#she even said so herself when she stooped to forcing one of her hotel staff into fighting in the nexus

[red-rover-au]

Friends, fans, freaks, help me out. Share EVERYTHING about how you think the Battle Nexus and Big Mama’s businesses work

Any headcanons about the structure/technology (like about her door that looks Very Krang-Like and what that might mean), your fanfic or your favorite fanfic that has the nexus as a significant plot point and/or goes into detail about how the place is managed, stuff you picked up from canon that gives hints on how Big Mama operates (like that chest covered in bones that her turtle assistant handed her), literally anything and everything you can think of!

If you know anything about economy that would be super helpful too, you should infodump about that as far as its relevant to Big Mama (pleeease)

[deniigi]

@pomegranate-belle and @puffins-studio have kindly convinced me to share with you all this little bit.

It’s of Electric Sheep but if Android Matt had a Mike who’s been looking for him since they were separated as youths (right before Matt started to become an android)

Title: Seventeen years

Summary: bounty hunter Mike has been taking jobs in nyc, searching for his lost twin. A chance encounter with a blonde woman who steals his heart helps him find him.

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

Seventeen years, ten months, 18 days.

Mike had lived out of the city longer than in it. Rochester was as close as he’d gotten in foster care, but work had dragged him through occasionally, and frankly he was grateful for it.

He’d told himself seventeen years ago that he’d get back.

So here he was, reflecting on life outside the cell of a guy screaming bloody murder.

Dude was a bot-trafficker.

The shit made some serious dough, Mike had seen it himself. But you know what else made some serious dough? Bounty hunting. I.e. Catching the people who got pissed off about other people makin’ some serious dough.

These days, they were all bot-traffickers. Mike could barely remember a time when he was chasing jewel thieves and counterfeiters down alleys anymore. It was all bot-this and bot-that—which, to be fair, was kind of the same thing as a jewel thief.

Property was where the real money was at. And bots? Hoo boy, the best kind could cost a penthouse.

Mike thought it was good for them that they had no idea how much they were worth. He found it kinda sweet if he was honest. This screamin’ bot dude’s collection of androids were all tucked up against each other in the other room, performing ‘maintenance’ on each other like a pile of cats. They were community-minded, bless ‘em. It made Mike smile a little bit.

Of course, so did the paycheck.

Yeah, the paycheck helped, too.

 --

 He got a job for the city. He took it without asking too many questions.

It didn’t matter how much city jobs paid, Mike always went ready for a double-shift there.

The last time he’d seen Matt had been when their social workers had untangled their hands at St. Agnes. Both of them had been wailing like toddlers, like they had been in front of Dad’s casket.

Up until that point, everyone had assured them that they’d be kept together—that no one was going to try to separate them. They were twins. People would understand that you couldn’t just take the one and leave the other. They had an unbreakable and psychic bond, clearly.

But then one day the social worker hadn’t answered Matt’s question when he’d asked about it again, seeking reassurance.

Mike’s stomach had dropped then. And sure enough, the next thing they knew, people were throwing around words like ‘specialty care’ and ‘high-risk’ and ‘better in the long-run.’

Mike had gone to a foster home screaming and fighting in the back of a sedan. Matty stayed behind, allegedly to be placed in some kind of group home with more ‘supportive’ care.

That was seventeen years ago--almost eighteen years ago.

Mike only knew what Matt looked like these days because he shaved every morning in the bathroom mirror. But, he told himself, not for much longer.

He hadn’t become a bounty hunter for the looks. He’d done it for the money and the job experience. Could he track a criminal? Hell yeah. He’d been one. He knew how they thought. More importantly: could he track a brother?

He could, actually. He was a Murdock; he knew how they thought.

 --

 The job in the city was whatever. Took half an hour and a big smile to corner the gal like a rat. She went to the highest bidder; Mike went back out on the prowl.

Chances were that Matt would be drawn to Hell’s Kitchen. And chances were that he would be searching for Mike as Mike was for him. He was an idealist like that. Like Mike.

Awwww. Old habits die hard.

 --

 Hell’s Kitchen had changed over the years, but it still felt like home when Mike put a foot in the boundaries. He knew these stoops and all these torn posters. He knew that skyline and that raggedy flag pole.

The names on the businesses changed—some got new lights, some got new windows, but all in all, the feel was still there.

 --

 He set out to find Matt in the old, old haunts. Stopped by the church. The old kids’ home. They still hadn’t seen him, no, Mike. Sorry, my son.

He took a waltz down memory lane by the docks.

He found the greasiest looking coffee shop he could and sat at a sticky table, people-watching through the huge half-wall windows for about an hour.

Nothin’ yet.

His coffee was cold when he left.

  --

He ran into a girl at a bar that night under green and red neon lights. They danced close. She told him he reminded her of someone she knew, and Mike thought that that was just a lovely coincidence, sugar, wasn’t it?

He invited her to his hotel room. She accepted.

He woke up to waves of amber grain strewn across this pillow, sticking to his lips, and the smell of something powdery and floral in the endless line of this lady’s neck.

God, she was like a swan. Mike ought to buy her breakfast.

He did because he was a gentleman. He left to go grab a sandwich from the bodega outside but came back to find the bed and the room empty. There was a little note on the pad next to the bed that said ‘thanks, handsome’ with a smile face next to it and a number.

He eased himself down on to the bed and stuffed a sandwich in his mouth to grin around.

  --

Her name was Karen.

It wasn’t their last night. Mike saw her when she was in the city and they had a well-worn routine after a few months.

Every time, a new bar, a new club, a new drink. But the same dance and then the same chase and collapse.

She told him nothing about herself, and he loved that about her. She passed fingers through his hair. She trailed them across his jaw, bristly stubble or no.

And then the next morning, she was gone, and Mike was sighin’ like a blue bird in spring.

 --

 Valentine’s Day found Mike in the city. He didn’t delude himself with thinking that Karen was available—he wasn’t that full of it.

But he did think that even a lady as lovely and possibly taken as Karen deserved a bouquet of flowers from a ‘friend.’ So he took a meander down to a wholesaler and chatted up one of the makers until a collection of spring tulips graced by baby’s breath found their way into his hands.

Karen, he suspected, worked somewhere in an office. Her ever-present, practical pencil skirt said so, and the way that she frequented Josie’s told him that she lived in the area around 9th and 52nd.

It wasn’t hard to snoop. It wasn’t hard to trawl through the local business websites in that area, peeking at staff pages until low and behold, the golden grail herself appeared smiling on try number 7.

He smiled back at her photo and went back to get the name of the place and the address only to pause in his tracks.

Nelson & Murdock.

Karen worked at a law firm called Nelson & Murdock.

Huh.

Well. Good for that Murdock. Mike hoped he was out when he brought these flowers in.

 --

 The firm was dinky and crammed up two flights of stairs across from an orthodontist’s office. Mike pitied Karen for having to spend her days watching droves of traumatized middle schoolers leave that place with wires crammed in their faces. The flowers even looked like they were wilting in the hallway.

Mike gave them a pep talk on his way to the door.

He knocked but no one answered, so he turned the knob and a handful of people where sat looking nervous in the waiting area. The front desk was empty. Abandoned.

Oh, Karen.

Ever at work like you are at play.

Mike made his way over the desk and caught sight of a familiar fluffy little ball on a keychain at the edge of the desk.

It was adorable.

He found a scrap of paper by the phone, reached over and snagged it and a pen to leave a little love note when he felt a tug at his elbow.

He forced down the irritation and turned back with a smile. An older lady with huge bifocals squinted at him.

“Mr. Murdock,” she said. “I’ve got to go move my car. Don’t you give up my place, you hear?”

Mike forced himself to hold his smile.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy, madam.”

Murdock must have looked smooth as hell for Mike to have been mistaken for him.

The lady squinted left, right, and center, then scoffed and pinched his arm.

“Cheeky boy,” she said. “I’ll be right back.”

She left.

Mike’s brain short-circuited for another few seconds before declaring that whole situation unresolvable, bizarre, and emphatically not his problem. Sorry Nana. Go to the back of the line like everyone else.

He went back to writing his card.

“Matt?”

He didn’t mean to look up. It was a reflex, man. It came with the twin-territory, and this time it brought a moment of panic as Karen’s brow dropped stormily and her fists found her hips.

