That’s vague. What does that mean?” “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Schooltown Follies “Greg, don’t you want to be more like your brother? Just always doing what he’s told? Just a pathetic pushover relying on others to make all his decisions?” “The world is a miserable place, Greg.” “Bluebirds have a short life span. You two are literally killing me every moment I’m forced to spend with you.” “So my theory is, hot dogs are not actually dogs. Regardless of what they teach you in school.” *mildly panicked* “Gorilla!” “Okay, I think he’s asleep. Let’s go steal his stuff.” “I guess the world really is as sweet as potatoes and molasses.”

Songs of the Dark Lantern “Oooh, banana nut duck bread.” “Let’s go to that creepy tavern and ask for directions.” “But it’s creepy.” “Curse you, lady! Curse you! You’ll die someday, and I’ll laugh! LAUGH!” “What kind of person goes out chopping trees in a thunder storm, in the middle of the night? What kind of person talks to a horse?” “Oh, you’re not the witless, simpleminded fool everyone takes you for!” “One time Wirt fell on a gorilla!” “You don’t need directions, pilgrim. You follow that compass inside your heart.” “Uh, no I think we need directions.” “Horse, I’m just gonna pretend like I can ride you, alright?” “Beatrice, meet Fred the horse.” “Nice to horse your acquaintance.”

Mad Love “You’re scamming him?” “I was thinking more of flat out stealing from him?” “Fred’s a talking horse. He can do whatever he wants.” “I wanna steal.” “The parlor? Why would anyone go to the parlor? There’s nobody in the parlor. Certainly nobody after your money.” “It’s stuck. Well, guess we have to spend some quality time together.” “HELP!” *referring to a peacock* “It’s just a…funny chicken.” “Wirt, that stuff’s not weird. Those are just - well the poetry thing is weird - but those are just character traits.” “Does this room seem different to you? It’s like French rococo style. That doesn’t seem in line with Endicott’s Georgian sensibilities.” “How? What? Who on earth am I talking to right now?” “Uncle Endicott pegged me all wrong. I’ve got no sense. No sense at all.”

Lullaby in Frogland “He’s an outcast. And he’s cold. Feel these cold feets.” “No. He’s supposed to be cold, Greg. He’s a frog.” “Come on, George. You’re a manly frog and you need some socks.” *gasp* “It’s cause the president is nude!” “Tadpoles! Your babies!” “I don’t think today’s a good day to be arrested by frogs.” ““Wirt, drum me! Drum me in the face!” “Hot dog, those frogs really love the bassoon!” “A single soul sets his voice singing, content to be slightly forlorn.” “Ya done good, Mr. President. Ya done good.”

The Ringing of the Bell “You don’t have to follow me. You can do anything you want.” “Anything? that’s a lot of power.” “Get that frog out of your pants.” “He can do what he wants.” “We’re turtle rich!” “So we came here to burgle your turts!” “The ringing of the bell commands you.” “Hey! You can run and you can hide!” “Haha! For some reason I thought that old lady was the people eater. But it was Lorna all along!” “There is only me. There is only my way. There is only the forest and there is only surrender.”

Babes in the Wood “Did you know that dinosaurs had big ears, but everyone forgot because dinosaur ears don’t have bones?” “No.” “That’s cause it’s not true. It’s a Rock Fact.” “You can do anything if you set your mind to it! That’s what the old people say.”

Into the Unknown “Is that bee named Sara?” “You okay, Wirt?” “Yeah, everything’s Jason Funderberker!” “Wha?” “That tape has poetry and clarinet on it, Greg. POETRY AND CLARINET!” “I can’t go in. I wasn’t invited to this party.” “I’ll go in!” “You weren’t invited, either.” “Oh.” “I don’t want to have anything to do with you or that frog!” “Oh, you’re awake. Here, eat some dirt.”

The Unknown “Hold your tongue or I’ll remove it from your mouth!” “Oh geez, the leaves are even growing inside of him.” “No. I was just eatin’ leaves.” “Jason Funderberker, the perfect frog name.” “That’s dumb. I’m not just gonna wander around the woods for the rest of my life.” “Are you ready to see true darkness?” “Ar-cough. Are you?” “Oh you wonderful mistake of nature.” “And so the story’s complete and everyone’s satisfied with the ending and so on and so forth and yet over the garden wall.”