“Where the hell have you been? We’ve been calling you all morning?” she demanded.

Mike’s palms started sweating.

Did Karen? Not? Recognize him?

Had he misread this whole love affair? Or maybe it was the daylight that was confusing her?

It had to be the daylight, right?

“Matt,” Karen said, irate as could be in that pretty blue and white top. “Don’t just stand there. Say something.”

Ahahahahahaha.

Too close. Too much.

“MATT.”

Out we go, back to the hovel from which we came.

  ---

He breathed out hard in the street below and turned back to look up at the window of Nelson & Murdock. It was flung open and he didn’t give Karen the opportunity to get her nose out of it. He hurried off into the crowd, ducking and squirming until he was sure that he was good and gone from sight.

Then he found an alley to clutch at his heart in.

It had been years since someone had called him Matt. Sometimes he took the name on as a false one, when working for especially shitty shit-heads. But Karen??

Mike was positive he’d introduced himself as Mike. ‘Michael’ but more like Costello than Abbott, he’d said. Karen had laughed.

What the fuck, man? What the fuck?

He looked at the flowers in his hand.

A waste.

Hhhng. Alright, well. There was for sure to be someone needing cheering up at a bar somewhere. Might as well spare them for the Singles Awareness Gigs sure to be happening soon.

  ---

He ended up at Josie’s because he always ended up at Josie’s, but this time with barely anyone in the place at 3pm on Valentine’s Day, she actually noticed him and gave him an eyebrow. He chose to ignore it in order to wallow in self-pity and raised his glass to his lips.

It didn’t make it.

He stared in stunned silence at the hand suddenly covering his glass.

“I don’t think that’s a wise idea, pal,” Josie said.

Mike gaped at her in shock.

“I? Paid for this?” he said.

There was a long moment of awkward silence.

“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” Josie said. “My bad. I thought you were someone else.”

Someone else?

Someone—

WAIT.

“Someone else? Does someone who looks like me come here?” Mike blurted out with zero grace before he could stop himself. “Does he—do you know his name? Is he—does he—”

Josie frowned hard at him.

“You’re not Matt,” she said after a long moment. “I always thought you were Matt.”

Matt!!

Matty!! MATT. You little shit. You perfect, darling, little shit. Out here, comin’ to Josie’s like a chump—possible alcoholic Matt!

Okay, wait, roll that one back—one problem at a time.

“He’s my brother. I’ve been looking for him for eighteen years, we were separated in foster care—do you know where he lives?” Mike asked with no filter to be seen for miles.

Was it professional of him?

No.

But were hugs at airports ever professional? Exactly. Get off his case.

He beamed wide at Josie, but her face did not reciprocate the gesture. Actually, it seemed to be doing the opposite and that made this little squirming feeling start up in Mike’s gut.

“Christ,” Josie said. “I’m so sorry, man.”

Wh-what?

“You’re gonna need a double.”

What did that mean?

“Take this.”

No. No, what did that mean?

“Take the shot, kid. Trust me. You’re gonna need it.”

  ---

No.

Just.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Josie rubbed her fingernails against her cheek and sighed.

“His owner brings him along,” she said. “Lets him work at their law firm with him—he’s made the papers, sure, but you know. It’s all kind of colored by the fact that he can’t really do shit without permission.”

Mike rolled the tumbler in his hand around.

Nelson, eh? So called ‘owner’ of the android called Matthew Michael Murdock.

Ahahahaha.

Get ready to die, motherfucker.

“But he tries to drink—Matt does,” Mike felt himself say.

Josie didn’t want to look at him.

“Sometimes, it’s like he forgets he’s a droid,” she said. “Usually, he’s got someone with him to keep him out of trouble.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Mike,” Josie said. “It’s a load of bull.”

FUCK.

He set the tumbler down.

“How much do I owe you?” he asked.

“It’s on the house,” Josie said. “Best of luck.”

Yeah.

Thanks.

  ---

Matty was—

Matty was—

Mike made it back to his hotel room before sinking to his knees by the bed. God had never heeded his prayers before, but things were different now.

Matty couldn’t pray for the both of them anymore. He was—He was--

Mike had to—

God, please.

Please. Give him back. What once was lost had to be found.

What once was lost, God.

Mike had lost him.

He’d lost him forever.

Give him back.

 ---

 He typed Matt’s name into the search engine on his phone and made it through one whole article before he was kneeling before a much harder, much more porcelain altar.

He tried again in the bathroom this time, sat on the floor with his back against the tub.

The bot that someone had made out of Matty looked so sweet. Like Mike, but softer in the cheeks. Younger. Forever 22 or something close to it.

He was still blind, despite all his other modifications and he was a little famous in the field of robotics. Not that the bot appeared to care. The articles claimed that the bot had recovered and retained memories prior to what they kept calling his ‘transition.’

What they meant was when he’d been transformed into a human weapon. An inhuman weapon.

Matty, I’m so sorry.

 ---

 There was only so much self-pity a man could wallow in before his ass started to fall asleep. But more than that, Mike was a Murdock. The tingling in his limbs was lost to the ever-increasing roar of fire in his ears.

That bastard. That bastard lawyer.

Taking Matt after everything he’d been through and turning him into some prop to be used as a showpiece in a grand legal theatre.

Fuck no. Fuck that.

Mike wasn’t fucking this up twice.

 ---

 Nelson & Murdock was closed by the time Mike once again found himself outside its doors. He stared at the sign’s heavy black letters and gave in to the devil raging, hot, underneath the skin of his chest.

He left the shattered doorglass on the ground as he made his way to the opposite stairwell.

 ---

 Karen.

  ---

She lived nearby 9th and 52nd. She was probably going home to her handsome hubby, who’d shower her in chocolate and wine and flowers. But on the way, she’d make a stop. She was a working gal. She wouldn’t have had time to pick up a gift in return before her shift started.

Mike found her at Walgreens, talking on the phone to someone while she petted every teddy bear on the rack in front of her.

He didn’t feel sorry.

She didn’t scream when his hand found her face. He didn’t give her the chance.

  ---

He ditched the hat in the back storeroom of Walgreens and took Karen right through to the loading dock. She thrashed hard.

Mike could barely feel the movement. He was on the lookout for eyes.

An elbow found his ribs and a foot his toes before he got them far enough from view that he could let her go to readjust his grip, and when he did, he got her against a wall, panting.

This lady was tough. But in a flash, she mouth dropped open and her wrists went limp in his grip.

“Mike?” she asked after a second. “Is that you? What are you doing here? Why are you—”

“Where. Is. My brother?” Mike cut her off.

Karen recoiled until her head hit the bricks behind her.

“Your—”

“My brother Matthew,” Mike snapped.

The rush of traffic settled into the silence.

“Oh my god,” Karen whispered. “He’s your brother?”

“Yes. He is, as a matter of fact, and whatever you think you’re doing to him, I will do to you and that fucking lawyer ten times worse,” Mike said. “So you’re going to help me or I’m going to—”

“I knew I knew you.”

He felt himself go stiff.

“Matt talks like you,” Karen said softly. “Just like you.”

Wh—he did?

Karen’s fingers brushed the tops of Mike’s hands. They were cold.

“Mike,” she whispered, sounding for all the world like she was on the verge of tears, “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

Wh—she’d—she’d take him to Matt?

“Of course,” Karen said. “He’s one of my best friends.”

They were friends? How were they friends? Was this a sick joke?

“No. It’s not. I met him years ago it’s just—I didn’t realize you were—okay, there’s just one problem,” Karen said.

 ---

 Uh?

“Sensory input! Greater than! Processing—PROCESSING—processing—”

“Matty,” Franklin Nelson said with both of his hands out in front of him. “I see that we are very excited.”

“SENSORY INPUT—”

“And I love your enthusiasm, and I know you love your enthusiasm,” Nelson continued. “But if you don’t settle down the tiniest fraction of an inch, you’re going to blow a fuse and—”

“SEN—sen-S-S-SEN—”

Uh?

“This is excited,” Karen explained while Nelson wrestled Matt into sitting for the second time since Mike had arrived at the door.

This was excited?

“He’s normally much more in tune with himself,” Karen said. “But I think you’ve jumpstarted some shit that even his additional processing power isn’t enough for.”

Additional what now?