[fictionadventurer]

Father Brown Reread: The Sins of Prince Saradine

When Flambeau took his month’s holiday from his office in Westminster he took it in a small sailing-boat, so small that it passed much of its time as a rowing-boat.

We haven’t started a story from Flambeau’s point of view in a while.

The detective business must be good if he can take an entire month off.

In “The Invisible Man”, Flambeau’s house and office are in Hampstead, a suburb of London. Apparently, Flambeau has moved to a new office in the center of London.

I adore the these opening pages, and I love the atmosphere of the story. I would rank it as one of my favorite Father Browns. Yet before this reread, I remembered absolutely nothing about the plot of the story. I’m not sure I’ll have much to say about this one, beyond ecstatic exclamations of “COLORS!” and “FAIRY TALES!”

The vessel was just comfortable for two people; there was room only for necessities, and Flambeau had stocked it with such things as his special philosophy considered necessary. They reduced themselves, apparently, to four essentials: tins of salmon, if he should want to eat; loaded revolvers, if he should want to fight; a bottle of brandy, presumably in case he should faint; and a priest, presumably in case he should die.

This is my favorite quote in all the Father Brown stories.

Such good characterization and such good humor. 

Like a true philosopher, Flambeau had no aim in his holiday; but, like a true philosopher, he had an excuse. He had a sort of half purpose, which he took just so seriously that its success would crown the holiday, but just so lightly that its failure would not spoil it. Years ago, when he had been a king of thieves and the most famous figure in Paris, he had often received wild communications of approval, denunciation, or even love; but one had, somehow, stuck in his memory. It consisted simply of a visiting-card, in an envelope with an English postmark. On the back of the card was written in French and in green ink: “If you ever retire and become respectable, come and see me. I want to meet you, for I have met all the other great men of my time. That trick of yours of getting one detective to arrest the other was the most splendid scene in French history.” On the front of the card was engraved in the formal fashion, “Prince Saradine, Reed House, Reed Island, Norfolk.”

This is a good vacation philosophy.

I’m kind of impressed that not only has Flambeau remembered the card, he also saved it.

(Flambeau, king of thieves and hoarder?)

But really, it’s a terrible idea to send an internationally-renowned thief your address.

I’m trying to imagine how Flambeau convinced Father Brown to go on this vacation. “Hey, Father, come help me find one of my fanboys.” “Okay.”

Also, how does an active priest get a full month of vacation? Priests get a few weeks of vacation time per year, but it seems strange that he’d be able to take it all at once. Maybe he was just there part of the time?

To speak more strictly, they awoke before it was daylight; for a large lemon moon was only just setting in the forest of high grass above their heads, and the sky was of a vivid violet-blue, nocturnal but bright. Both men had simultaneously a reminiscence of childhood, of the elfin and adventurous time when tall weeds close over us like woods. Standing up thus against the large low moon, the daisies really seemed to be giant daisies, the dandelions to be giant dandelions. Somehow it reminded them of the dado of a nursery wall-paper. The drop of the river-bed sufficed to sink them under the roots of all shrubs and flowers and make them gaze upwards at the grass. “By Jove!” said Flambeau, “it’s like being in fairyland.”

COLORS!!!

FAIRY TALES!!!

This is like the best parts of the Orthodoxy chapter about fairy tales. No one conjures a sense of wonder the way Chesterton does.

“All right,” said Father Brown. “I never said it was always wrong to enter fairyland. I only said it was always dangerous.”

Me: *nods furiously*

I love how this story doesn’t even attempt to ground itself in reality. We’re just straight-up in a portal fantasy, traveling to a place where the rules of literature, not of life, take precedence.

It was opened by a butler of the drearier type—long, lean, grey and listless—who murmured that Prince Saradine was from home at present, but was expected hourly; the house being kept ready for him and his guests. The exhibition of the card with the scrawl of green ink awoke a flicker of life in the parchment face of the depressed retainer, and it was with a certain shaky courtesy that he suggested that the strangers should remain.