“It’s a long story,” Karen said over the saddest sound that Mike had ever heard.

They both looked over to where Nelson had successfully gotten Matt back to sitting and was now coaching him through whatever the bot-equivalent of breathing exercises were.

“How long?” Mike asked.

Karen’s blue eyes pitied him.

 ---

 Okay, okay, okay. So. Nelson? Not a threat. Definitely a boon.

Matty?

Hng.

Heavy.

“I’ve literally never seen him this excited,” Nelson said. “And I’ve known him for seven years.”

No shit?

“No shit, we met at Columbia,” Nelson sighed. “I’m sorry about this.”

It was fine. Mike deserved this. Probably.

Jesus, what the fuck had they replaced Matt’s muscle’s with? How was he this warm and this heavy and not human all at the same time.

He’d seemed to have decided that Mike needed a full-body hug and while the first ten seconds had been cry-worthy, the last minute or so was getting a little suffocating.

“Matt, let him go,” Nelson pleaded. “He can’t breathe, bud. He’s gotta breathe, he’s not like you—”

“Subject: Mike. Michael Murdock,” Matt said brightly, scrambling off Mike out of no-fucking-where and getting way too far into Nelson’s face.

“Mike, yeah, you said,” Nelson said.

“Mike. Born October 21—”

“I get it. He’s your twin.”

“—at Metropolitan General Hospital at 11:32pm—”

“Matt,  you’re info-dumping friend, we don’t need this. We believe you. Don’t give me his social. Don’t—”

“—Social Security number 6—”

“MATT. End request. End search term. Exit page.”

Uh?

“He did this with the DA last week when he got too riled up,” Karen said sympathetically. “We have no clue where he finds it or better yet, where he even stores it.”

“—my brother, FOGGY.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ see it, man. It’s before mine very own eyes. Y’all are identical. It’s weird.”

“I missed him.”

“Tell that to him then. Stop touching me, ew. No. Go douse him with your weird fuckin’ eye fluid—atta boy, good job—NO. NO CLIMBING.”

Mike…was not prepared for the care and keeping of Bot-Matt. He had to admit that now. All those plans of snatching Matt out of the hands of these evil, evil people were breaking up into little fragments of puzzle pieces and he’d never felt more like shit because god.

He was supposed to look after his brother, wasn’t he?

Wasn’t he?

“I’m so sorry about this,” Franklin Nelson said with Matt leaning almost completely out of his grip and making that horrible sad noise again. “But I think I’m gonna need to cool him down a bit.”

 ---

 Mike couldn’t stop rubbing at his face.

Matt was sprawled out across Nelson’s bed like he was sleeping in the sunlight. The wires plugged into the back of his neck slipped off the edge of the bed and led all the way to a laptop that was just about sweating with how hard it was working.

From the side, it looked like he was human. Absolutely, unequivocally human.

Younger than Mike now, though. Permanently halted at 24 years old. No wonder Karen hadn’t recognized Mike early on. Matty’s jaw was still slim where Mike’s had hardened square like Dad’s. The only facial hair he had was in his eyebrows and eyelashes—there was no reason to add stubble to a bot. It was just more maintenance. Just another aesthetic modification.

“I’m sorry, Mike.”

Mike turned to Nelson.

He didn’t look or talk like a single one of the bot traffickers than Mike had dragged in from the cold—and he’d done the full range of them, from the cackling madhatters to the cooing, babytalkers to the silent so-called geniuses. Nelson exhibited only exasperation.

The story that Karen told about his and her early encounters with Matt made it seem like Nelson honestly considered Matt to be human, like him. Like all of them.

“You helped him,” Mike said quietly.

“If I’d have known that he had you, then I would have helped him find you sooner,” Nelson said. “But I thought he was on his own. He never mentioned anyone else. I should have asked.”

No. No, that was—That was okay, somehow.

“We got separated a lifetime ago,” Mike said. “People thought that I’d be easier to adopt. And clearly he had other things going on.”

Nelson winced.

“That’s shit,” he said.

“And wrong,” Mike sighed. “I don’t even know what to do now. I can’t take care of him like this. I don’t know the first thing about droid maintenance or computers.”

Nelson considered him.

“Well, the good news is that you don’t have to—take care of him, I mean,” he said. “Matt takes care of himself. He’s actually really good at it when he’s not blowin’ his top about some damn thing. You’ll see when he wakes up. And on top of that, he’s already got a mechanic, so when something goes wrong that he can’t fix, we take him to Parker and he does the heavy lifting there.”

Mike swallowed.

“You guys really have it worked out,” he realized.

Nelson sighed.

“Like I said. I’ve known him for seven years. We’ve lived together ever since.”

Woah. Wait. What now?

Nelson turned exhausted eyes onto him.

“I co-signed for his loft, but he just comes and spends all his time here when he’s not out smashing faces. Claims my bed. Steals all the sun spots. Makes me only shit coffee in return.”

He—Matt—Matt had his own apartment? He could do that?

“Sure? Why not? He owns half the firm, too,” Nelson said. “I mean, they wouldn’t let me put it in his name, technically. So it’s through a wildly complicated, uh—let’s call it a ‘thing’ for simplicity’s sake. But yeah. If anything happens to me, full ownership goes to him. But as far as we’re concerned, it’s half and half. The only thing Matt can’t do is practice law on his own, so we have to double-team pretty much every case.”

Mike needed to sit down.

“Oh, for sure. Just not there. I’d recommend out of range, here. Sit here,” Nelson said.

 ---

 Matt woke up when Karen snuck around the bed to remove the wires from his neck. He scrambled up and fell right over the side of the bed onto Karen’s feet.

She swore. He groaned. Nelson pointedly did not come back into the room.

This time, though, when Matt got back up, Karen pulled him in the direction of Mike and took his wrist. She held out a hand for Mike.

Mike’s heart fluttered.

He gave it to her and Karen put his hand directly in Matt’s palm.

There was silence.

“Mikey,” Matt said after a long moment.

Mike’s eyes started burning.

“You came for me,” Matt said.

Mike couldn’t make his throat work. It took two goes to find his voice.

“Yeah,” he croaked. “I sure did.”

“You ain’t singin’, though,” Matt pointed out. “Why aren’t you singin’?”

Because he was cryin’, man. God, give a guy a break.

“Matty, what did they do to you?” he asked.

Matt made a strange sound as he mulled over the question. A kind of whirring noise.

“Made me into a droid, dumbass,” he said.

Mike laughed before he could stop himself.

“Can I have a non-lethal hug?” he asked.

Matt whirred.

“No promises,” he said.

 ----

[thran-duils]

Sex and Candy

Title: Sex and Candy Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Dean (S15), Fem!Reader x AU!Castiel. Based on the alternate universe presented to us in Season 15 with the trust fund versions of Dean and Sam. The reader is married to Dean but is forced to face Castiel again, a past flame from her time at the hunter academy. After a fight with Dean, she finds herself asking Castiel to join her at a hotel, unable to let go of the past. Words: 3,818 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Angst, infidelity, smut Author’s Note: This was purposely left the way it was for you guys to make your own conclusions about what happens! ;)

Masterpost (mobile)

I smell sex and candy here, mmm Who's that lounging in my chair? Mmm Who's that casting devious stares in my direction? Momma this surely is a dream, yeah Yeah, momma this surely is a dream, dig it --Marcy’s Playground, Sex & Candy

Dean’s hand was at your lower back, guiding you through the door. Headquarters were fairly quiet, which was out of the ordinary. Many of the hunters in the area were not around having been dealt with an influx of monsters somehow escaping purgatory. Word was it had something to do with two rogue hunters who had messed around with some extremely powerful supernatural artifact and it had caused a rift in between the two worlds. You detested hunters who had not been given formal training through the academy and kept within the reins of John, your father in law’s, circle. They made your jobs all the more difficult more often than not.

The two of you stepped into the elevator, nodding in greeting at the guard standing nearby.

Once the doors closed, Dean told you, “Dad’s in a bad mood.”

“Oh?” you asked, barely feigning a tone of interest. You adjusted the silver Tiffany’s bracelet on your wrist, thinking to yourself that this was not news; John was usually not in a good mood. He was overbearing to say the least. It had taken everything in Dean to tell him he wanted to move out of the house with you. Luckily for you, John had a soft spot for you due to your hunting skills and had not put up much of a fuss. You had held back a scowl though when he had chirped that at least Dean had a homemaker to take care of him. You did not have to clean up after him, thankfully, considering the staff at your home. You loved Dean, there was no doubt, but his less desirable traits – being dependent and needing to be coddled at times – left you with a sour taste in your mouth more and more often.

Pulling at his collar to straighten it out, Dean sighed, “Yes. Apparently, he’s found out who the hunters are and wants to do something about them.” Your gaze slid to him and by the look on your face, Dean held up his hands, his gold cuff links catching the light. “Sammy refused.”

“Sam always refuses things like this.” Sighing, your fingers dug into your clutch. “He has got to stop punishing you sometime for moving out. He needs to start doing some of the dirty work.”

“I hardly think searching them out to ask them what the heck went wrong is dirty work, Y/N.”

The elevator door opened, and you closed your mouth, not wanting to continue this discussion outside the privacy of it.

You cut in front of Dean, your annoyance apparent. You heard him sigh heavily behind you, but you did not care, making your way down the hall towards John’s office.

Knowing better than to just enter, you knocked on the door and heard John beckon you in. Swinging the door open, you felt Dean at your back as you entered the room.

John was sitting behind his intricately carved desk that he had had imported in. Papers were stacked neatly, him working on one thing at a time. He was adamant about keeping his desk clean and to do so, he would not be rushed. One of the other board members for the academy, Arthur, was sitting opposite John.

Taking his glasses off, John moved to put his pen back in its holder. He gestured at the empty chair beside you, and you sat, keeping your back straight. Arthur was watching you out of the corner of his eye and you stiffened even further. He had been particularly hard on you as one of your mentors in school and you had not forgotten.

“You look upset, Y/N,” John commented.

You waved him off and said, “I am just impatient about learning who caused this latest mishap. And what is going to be done about it.”

“Impatience has always been a fault of yours,” Arthur commented, and you bit back a comment as John continued, “Well, it turns out it was two of the academy’s.”

“Are you joking?” Dean blurted from behind you where he was standing.

John shot him a look and Dean closed his mouth. “That is not something I would joke about, Dean. It was a major, major bungle. Yes, it was two that should know better, but I am not surprised at the same time. Novak and Crowley.”

His eyes were on you as he revealed this and unable to stop yourself, you closed your eyes, letting out a small sigh. Of course, it was. And no wonder Sam would turn this down as he knew yours and Castiel’s history; anything to put Dean and you in an uncomfortable position.

A small smirk on his lips, John told you specifically, “I thought it would be best to send you. And of course, Dean would go as well. You two are partners.”

“Naturally,” you responded tightly.

This was the last thing you wanted to do with your time. Being in Castiel’s presence never ended up being dressed in the past. Circumstances were different now and you were going to have to try to break that trend. You were already on edge and this was not going to help you to keep your composure seeing the smug look on his face.

<> <> <>

“Why am I not surprised they would be in a place like this?” Dean asked as the two of you ascended the short staircase to the bar.

It was a rowdy place, placed in an urban center.

“They are the dive bar type,” you told him, speaking louder as the swell of the music met you at the door. You held out your ID for the bouncer and he quickly waved you through, not even bothering to look at Dean’s considering he saw what your last name was already. Winchester got you into many places and underground establishments without the bat of an eye.

It did not take you long to locate them inside. They were waiting to play the next game of pool; Castiel was leaning back in his chair, legs propped up on the table, drink in hand. Crowley was next to him, dressed in crisp black as usual. Castiel’s hair was loose, his beard growing to a 5 o’clock shadow.

Crowley spotted you and Dean first. He nudged Castiel and said something to him as the two of you approached the table. Castiel turned his head and a smirk grew on his face seeing you, chuckling as he looked back down at his drink. He brought the pint to his lips and took a long swig.

“We need to talk,” you told them over the music, standing beside Castiel, glaring down at the pair of them.

“John Winchester sent his lap dogs instead of coming himself?” Crowley asked, giving you a scornful look.

Your mouth fell open slightly and before you could retort something nasty, Dean stepped forward. “It would be appreciated if the two of you could cooperate. It would make things so much easier. It’s not just my father; it’s the whole board.”

Castiel cleared his throat, moving to drop his feet off the table. “I suppose we are about to get our asses handed to us based on the demeanor here.”

“You’re damn right,” you spat.

“Oh, language,” Dean told you over his shoulder and you did not miss the smirk on both Castiel and Crowley’s faces. “No need to stoop to their level, Y/N.”

Castiel gestured across the table. “Sit.”

Dean looked apprehensive about sitting on the chair, no doubt worrying about his pressed slacks. You on the other hand, did not care in the slightest. You sat down, placing your wallet on the table between you and Dean. Castiel’s eyes were following your movements and you shot him a vexed look and clenched your jaw when he winked in return. It went missed by Dean as usual, him being too absorbed in keeping himself clean.

“So, what does the old man want to say?” Crowley asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass slowly. He was not going to let his disdain for John go.

Clearing his throat, Dean said ignoring the jab – or perhaps it went over his head, which was more likely –, “He wants to know what happened, why it happened, and how you propose to fix it.”

“Well, that is a lot of information and could take some time –”

“Give us the short version,” you snapped, interrupting him.

Crowley cocked his head, drawling, “You’re as charming as ever, Y/N.” You said nothing in response. “Fine. We were trying to send a monster back to purgatory –”

“What?” Dean demanded at the same time you blurted, “Why?”

“Well, if you would let me explain myself,” Crowley said tightly, narrowing his eyes. “We wanted to see if it could be done. Why continue wasting resources killing the monsters when we could just open a rift and send them to purgatory?”

“And you decided to do this without, I don’t know, discussing this with anyone else? Or asking for help?” you asked.

“Didn’t think any of you tight asses would be up to it.”

“And for good reason!”

Holding his hand up at you, Crowley said, “That is exactly why we didn’t ask for help. We researched it on our own, found the artifact we needed, and preformed the ritual ourselves. It did not go as we planned but we did do it. We opened a rift. Now, if we could perfect it –”

Dean cut in, holding up his hand, “Yeah, that’s not going to be happening. The Board wants you to turn over whatever artifact you used so we can keep it hidden to prevent this from happening again."

Crowley and Castiel exchanged a quick look, an entire conversation happening in a matter of moments between the two of them.

“And if we don’t hand it over?” Castiel questioned, coyly.

You exhaled impatiently as Dean scoffed, “You can’t be serious to want to defy the Board.”

“If we give it up to them, they’ll never pursue the idea.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“But they’ll take our hard work and claim the credit for themselves if it ends up being perfected.”

“That’s the point of the Board and the academy. It is to keep all of our collective research in one centralized place so everyone has access to it.”

Crowley cut into their conversation angrily, “That is exactly why I hated attending that bloody academy. The stuffed up, old pricks—” Dean flinched at the insult. “--there want to keep everything to themselves while the rest of us do the groundwork for them.” Castiel nodded in agreement, taking a drink of his beer.

Dean looked at you for support and you leaned forward, catching both of the men’s attention across the table. “Look. You know there’s two ways this is playing out. You agree to hand it over or we go back and tell the Board they’ve got two hunters they need to get information out of.”

“You mean, you two won’t be the ones shaking us down?” Castiel quipped, a playful glint in his eyes.

You were tired of him flirting, pushing your buttons that he knew how to press all too well.

Annoyed, you retorted, “They’re not sending Dean and I to get our hands dirty by forcing information out of you two. We are here as liaisons.”

“No. No, I suppose they wouldn’t be sending the pair of you,” Crowley said. “You haven’t done hard work in years. That’s for the grunts, isn’t it?”

You had had enough. Pushing the chair back with a loud squeak, you stood up quickly, grabbing your wallet. “I’m finished with this conversation. Dean, if you would like to continue trying to reason with these idiots, I’ll be in the car.”

It annoyed you even further to see Dean quickly get up to follow you. Part of you hoped he would have had the backbone to continue trying to coerce them, but then again, he seemed to always be following your lead.

“No, I see a lost cause when I see one,” Dean said, standing close to you.