Apparently he’s expecting the arrival of his two enemies, if he keeps up the butler masquerade. So why does Paul invite them to stay? Wouldn’t it be easier and safer to send them off?

“We have taken a wrong turning, and come to a wrong place,” said Father Brown, looking out of the window at the grey-green sedges and the silver flood. “Never mind; one can sometimes do good by being the right person in the wrong place.” 

Father Brown is heavily, heavily intuitive, and never more so than in this story. He was suspicious of the house before they even stepped inside. He has no evidence--he just knows that something’s wrong with the place.

Father Brown’s familiar with how fairyland works. He’s been a fairy tale trickster in previous stories, so this is his native ground, in a sense. Yet because fairyland is familiar, he doesn’t have the same sense of wonder that an ordinary mortal would have. There’s always that sense of foreboding and horror.

For all that, he’s not afraid. He knows that fairy tales can have good endings, as that last, wonderful sentence shows. Fairyland has many horrors, but like Pandora’s box, it also always has hope.

Father Brown, though commonly a silent, was an oddly sympathetic little man, and in those few but endless hours he unconsciously sank deeper into the secrets of Reed House than his professional friend. He had that knack of friendly silence which is so essential to gossip; and saying scarcely a word, he probably obtained from his new acquaintances all that in any case they would have told. 

I like this side of Father Brown’s character. He’s a quiet, steady presence in the background, not immediately impressive, but more effective for all that. Quiet people never get as much respect as they deserve in fiction.

“There isn’t a good one,” she hissed. “There was badness enough in the captain taking all that money, but I don’t think there was much goodness in the prince giving it. The captain’s not the only one with something against him.”

Poor Mrs. Anthony. Stuck in this house for so many years with people like that. Is she trying to escape?

The nameless interest lay in something else, in the very framework of the face; Brown was tormented with a half memory of having seen it somewhere before. The man looked like some old friend of his dressed up. Then he suddenly remembered the mirrors, and put his fancy down to some psychological effect of that multiplication of human masks.

I like that Father Brown was wrong, and that there was a good reason he was wrong. The mirrors add to the fairyland feel, yet also serve a practical story purpose.

His face was fastidious, but his eye was wild; he had little nervous tricks, like a man shaken by drink or drugs, and he neither had, nor professed to have, his hand on the helm of household affairs. All these were left to the two old servants, especially to the butler, who was plainly the central pillar of the house. Mr. Paul, indeed, was not so much a butler as a sort of steward or, even, chamberlain; he dined privately, but with almost as much pomp as his master; he was feared by all the servants; and he consulted with the prince decorously, but somewhat unbendingly—rather as if he were the prince’s solicitor.

Father Brown sure learns a lot in only a few hours.

It’s interesting that Paul retains such authority, when he’s the blackmail victim here.

The sombre housekeeper was a mere shadow in comparison; indeed, she seemed to efface herself and wait only on the butler, and Brown heard no more of those volcanic whispers which had half told him of the younger brother who blackmailed the elder.

She’s totally a domestic abuse victim, isn’t she?

The same singular sentiment of some sad and evil fairyland crossed the priest’s mind again like a little grey cloud. “I wish Flambeau were back,” he muttered.

Poor Father Brown. He’s really vulnerable here.

We’ve seen how Flambeau relies on Father Brown. Now we see how Father Brown relies on Flambeau, and it’s a little heartbreaking. 

The rest of the story would have played out differently if Flambeau had been with him.

“I mean that we here are on the wrong side of the tapestry,” answered Father Brown. “The things that happen here do not seem to mean anything; they mean something somewhere else. Somewhere else retribution will come on the real offender. Here it often seems to fall on the wrong person.”

A nice bit of theology.

The prince made an inexplicable noise like an animal; in his shadowed face the eyes were shining queerly. A new and shrewd thought exploded silently in the other’s mind. Was there another meaning in Saradine’s blend of brilliancy and abruptness? Was the prince—Was he perfectly sane? He was repeating, “The wrong person—the wrong person,” many more times than was natural in a social exclamation.

I’m trying to figure out why Saradine reacts like this. He’s not mad. Has he figured out that Father Brown thinks he’s his elder brother? Has he figured out some part of his brother’s scheme? Does he think that Father Brown is hinting that maybe Paul didn’t kill the guy?