You tore your eyes away from him to look at Crowley and Castiel once more. Castiel was taking a swig, his eyes running up your body and you had the urge to smack the glass out of his hands, spilling the contents all over him. You gave a disgusted scoff before turning and storming away from the table. Hearing Crowley crow after you to have a good night made your blood boil even more.

<> <> <>

Dean walked out of the bathroom in your bedroom in the suite, robe wrapped tightly around him. He was brushing his teeth while searching for his slippers. He found them and disappeared back into the bathroom. He had not wanted to go back home tonight, opting to pay for a luxurious room for the two of you to lounge in. You were not relaxing though, still infuriated with the salacious way Castiel had kept looking at you. It had set you aflame to feel those same lustful feelings when you had seen him. The man rubbed you completely the wrong way and yet, you still yearned to turn those feelings of annoyance into passion.

“Well, we tried,” Dean told you, emerging once more.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Not hard enough. They should not feel the right to refuse a request like this.”

“I don’t know what you thought we could do more.”

He was so ready to give up. Dean typically gave up at the first signs of difficulty and passed the buck to someone else to handle. You had been okay enough with it at first with your brazen personality you had no problem picking up tough situations and making sure they got solved. But tonight, after seeing Castiel, the stress and annoyance was boiling over.

“Are you fucking serious, Dean?” You demanded. His mouth fell open at your cursing and you said, “Oh, come off it! Are you serious? We could have done it ourselves. We could have brought them in. You know I would have been able to get them in cuffs myself.”

“Y/N, that would not have worked. Two on two? And you would have caused a scene in the bar. There’s no reason to get police involved.”

Snapping, you shouted, “Dean, can you just for once do…” You caught yourself, closing your eyes. You had been about to lose your temper and say something you were going to regret. Breathing deeply, you tried to push the anger back below the surface. You needed air; you needed some release. Turning and snatching your purse, you searched for your shoes. “Never mind.”

“Can I do what?” Dean pressed when he recovered from your outburst as you made to go grab your jacket.

“It’s not worth it,” you dismissed him.

Dean stepped closer, concern laced in his features. “Apparently it is if you’re this upset.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” you said exasperated, gesturing at him. “You should be mad at me for being mad at you and yelling.”

“Why would I do that?”

Letting out a small growl, you turned and stormed towards the door.

“Where are you going?” He called after you, worried.

“Out!”

‘It’s late, Y/N!”

“Don’t wait up for me then.”

<> <> <>

Lying on the bed naked, you waited, flipping through your phone. You had gone down the street, paying for a room at a far less extravagant hotel in cash. No paper trail was going to be left for John to find.

When you heard the key at the door – you had asked the front desk to hold one for pick up – you lowered your phone. The door opened and Castiel walked in.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he snapped seeing you and rushing to close the door and lock it behind him.

You ignored his outburst, leaning over and placing your phone on the bedside table. “Figured you would have slowed down on the drinking after seeing me. I like being right.”

“History does have a way of informing my decisions,” Castiel replied, taking a few steps further into the room. He was looking at your bare skin, eyes lingering. You made a hum of approval, lying back on the bed, legs crossed, giving a shielded view of your pussy. Castiel tore his eyes away and asked, “Is this a trap?”

Smiling coyly, you asked, “Do you want to risk the opportunity to find out?”

“I suppose not.” He removed his jacket, tossing it on the chair next to the desk. His fingers hooked into the hem of his shirt and he pulled it over his head. He was not going to waste time giving you the opportunity to change your mind about all this.

“Come here,” you ordered him, sitting up and getting onto your knees at the edge of the bed.

You undid his belt and his pants, allowing him to shimmy to let them fall to the ground. His boxers went next and he pushed you back onto the bed, crawling on top of you.

“You got a condom?” he breathed into your ear, letting out a low groan when your hand found his cock.

Stroking, you whispered back, “No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter? You’re safe, right?”

“That’s romantic—” Castiel started to say but your hand cupped his balls and he groaned again. “Yes. Yes. I got tested a couple weeks ago, actually.”

“How fortuitous,” you answered, stroking him again. You were rewarded with a throaty chuckle from him and his lips landing on yours. He drug his lips across yours, relishing in the taste.

Castiel growled, losing patience. He pushed your hand away and lined himself up with your entrance. He slid in, slamming his mouth to yours as you opened up for him. His composure was slipping feeling your tightness around him as he began thrusting in and out. You knew he was not this crazy for anyone else. You kissed him back with fervor, falling into the familiar rhythm; you had not felt him like this in over a year. The last had been shortly after you and Dean had gotten married and you had held out for this long by avoiding him up until tonight.

“I missed you,” you gasped, dragging your lips along his jaw before coming back to nip at his lip.

His tongue slipped past your lips and you moved to wrap your arms around his neck as he continued to steadily move in and out, you dripping around him.

You pushed him away and he looked at you momentarily confused. You began to shift position, and he followed your motion, pulling out to let you guide him. Climbing on top of him, you slid down his length. You rode him, each dive pushing him deeper until he bottomed out. Increasing your speed, your hands planted on his chest, moans leaving your throat. Praises fell from Castiel, his fingers digging into your sides.

“You look so fucking sexy, baby,” he grunted, his eyes following your tits bouncing.

You were close and you let go of him to put your hands on the headboard. Gripping tightly, you used it as leverage to quicken your pace, crying out as his cock brushed your core.

“Cum for me,” Castiel said. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it.”

You cried out, losing your rhythm. Castiel took the opportunity to hold you in place tighter, continuing to plummet into you as you saw stars. You barely registered feeling Castiel fill you up, his fingers bruising with his grip.

Collapsing on the bed next to him, you breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself.

Silence fell between the two of you, both staring at the ceiling. It was becoming too much, being this close to him. You had messed up yet again. You knew the moment John told you who you were going to go after that you would, but you had tried so desperately to lie to yourself about the inevitable outcome. You needed some space or something to drink to make yourself relax.

Clearing your throat, you asked, “You want a drink? I bought a bottle.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and got out, walking over to the mini fridge. You pulled out the bottle of whiskey, placing it on the counter to be able to reach over and grab two of the Styrofoam provided cups. He had not answered but you were pouring him one all the same.

You tossed a look over your shoulder at Castiel. He was propped up on his elbow, looking at you with longing.

“What?” you asked lightly, although your heart was pounding. You knew that look.

“I still love you, you know.”

The admission made you falter, as you put the cap back on the bottle. Recovering, you quickly screwed the lid back on and put the bottle back in the fridge, grabbing one of the cans of pop to split it between the cups. You tossed the can into the recycling bin.

“I’m fully aware, Cas,” you finally said shortly.

You heard him chuckle behind you. “You were always terrible with affection, Y/N.”

Now you turned to him, shooting him a glare. “Like you’re the poster child for it.”

“Touché.”

Swallowing sharply, you threw your hand out. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas.”

“You almost told me earlier. You said you missed me.”

“Well… I do.”

Castiel sighed, “But you can’t just come out and say it.”

Scoffing, you said, “Cas, I’m married.” It was his turn to scoff, and he swept his arm around at the messed-up sheets and the scene between you. “You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t. Explain yourself.”

“I love Dean,” you snapped, and his mouth formed a tight line. You knew he hated hearing that, despite the fact it was the truth.

“You can love more than one person at a time, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you told him defiantly, “No. No I can’t. Not for my own sanity.”

“You reached out to me. You cut me out and then the moment you saw me again, all that resolve you tried to have disappeared almost instantly. You know there’s a reason for that.”

Opening your mouth, you closed it again, at loss for words. He was staring at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

He was right and it cut deep knowing he was right. You had feelings for them both and it was for different reasons. Dean would never be Cas and Cas would never be Dean. Why could you not have them both? It was not possible, but you wanted it. So badly.

Raising your gaze again, you met his burning stare. “Fine,” you whispered. “Fine, Castiel. I do love you too.”

“Then do something about it.”

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas

[bygosscarmine]

LOVE SHIFTS SHAPE

Sky High: Magenta x Ethan, post-canon

a multi-chapter reunion story, in continuity with Love, Unspoken

Magenta is dreading the reunion in a mild "I'm in a successful band that has nothing to do with my powers" sort of a way, but she looks forward to seeing the friends she's kept up with at the party.

Then, for a second she doesn't recognize Ethan in his adult form, and things long forgotten (like her break-up with Zach) feel all too relevant again.

Chapter One: For A Limited Time Only

Coming down into Baltimore, Magenta stared from the plane at the citylights glinting off the water. Cars ran through the urban landscape in their binary directions, mapping its arteries in red and white cells. It had been some time since she’d flown into this airport, even longer since she’d done it alone. Strange how that made her on edge. The jolts of landing from a flight usually gave her a thrill, but today it felt just like being shoved around in a crowd after a long day.

The airplane finally stopped moving, and soon the passengers heard the bing of permission to remove their seatbelts. Magenta hadn't flown business class, since she couldn't exactly write off a trip home, so she had to wait for the many rows ahead of her to clear. Even when it was almost her turn to leave the plane, she was forced to lean uncomfortably on the back of her seat, stooped, as the people in front of her wrestled large bags from overhead bins.

She turned her cellphone back on while she waited and saw a message directed at her in the messaging group with her high school friends. When's your flight arrive?

Just now, she replied.

Someone asked, When will you leave?

Day after the party.

It felt weird to not to be going home--but not all bad. It was one less thing to dread, though she'd get a lecture from her mother eventually. She was dreading the reunion enough.

The rental car kiosk was thankfully not over-run at this time of night, so she got a car without too much delay and drove to her hotel. In the pull-through lane in front of the lobby, she handed over her car with luggage to a valet, taking only the disreputably worn-in messenger bag with her wallet and phone that had accompanied her into the plane cabin as well. As she walked into the lobby a middle-aged man with the distinctive style of a traveling businessperson was complaining to a clerk, though he spared a moment's attention to giving her a critical look.

Apparently women in smokey eye-makeup and torn jeans didn't fit his image of the Royana establishment.

"Yeah," he said, in that exasperated tone conveying he felt he was being really patient, "I really feel like I should get an upgrade, every other location I've been to has a free shuttle from the airport."

"I'll see what I can do, sir," said the junior clerk, while glancing into the side-office.

The senior staff-member who emerged at this moment saw Magenta and said, "Ah! Ms. Notani. Welcome. We have your Premier Suite ready for you. Just give me a moment to activate your key."

"Certainly," said Magenta. "And please upgrade this gentleman's suite as one of my guests. Thank you."

The man looked flabbergasted (and not necessarily pleased) but Magenta just took her key-card and headed toward the elevators.

She was only in a split second of the advertisement featuring Kitt, the frontwoman of her band The Wastelanders, but the members all had Ambassador status with this hotel. It was nice; if she had to stay in a hotel in her own hometown, it was at least a ritzy one. Her luggage was brought up only moments after she arrived, with a complimentary cheeseboard from room service. It had been a while since she'd given cheese a hard look, but with reunion looming old memories were being dredged from the deeps. There had been a few months in school when pranking her with cheese had been a thing. She'd found it in her locker, left on her usual seats in class, and even (she suspected some of the meaner upperclassman of this one) written over her gym shirt with the kind that sprayed from a can.

Well, she couldn't let them get into her head already. She ate some of the goat feta on the rosemary crackers, and put the rest in the fridge.

She spent the next day pretending to catch up on her correspondence. Somehow she kept getting sidetracked into checking into one of the particularly dumb games on her phone instead. She gave up around three in the afternoon, and started to get ready though it was four hours before the event started. And she wasn’t getting dressed in something that required several hours to dress, either. The coded phrase for the reunion had been business casual, but Magenta didn’t believe in this barren subset of style and owned nothing resembling it. She’d be wearing some of the cigarette jeans the stylist for their tour had talked her into buying which ended up too tight for a night of jumping around on stage, and a blouse she’d picked up before her flight. It looked too dressy for her, so she figured it would work.

She zipped herself into the boots Kitt called "Maj's wingmen" and confronted herself in the mirror. “Am I going to have to get a warm-up drink?” she asked herself. “No, if I’m buzzed when I show up they’ll assume rock star cliches about me.”

It seemed ridiculous she was anxious. It wasn't like this was a group of strangers. Layla would be there. They regularly hung out when Magenta was in town—moreso now Layla lived with Warren, who had a decent living room for video game nights. Dorm apartments were only almost big enough to live in.

She struck out for the hotel bar, but ordered an espresso macchiato instead of liquor. A different kind of buzz would have to do.

There had been debate among the reunion committee, apparently, about having it in the Sky High gym. But aside from the fact that their first dance in the gym had been crashed by a villain, and afterward never felt quite the same to them again, there was the issue of getting a group of adults onto a shuttle in a timely manner. So instead the party was being held at a banquet hall. Because there were some security-risk people in their number, like Stronghold, it was a banquet hall in a government building where they could hire a few bouncers and be fairly assured that any intruder would at least be seen entering, and hopefully heard.

It also meant approaching the place felt a little like walking up to a bank. It looked fancy but not particularly welcoming.

Once she'd followed a couple she didn't recognize from behind to the actual banquet room, though, the crowd was a little less overpolished. Stronghold himself was apparently watching the entrance like a hawk. He bounded over to shake Magenta’s hand with a big grin, and then decide they should hug instead. He was wearing one of the signature Stronghold-color sweatshirts (where did he get those? Were they special made? She had never wondered about this until now) and carpenter jeans that surely were no longer being sold in stores.

“It’s so good to see you. How have you been? A band, right? You’re in a pretty big band! How is that?”

This kind of clueless greeting would be more annoying if Will weren't so incredibly sincere. He was owning that he hadn't been paying close attention, but that now, in this moment, he was interested in hearing more. She knew they'd be cut off before she said anything significant, but that he'd remember anything she did manage to say.

"Yeah, we've been touring most of this year. Feel like we're really building a good fanbase that shares a lot with each other, not just people who come to our concerts, now."

"That's awesome. Must feel great to kind of connect people. Oh, hey, have you talked to Freya? She's just back from teaching violin in Poland! As a cover for her other work, of course. You guys should talk!"

Magenta felt like this was the kind of tenuous connection neither she nor Freya would value the way Will thought they might, but she didn't resist. When reintroduced by Will, it became clear that he had heard about as much from Freya of her life as he had from Magenta. Magenta recognized her as the ice-power girl who had been held back to their grade after the second half of her sophomore year had been dedicated to recovering from a concussion and reconstructive surgery after a particularly poorly thought-out gym activity. Though Freya was a classical musician working as a superhero and Magenta was just a rock bassist, after a few awkward exchanges they discovered a shared a passion for the same fantasy thriller TV shows. They talked vampire casting aesthetics until Freya's old best friend arrived and pulled her away to get drinks.

Magenta both wanted a drink and wanted to not get tipsy around people so soon. Why was Layla not here yet? She was usually timely. Maybe she had tried to convince Warren to come--a losing proposition. There were few things Warren hated more than school functions, and one of those things was making nice at a stilted party. This was both of those things. Love blinded people, so Layla still tried to talk him into stuff he didn't want. As far as Magenta could tell, Warren got his way when he cared about something enough, but a lot of the time he was happy to do whatever Layla cared about.

Magenta had always really gotten Warren's antisocial bit. She'd just never had the balls to go hard-mode with it the way he did.

As she was trying to judge what circle it would pain her least to linger her way into when she heard an unfamiliar voice behind her say, "Hey Maj, how's it going?"

For a second (later she couldn't say why) she looked into the smiling face without recognition. Finally, though, logic suggested that a black young man in this somewhat white-washed crowd could only be one person. This took a split-second only, then she was ashamed. It was the overall expression of his face that confounded her most--by graduation he'd been already considerably taller and socially graceful. This man, though, had self-awareness.

"Hey!" she said, as if she hadn't missed her beat. "Please tell me the rumors are true and the cash bar isn't too far from here."

"I think it's true, but I cannot confirm," Ethan said, "I don't drink anywhere there are so many supers all together."

"That seems wise," she said.

[neinthedeer-blog]

A ten-year-later story

Some weird idea about the future of the Rappapa with a light twist. I just wrote it for fun while celebrating the 10th anniversary of 10nen zakura. Please forgive my messy and lengthy writing style.

———————————

    In a certain sunny day in February, at the usual busy airport, a girl with long black hair, which only had the left half tied up neatly, wearing black boots, black slim-fit military trousers and a camo sleeveless t-shirt, along with a deep green sukajan with white dragon embroidery on top, pushed her cart with at least a dozen of boxes on it around. She also carried on her back a military backpack. It seemed like she was waiting or looking for someone.