He took out of it two long Italian rapiers, with splendid steel hilts and blades, which he planted point downwards in the lawn. The strange young man standing facing the entrance with his yellow and vindictive face, the two swords standing up in the turf like two crosses in a cemetery, and the line of the ranked towers behind, gave it all an odd appearance of being some barbaric court of justice.

This is a splendid image. Shocking and romantic.

The fairy tale has collided with a Ruritanian romance. The swords are like a slap to the face, pulling us out of the dreamy fairyland and into a real world with real life-and-death stakes. Yet a duel to the death is also completely unrealistic and fits in with the fairyland atmosphere.

It’s a strange combination of reality and over-the-top fantasy, and from here, the story has a nightmarish quality.

“Prince Saradine,” said the man called Antonelli, “when I was an infant in the cradle you killed my father and stole my mother; my father was the more fortunate.

My name is Inigo Montoya...

Father Brown had also sprung forward, striving to compose the dispute; but he soon found his personal presence made matters worse. Saradine was a French freemason and a fierce atheist, and a priest moved him by the law of contraries. And for the other man neither priest nor layman moved him at all. This young man with the Bonaparte face and the brown eyes was something far sterner than a puritan—a pagan. He was a simple slayer from the morning of the earth; a man of the stone age—a man of stone.

Father Brown is in the wrong place at the wrong time. If he hadn’t been there, there’s a chance the truth of the matter may have come out. But since they’re both stubborn and contrary, Brown’s presence sparked a duel that needn’t have happened.

“Flambeau!” he cried, and shook his friend by both hands again and again, much to the astonishment of that sportsman, as he came on shore with his fishing tackle. “Flambeau,” he said, “so you’re not killed?”  “Killed!” repeated the angler in great astonishment. “And why should I be killed?” “Oh, because nearly everybody else is,” said his companion rather wildly. “Saradine got murdered, and Antonelli wants to be hanged, and his mother’s fainted, and I, for one, don’t know whether I’m in this world or the next. But, thank God, you’re in the same one.” And he took the bewildered Flambeau’s arm.

This shows how shaken up Father Brown is. He’s rarely this expressive. It’s especially jarring in this story, where he’s been in one of his more reserved moods.

They saw plainly the family likeness that had haunted them in the dead man. Then his old shoulders began to heave and shake a little, as if he were choking, but his face did not alter. “My God!” cried Flambeau after a pause, “he’s laughing!” “Come away,” said Father Brown, who was quite white. “Come away from this house of hell. Let us get into an honest boat again.”

There’s no reason for Paul Saradine to reveal the truth, but I totally believe this old monster would do it. Horrible person.

We’ve fallen fully into a horror story now.

Father Brown’s reaction was exactly the same as mine.

“But, however agitated, he was not hopeless. He knew the adventurer and he knew the fanatic. It was quite probable that Stephen, the adventurer, would hold his tongue, through his mere histrionic pleasure in playing a part, his lust for clinging to his new cosy quarters, his rascal’s trust in luck, and his fine fencing. It was certain that Antonelli, the fanatic, would hold his tongue, and be hanged without telling tales of his family.

That seems like a lot of assumptions to make. Especially about Antonelli. I get that he took the law into his own hands and doesn’t need to tell the story of the murder--but why wouldn’t he want to? Even if Antonelli’s going to hang for achieving vigilante justice, there’s no reason he would protect Saradine’s reputation.

But if Saradine was wrong and Antonelli said something, he could always go on the run again. He was already half-planning to do so.

“Laughing, God help us!” said Flambeau with a strong shudder. “Do they get such ideas from Satan?” “He got that idea from you,” answered the priest.

The horror I felt in this moment was visceral.

This is the final horrible touch to cap off the story and tie everything together. I’m a little in awe of how well it worked.

Poor Flambeau. You’ve built such a lovely little life, but you’ll never quite escape your past. It’s still wreaking havoc in the world, long after you’ve left it behind.

“Father,” said Flambeau suddenly, “do you think it was all a dream?” The priest shook his head, whether in dissent or agnosticism, but remained mute. A smell of hawthorn and of orchards came to them through the darkness, telling them that a wind was awake; the next moment it swayed their little boat and swelled their sail, and carried them onward down the winding river to happier places and the homes of harmless men.

It certainly felt like a dream. Chesterton did a fantastic job of creating that surreal atmosphere.

It feels good to leave the horror behind and sail away in peace.

Yet it also seems horrible that the prince and his entrapped wife will live undisturbed. Can’t Father Brown and Flambeau do something? They have no concrete evidence, but isn’t there some way to reach justice?

I suppose we have to trust that things will come out right on the other side of the tapestry.

[domesticfunk]

The Plot So Far, Part 1: The Fall of Wobble Street

Once upon a time in America... A young girl named Alice and a slightly older boy named Sonny were out of work and desperate. They went to a shady concrete building in the middle of the forest and were promptly knocked the fuck out, forced immediately into indentured servitude, and shipped down the American coast in metal shipping containers along with hundreds of other unfortunate slaves. A severe squall blew in somewhere off the coast of California, sending the ship far off course, towards the middle of the Pacific. During the storm, one of the containers broke open, and the starving, cringing survivors attempted to flee. Thus it was that young Alice was swept into the waves. Here she encountered a mysterious sea creature before blacking out and being dragged back onto the slave ship.

After arrival in Europe and a brief stint in an indoctrination/decontamination facility, Alice and Sonny were dispatched to a grim little cottage in a London suburb, a village full of recording artists under strict contracts to various record labels...  

It was here they first met Murdoc Niccals, who objected rather strongly to having his things washed and reorganized and was, not to put too fine a point on it, a total ass to them. It wasn’t long before fragile male egos clashed and violence erupted. Alice barely prevented bloodshed from following.

In the lull between clashes, she met Stuart Pot, AKA 2D, both of whom were almost instantly smitten, despite the fact that she was at the time scrubbing the place down and smelled of disinfectant and he was fresh off one of the final album re-recording sessions and stressed to hell and back. Sonny was considerably less impressed.

A careless comment from Sonny touched a nerve and Murdoc stormed to his room. Alice, upon realizing its significance, offered a sincere apology on behalf of both of them. This made enough of an impression on him to permit her into his room, where they bonded over a shared history of parental abuse and a mutual adoration of his own bass playing.

Some days passed. Al’s learned to avoid the creepy fellow with the gas mask who smelled of poo. Sonny, for his part, refused to become attached to any of his “employers”, though he did harbor a mild crush on Noodle. Russell, his parts of the album finished, left on a worldwide trek of mysterious purpose. Noodle returned from a brief trip abroad and made fast friends with the new housekeeper, and was the first to discover she was there against her will. She began laying plans for rescue, but Sonny, who was permitted out of the house to shop for food without penalty, had plans of his own.

The warm days of spring rolled in and 2D and Noodle tested their backyard swimming pool after Sonny cleaned it for them, even dragging Al in with them. Then... the new gardener arrived, one Maxwell Hammer, who looked and sounded very suspiciously like Bruce Willis. Intimidated, the party retreated. They discussed fleeing and 2D learned Alice could not leave the house without risking her life due to a control chip planted in her neck by the labor agency. Severely shaken, he hid in his room from her. Noodle advised him to leave him be but Alice, moved by his concern, sat with him and sang Elton John to him to try and bring him back to reality. Overwhelmed by emotion, he pulled her into a kiss, and the pair were instantly inseparable. Maxwell advised his employers of this development and returned the next day, opening fire on the residents of Wobble Street. Unfortunately for him, they were prepared with a secret weapon- Cyborg Noodle, retrieved from a submarine that had been left tethered illegally to the bottom of a nearby waste canal. (The retrieval process, incidentally, involved dangling 2D by his feet from a window to reactivate her protective programming.) Cy managed to successfully slay the die-hard gardener, and Alice, in the confusion that followed, went to him to demand answers: what, exactly, was his deal? Why did he want the Gorillaz dead? With his final rattling breath, he informed her she was wrong... it was HER his employers wanted to kill. He laughed in her face and perished, his body promptly stolen by the Bogeyman. Alice and 2D sought each other for comfort and mused what in the hell anyone could possibly hope to accomplish by hiring a movie star to shoot dead a menial worker from America. Alice postulated that having a caring presence in their life screwed up the band’s tragic image. 2D wasn’t entirely convinced they’d go so far just to keep a fan from working in their house, but couldn’t offer any better explanation.