    “Hey Gekikara! Over here!” A girl, also with long black hair and white shirt, black jeans and a black sukajan with white dragon embroidery but in a different design, who was standing beside a gray pickup truck, waved her hand. Gekikara walked right over with a newfound excitement; it had been 2-3 months since the last time they met.

“Thanks for picking me up, Black”, Gekikara giggled and started unloading the boxes on her cart into the rear trunk of the old truck after hugging the other girl, “By the way, you still haven’t bought a new truck yet?” Black helped with the unloading while answering, “I just don’t want to. And don't mention it, your goods need to be brought to the supermarket anyway. Are you gonna stay in a hotel this time? Wanna stay at my place?” Gekikara replied, “Well, I won’t refuse your kindness if you want to”.

After unloading everything, Gekikara put her backpack on top of the boxes and closed the trunk with a bang. “Take it easy, Gekikara, you will break my precious truck” Black said after seating herself on the driver’s seat. “Hey, it’s not my fault your precious truck is so old”, Gekikara replied while opening the door and comforting herself on the front seat of the so-called old truck. Black stoop on the accelerator and they were out of the airport’s noisy parking area in no time.

“How was your last mission in Syria?”, Black asked. “Decent. I saved a lot. There were so many abandoned children, you can't even imagine.” Gekikara answered in a soft voice. She was a soldier of a Voluntary Force, which main job was to come to terrored or devastated places to rescue the locals. Although the force was voluntary, they still got pay a lot due to the danger of the missions and also because the force was organized by private. Although the job paid good, it was not the reason for Gekikara's participation. It all started when she met a girl named Furukawa Airi a year after her graduation, after she sold her mother’s house and started roaming the world. The small girl was there when Gekikara passed by a terrored town and saved a child out of the fire. Airi asked Gekikara to join the force right away. “There are even more children that need help, will you join us?”, with a warm voice, Airi managed to convince Gekikara to join in the team. Gekikara was the one that understanding the feeling of an abandoned child the most hence she didn’t want to see any children suffering in her sight. Despite of being a private organized force, Gekikara was trained full-fledged military style and it helped her control her brute strength better, while also taught her the importance of defense and accuracy in fighting. She still laughed when fighting though, Gekikara-style as always. She was in the hand-to-hand combat team which was to handle hostage-involved cases, where they couldn’tshoot recklessly, and rescue people from collapsed buildings. Airi was in the tactical team and they were a great duo. However, Airi was shot 3 years after Gekikara joined the force and Gekikara went full monster to revenge for her dear friend. Nowaday, apart from her dog tag, she also wore Airi’s in commemoration of her friend and donated most of her salary to various orphanages. Money never delighted Gekikara so she only kept enough for herself and for her share in paying Yuko’s hospital bill. Yes, you heard it correct, Yuko was alive. The doctor said it was a miracle, but she needed to stay full time in the hospital. The Rappapa decided to split the bill among themselves since Yuko had no family or relative. Rappapa was her only family and they decided to do what family supposed to do. Even though Yuko protested a few times at first, she understood that she had no way to pay the bill with how she had to stay in the hospital all the time now. It was hard on the girls at first considering the only ones with real job is Sado, who was a nurse-in-training, Black, who was a clerk and Torigoya, who was a masseur. Maeda was finishing her study in medical university, Shibuya and Gekikara was jobless, or rather had not found the job they wanted.

Then things started getting better.

Firstly, Sado got promoted into the head nurse. Then Gekikara met Airi and joined the Voluntary Force. After that, Shibuya had been irritated by her underlings being beaten by boy yankees for a while now and started teaching them her boxing skill, then some other yankees came and asked to join her lesson. Ultimately, Shibuya turned her hideout into a boxing class for girl yankees and had made quiet a name for herself. The class, of course, had fees and even though it was not too high, the amount of trainees were enough to make up for that. Dance, still as loyal and faithful as ever, also joined the class, sometimes as experiment object for Shibuya, but also for serious lesson sometimes. Dance also helped with the equipment and gate-guarding for the class. When Maeda graduated from university and became a real doctor, the hospital fee for Yuko turned into a really small matter and to top that off, Torigoya saved enough to open her own massage parlor while Black inherited the supermarket from its previous owner. He was a lonely old man with no heir or any relative, so he decided to give it to Black, his loyal and hardworking employee after hearing Yuko’s story and how the Rappapa girls had decided to split the bill. The supermarket was in between Majijo and Yabakune’s territory, where no one dared to open up any form of business which boosted Black’s supermarket sell greatly. The students from both school also agreed to be on neutral term when encounter each other in her supermarket (or Black, and sometimes the other girls, would beat them into pulps). But what made Black’s supermarket become a hit was Gekikara’s goods. Gekikara usually got 4 breaks a year and due to another agreement between the girls, which was to come and take Yuko outside once a month for fun (didn’t mean she had not tried to sneak out but with Sado as the nurse and Maeda as the doctor, she stood no chance), she came back periodically with souvenirs for them everytime and one time, Gekikara brought spare military supplies back, and Black felt that the yankees would love these for sure, so Gekikara brought back more for Black on her next break, which sold out almost immediately. All type of fighting supplies like gauntlets, knee caps, camo suits, cargo pants,... were sold out in a flash. So Gekikara became Black's supermarket's fixed supplier and she sometimes brought back some of her job’s destination’s food or goods. Although they were not as good sell as the military stuffs, they were good seasonal products nontheless.

Black’s truck pulled up beside a small, neat-looking supermarket and the two started unloading the boxes again, now from the trunk into the store’s storage. After all was done, they sat together on the staff’s room and chatted for a bit. “Thanks for the goods, Geki. Just list the stuffs and prices out for me like last time. I will pay you later”, Black said while fidgeting with the water bottle’s cap after taking a huge gulp of water. “Don’t mention it, this supermarket was technically ⅓ mine anyway”, Gekikara said while smirking then went on and took another gulp of water from her military water bottle. Black facepalmed at what her friend just said, “I have told you that’s a bad idea so many times”. “Well, we did it anyway”, Gekikara laughed. It was years ago, after the Gekikara’s goods had been going on for a while, Gekikara suddenly suggested Black to sell her ⅓ of the supermarket’s stocks since she was technically a shareholder now with how much effort she was invested in the supermarket’s well-being. Black hesitated at first but finally did it and from then on, Gekikara had used it to reject her payment for the goods whenever she could. Black always had to force her to take it and Gekikara seemed like she enjoyed making Black angry.

“Where should we go next?” Gekikara asked while tugging her water bottle back into her already over packed bag. “Shibuya asked me to pick her and Torigoya up from the ring and then we can go to the hospital together” Black answered. “Oh yes, I almost forget, Yuko-san…”, the atmosphere suddenly turned quiet and heavy, Black, not willing to look at Gekikara’s sad face and also to hide her sad face, stood up first and walked out to the truck, “Let’s go, the others are waiting”.

Gekikara had a month break every year and to fulfill the girls’ agreement to come and bring Yuko out for fun as frequently as they can (usually once a month), she came back every 3 months and spent a week with her family - the Rappapa, and mostly Yuko. Therefore, she usually scheduled to come back at the end of March, which was to bring Yuko out to see cherry blossom, end of June, end of September and end of December, which was to celebrate new year together with her family. But this time, Gekikara had to take her break in mid-February because of a dreadful news from Yuko: she had fallen into a coma and her time was coming to an end, in which the doctors agree on letting her to go home for there was nothing they could do anymore.  

The ride was filled with small conversation for Black and Gekikara to update each other with the 2 months gap. When the car stopped in front the boxing class, Dance immediately came and opened the door for them, “Black-san, Gekikara-san, Shibuya and Torigoya-san are waiting for you two”. “Thanks a bunch, Dance. Has the class ended?” Gekikara asked with a smile toward Dance. Even though not recognized as a Rappapa’s member, the girls all adored Dance’s devotion and loyalty toward her Shibuya-san and also to their small group. They all saw her as part of their little family. Whenever Shibuya couldn’t come to take Yuko out, Dance would go in her place and although being teased by Yuko a lot, the girl did her job perfectly. “They are coming to an end soon. Please come inside.” Dance said while holding the door open for them. “Okay, see you later, Dance”, Black said while the duo stepped inside the place. Shibuya was observing the sparring between her trainees and making criticism on their fighting stand while Torigoya was just dazing off, as always.