After this misadventure, Sonny was in no mood to wait for rescue. He contacted an accomplished hacker who was able to deactivate their control chips, and while waiting to meet him, bummed smokes from and made the acquaintance of Lisa, an attractive drug dealer with an acerbic sense of humor similar to his own. However, thanks to a tangle of misunderstandings, this resulted in a car chase across London, with Sonny, Lisa, and his hacker friend in a crappy old sedan and Noodle, Alice, and 2D in her Jaguar electric racer. Incredibly, the crappy sedan managed to lose the race car via sheer blind luck, but ultimately the parties reconnected and sorted each other out back at the house, finally freeing the domestics from their life-threatening bondage. Also, upon meeting Murdoc, Lisa earned an extremely lucrative new client, and good times were had by all. The next morning, Murdoc returned, presumably from an all-night bender, and was only barely up to date on what had occurred when someone appeared at the door, the next volley in the war on Wobble Street: Sebastian and Christopher, Alice and Murdoc’s fathers, intended to prey on their psychological frailties and pry her out of the house with minimal resistance. They did not account for 2D being the one to suddenly snap. As Chris cowered, Sebastian called on the forces of darkness and mopped the floor with his wayward progeny. Alice, leaping to his defense, was similarly demolished. 2D, seeing them both in agony on the floor, went into a fugue state and destroyed both intruders almost effortlessly, unleashing over a decade of pent-up rage. Murdoc delivered the killing blow to his father with his own cane, disturbed that he had apparently returned from death some nineteen years following his well-deserved demise. The three landed in the hospital, Alice and Murdoc for injuries sustained in battle and 2D for overdosing on pain medications, taken in excess to ease his guilt over losing control. Sonny persuaded him to try and kick the habit, starting a long process of withdrawal and recovery. With the media zeroing in on the band following their stint at the hospital, and both domestics being openly discussed and investigated by the popular press, EMI knew things were fast spiraling out of their grasp. Unwilling to allow the public to learn they had subcontracted slave labor and were losing control over their artists, and concerned about the agenda of the new arrival, they launched their end game. Using a kidnapped prostitute, they lured Noodle away from the house and drugged her. With her out of the way, the label sent in a security team to capture their wayward maid. Unfortunately, only 2D and an artist named Vinnessa he had hired to complete the album cover were home at the time, the others having left to attempt to find and rescue Noodle. They managed to send out a distress call, bringing Alice and Murdoc back to the house, crashing the Geep through the front wall, guns blazing. The label rep kept his head and shot Alice point blank, a wound that should have been fatal... except that in that moment, the sea creature Alice had encountered in the middle of the Pacific erupted from the bullet hole, the Evangelist herself, an oceanic angel on a mission to save Murdoc’s soul, the one the label had truly detested, dreaded, and hoped to destroy from the very start. The divine creature immediately destroyed the assault force and explained she had manipulated events to ensure her host would carry her into the house past the Bogeyman’s defenses. She further clarified that while she had guided Alice to act on the band’s behalf, her decisions were her own, and her love for them was very real. Assuring them she would remain and keep watch, the angel vanished, leaving Alice scarred and disoriented but healed and alive. Sonny and his hacker associate freed the hooker from the label’s control and brought her and Noodle back to testify to the police what had transpired. Once the story was finished, they posted guards at the gaping hole in the demolished front wall and left them to arrest the EMI board of directors, all of whom had absconded in the interim to escape the Evangelist’s retribution. Relieved to see her alive and well, 2D brought Alice to his room and asked her to marry him, to which she wholeheartedly agreed. Noodle forgave the streetwalker for tricking her and offered to let her stay with them if she was sincere about pursuing their attraction. Murdoc passed out in the car amidst the rubble and nearly caught a cold. The search for a new home began...

[commie-cats]

Books (Novels) I’ve read so far in 2017

#1 1984 (Nineteen Eighty-Four)

Author: George Orwell

Publisher: Bentang

Originally published: 1949

Score: 4.1/5 Goodreads

Synopsis:

Winston Smith is a thirty-nine-year-old, he working in Records Department in the Ministry of Truth. Winston hates the totalitarian control and enforced repression that are characteristic of his government and that makes Winston as a minority among the citizen. Any citizen action were monitory by the Party through Thought Police and telescreen to control citizen thought and prevent resistance. He always wondering why and how the party want to rule the country as long as they can, he found the reason how party ruling the totalitarian government and leaving “why”.

The Party monitored all citizen activity by locate telescreen and microphone in hidden place, so the citizen have no privacy. The Party also rewrite history according to Party will to control stability of the country. Any difference of thought and resistance are intolerable acts. And The Party led by Big Brother, who never appear in public.

Winston did all his activity secretly until someone watching him, whom he think Thought Police member who assigned to kill him, and the girl was Julia, she working in the Fiction Department at the Ministry of Truth, they acquainted by incident in their office room and she will be Winston’s lover. Winston and Julia have similarity interest, they planned to rebel the Party by joining the Brotherhood, a legendary group of anti-Party rebels.

They met O’brian, member of the Inner Party whom Winston believes is also a member of the Brotherhood. O’brian trap Winston and Julia by offer them to become member of the Brotherhood. Therefore O’brian can snoop their activity. O’brian also lend Winston forbidden book “ The Theory and Practice of Oligarchical Collectivism“ by Emmanuel Goldstein, Brotherhood Leader.

Winston rent a small room above a store, he intend doing secretly activity in there with Julia. They reading Emmanuel Goldstein’s book, cooking until making love over there, until Thought Police come. Their activities were monitored by Thought Police chief who disguise became store owner. Winston and Julia arrested. 

At the end Winston was executed by The Party after refuse to obey Party’s thought and propaganda.

Shallow (character) analysis:

Many Incidents and characters personality in this novel very identical with USSR (Uni Soviet Socialist Republic) political condition during world war II, furthermore George Orwell’s 1984 published on 1949, four years after end of world war II. For example:

- Ruling Party refer to Communist Party who rule USSR under Joseph Stalin authority

- Big Brother refer to Joseph Stalin, he ruled USSR government by manipulating news and histories. He also known as authoritarian leader during his regime.

- Emmanuel Goldstein refer to Leon Trotsky a leader of the Bolshevik revolution, Lenin’s close friend and Stalin’s rival. Leon Trotsky was being banished by Stalin and he wrote “The Revolution Betrayed“ as a denounce to Stalin and USSR regime.

- USSR torture for opposer.

- USSR made fake fact, news, and history.

- Propaganda usually used under Stalin’s rigime.

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#2 Animal Farm

Author: George Orwell

Publisher: Bentang

Originally published: 1945

Score: 3.9/5 Goodreads

 Synopsis:

Mr. Jones is a farmer who runs Manor Farm, that night he drunk while doing his routine: locking the cage and with hurry back to his house. Afer the cage was locked, all animals made a noisy sound because Old Major –respectable boar in Manor farm- he had a weird vision last night, and he planned to tell all animals about his vision. All animal gather in front of Old Major, three dogs coming first Bluebell, Jessie, and Pitcher. Two horse following Boxer and Clover, also white goat Muriel and Benjamin a donkey, and young female horse Mollie. All animals are attend except Moses, the tame raven

Before starting his vision, Old Major make a speech about his life, he can’t living long again so he decided to tell his dream before he die. His vision about animals suffer caused by Man, Man is the only creature that consumes without producing, but humans take full advantage over the animals. By getting rid of humans, animals will enjoy his own work. The story followed by an invitation to rebel Mr Jones.

Old Major dies three days after the meeting, three younger pigs—Snowball, Napoleon, and Squealer—formulate his main principles into a philosophy called Animalism. The animals finally defeat Mr. Jones and rename farm’s name, Animal Farm as a dedicate Major’s dream.

Napoleon and Snowball fight each other to control the future of the farm, and they begin to struggle for power and influence among the other animals. Snowball make a plan to build an electricity-generating windmill, but Napoleon solidly refuse the plan. At the meeting to vote on whether to take up the project, Snowball gives a passionate speech. After the speech, Napoleon ordered his watchdogs to chase Snowball from the farm.

Napoleon quickly change his mind about the windmill, and claimed that is his plan to built a windmill. All animals involved the construction of windmill, Boxer and Clover are the most worked animals. Napoleon claims that Snowball returned to the farm to sabotage the windmill, and any animals who involved with Snowball plan will be execute. Napoleon begin his power to make Snowball as a villain by rewrite history. Napoleon also act more and more like a human being—sleeping in a bed, drinking whisky. The original Animal Principle forbade that activities, but Squealer -Napoleon’s propagandist- convicing other animals that Napoleon is a great leader.

Mr. Frederick, a neighboring farmer cheats Napoleon and attacks the farm, he also destroys the windmill. But animal defeat him, many animal were injured because the attack, including Boxer. The animals try to rebuild the windmill, but Boxer –the most loyal and hard worker- falls when he work on the windmill. One day Boxer has lost, Squealer told to the other that Boxer has died in peace after having been taken to the hospital. Actually, sold Boxer to a glue marker in order to get money for whisky.

The pigs become more like human —walking upright, carrying whips, and wearing clothes. The seven principles of Animalism was reduced to a single principle “all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.” Finally Napoleon made a deal with Mr. Pilkington -a neighboring farm- to fight against the laboring classes of both the human and animal communities. Napoleon also rechange “Animal Farm” back to “Manor Farm” and claiming “Manor Farm” was the correct one. The other animals are seeing that meeting through the window, and they cannot tell which are the pigs and which are human.

Shallow (character) analysis: 

This novel was released on 1945 before George Orwell’s 1984, but this novel have some similarity, authoritarian, rebellion, and suffer. The background of this novel is The Russian Revolution on 1917 against Tsar.

- Mr. Jones represents Tsar Nicholas II, whom the Russian Revolution ousted.

- Old Major represents Karl Marx and Lenin as the the Russian revolutionary leader.

- Napoleon represents Stalin as an authoritarian leader who intimidate the other and consolidate his power.

- Snowball represents Leon Trotsky, he good at speech and intelligent one. He also was being banished by Stalin.

- Boxer as a hard worker represents Russian working-class who helped to oust Tsar Nicholas and establish the Soviet Union.

- Clover as a female friend of Boxer represents The women of the Revolution as motherly figure for revolutionist army.

- Squealer represents Vyacheslav Molotov, Stalin's right-hand man and head of Communist propaganda.

- Mollie as a horse who loves being groomed and pampered represents petit bourgeoisie that fled from Russia a few years after the Russian Revolution.

- Benjamin, the donkey who refuse to inspired by rebellion represents Menshevik intelligentsia.

- Muriel as a intelligent goat who help other animal to read seven principles of Animalism represents a subtle, revelatory influence because of her willingness to help bring things to light (as opposed to Benjamin).

- Mr. Frederic as an untrustworthy neighbor represents Adolf Hitler, the leader of Nazi Germany.

- Mr. Pilkington represents the capitalist governments of England and the United States

* Bolshevik are member of a wing of the Russian Social-Democratic Workers' Party. Menshevik class wanted to make their movement less elitist than the Bolsheviks in the belief that it would attract the support of the uneducated workers and peasants.

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#3 Aib dan Martabat (Shyness and Dignity)

Author: Dag Solstad

Publisher: Marjin Kiri

Originally published: 2006

Score: 3.8/5 Goodreads

Synopsis:

This novel is an epic and also as a representative 21th century students character (Indonesian). They dislike their own culture (language) course, they like to think softly. Elias Rukla also represent teachers nowadays, with fashioned style of teaching. Elias Rukla able to restrain his emotions with class, all students always shows their dejection when Elias command to read Ibsen's "Wild Duck" every meeting. Until Elias can't restrain again, when he want to go home, but rain out there, he keeps run out over the rain, and trying to open his stuck umbrella, he keeps trying by hit it to the floor. Few students watching his fool act under the rain, one students come to help, but Elias even denounce her with a rant. He know what he did, he will be sack and he ran without destination. He don't know how to tell his wife about his future. What’s next? flashback..........................