It was truly an amusing thing how much a person can change, for better. Teaching other yankees helped Shibuya to be better at controlling her emotion and temper. She was still a hot-headed though and nothing gonna change that, but she got really better at listening and instructing others. Back then, she could only boss her underlings around but now she was a great teacher herself.

Also, similar to Black’s supermarket, Shibuya’s ring was a neutral ground and all the yankees from different school agreed to stay neutral here (or, again, Shibuya and the others gonna beat them into pulps).

The class finally drew to an end and while trainees were pouring out of the class, some recognized Gekikara and Black and bowed to them slightly. Dance ran in and started cleaning up the place, also putting equipments away for tomorrow lesson. Shibuya and Torigoya approached the duo right after and while Torigoya gave Gekikara a tight hug, Shibuya only shook hands with her. Then, they exchanged some words of merriment while Shibuya cooled off and drank some water off her high-fashioned water bottle. Shibuya was wearing a black legging with a pink tank top and a pair of training shoes and Torigoya was wearing casual t-shirt and jeans with her red sukajan on top. She left to take a shower and then put on her pink sukajan to join them for the ride to the hospital. The four queens were coming for their boss.

When they arrieved at the hospital, heir vice boss and vice vice boss were already waiting beside Yuko, in their fur coat and jean jacket, silently.

The ride was silent, a peaceful silence shared among them since forever. The traumatized child, the introverted, the hot-headed, the air-headed, the sadist and the serious (plus the scaredy catl), they all came together around Yuko and Yuko had made sure that even when she was no longer around, they could still stand beside each other, silently, as always. They were no longer comrades, they were family. Family was different from friends or comrades. They didn’t have to always stuck beside each other, they didn’t have to have the same goal, the same dream, the same life values, but they would still come back to each other side at the end of the day. The girls were a family. And their home was the good old wind instrument club. They would occasionally take Yuko back to the room on their take-Yuko-out-of-the-hospital days for some nostalgia and with Black and Shibuya’s connection with new generations of Majijo’s students, the room was left untouched, silently waiting for its rightful owners to comeback.

Yuko was coming home.

It was weekend, so no one was at school right now. The school stood quietly embracing the early-spring breeze while the old cherry blossom tree shaking its dried branches as if welcoming Yuko and the Rappapa’s appearance. Cherry blossom season was nearby but Yuko wouldn't be there to see it.

Rumours said that Center was the president right now and she also helped maintaining the wind instrument room as it was for them.

Sado princess carried Yuko into their good old clubroom, which Yuko would loudly protest if she was conscious but today, she stayed quiet. They put her onto her golden chair, the chair for the top of Majijo, their top. Yuko was quiet, so unlike her, with her head slightly leaned to a side. If not for her pale skin, the Rappapa sweared they could see the old days playing in their head, where their precious Yuko-san, after causing lots of mischieves, soundly taking a nap on the same chair, her small figure embraced by the golden silk. At those time, the girls would usually sitting silently around her and let Yuko have her peaceful snap. So they did the same. Black sat down on the long chair and started reading her bible, Gekikara stood beside her while biting her nails silently, Shibuya sat down and stared at her newly done nails, Torigoya fidgeted with a feather, Sado rolled the kendama’s ball on her hand and Maeda read her book, Dance stood silently with bowed head beside Shibuya.

It almost resembled the scene from their good old days, except for all of them were praying this time. To gods, to demons, to heaven, to hell.

“Please don’t take Yuko-san away.”

——————————

Well, how will this end, you may ask? That's up to you.

This piece was written as a prologue for a fanfic of mine, but the fanfic itself will need more time to be polished, so I just post this as a one shot for memory. Maybe I will finish that fanfic one day.

[megairishrose]

Put a Patch on it chapter 26

Emma nodded. She kept learning important things about Killian, insights to his life. Both he and his sister were hurting. And Emma was the only one who could stop the pain and close that chapter for them.

"I want phone records, emails, traffic cameras, all plans. I want to know when any of the board members sneeze." Tara forced herself to turn back to the present.

"Tara, I got this. You have other things to worry about." Emma told her softly. "The Jewel needs a CEO who is fully focused on the company and bringing it to a better place. Please, leave it to me."

"Oh sorry, did I tell you how to run your town? Don't tell me how to run my company." That made her panic, her company. "Wow, I hadn't said that out loud." Tara leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. "Fine, the investigation is yours. Have it. I won't interfere."

"Thank you. I will bring justice for Liam." Emma said, that was directed to both Tara and Killian. And she meant it. But first she needed some more details. "I'm sorry I'm making you relive that day, but I am going to need your side of the story." Emma told Tara gently. This was always the hardest part of her job.

Tara sat in front of Emma, Killian was next to her for emotional support. She gulped, back in Storybrooke, she had only given Killian the watered down version. Now, she couldn't leave out any details. The tiniest thing could lead to them to whoever wanted Liam dead.

She did her best, ignoring the tears that threatened to fall. Tara had really thought she was numb by now. Killian has already grabbed her hand and squeezed.

"You shot Peter? No one is charging you with murder? How is that possible?" Emma was shocked.

"He shot at me first, so it was self-defense. One down, two to go. That's what he said. He was going to kill me next."

"How is your relationship with the other board members?" She opened a file to read the names. "Cora Hart, Sidney Glass, Ursula Anderson, and Arthur Pyle?"

Killian chuckled. "The board is a necessary evil. We have never seen eye to eye on any subject."

"But no one would stoop to murder?"

"Injure maybe, but there's no coming back from pre-mediated murder. It would ruin their lives and careers."

"So you don't think Peter was acting alone? That there's someone else? Anyone in your past who might want you dead?"

"Emma, you might be under the impression that we are innocent angels. But we most likely made enemies during our younger days."

"Something like that coming back to haunt us is entirely possible." Killian added.

"That's personal, what about professional? You said that the Jewel used to be the second largest shipping company. What about the new number two?"

"That owner is honest, wouldn't hurt a fly. He was good friends with our father. We played with his kids." Marco and his family were close friends, despite being the competition. Business and personal lives were very different things and were kept far apart."

"Just to be safe, keep him on the list." Killian said. Tara sent him a shocked look. "I just want us to safe, cover all the bases."

"What happened when things calmed down at the office?" Emma asked.

"Ruby brought me a new sweater, mine was blood stained. Neal came, so did Roxanne. We are stayed here for a short time. Robin took Roxanne home. Neal and I went home. I hugged my daughter tight. Then I booked a flight to Storybrooke. I told my staff to keep it all quiet. I did not want Killian to find out that his brother via the media."

"Thoughtful." Killian whispered, squeezed her hand.

The small bar was half full when Emma entered it later that night. Well, it was a Wednesday night, that was to be expected. She had finally gotten out of the office and she need to unwind a little bit.

Blarney Stone was kitschy Irish but when you looked past the deco, the food and drinks were amazing. Or so said the review on Yelp.

One would think being in an Irish bar was the last place Emma wanted to be, she dealt first hand with Irish all day. But maybe this would let her gain some insight to how they thought.

Emma was just here for drinks; she hadn't planned on eating. She watched the bar over the rim of her glass. She had never been a Guinness fan, but when in Rome. Actually this had to be the best Guinness she ever had. Maybe it was the atmosphere. "Can I get another?" She asked the bartender.

"Put her drinks on my tab, Evan."

She recognized that voice, Emma inwardly growled. She thought she wouldn't have to deal with that voice until the morning. "Can you guys stop buying things for me? I still need to pay Tara back for the taxi and the hotel room."

"I'm off the clock, I have an idea of how you could make it up to me…" Killian began, eyes twinkling.

Well, that was bold. "I'm off the clock too, which means I could punch you." Emma shot back.

"I meant a game of darts." He held up six darts. "You play?"

"Don't think I don't know exactly where you were going with that comment, Killian." Emma said, he was not going to pull the wool over her eyes. She had seen enough of his personality back in Storybrooke. Ladies' man didn't begin to cover it. Yes, she did know how to play darts, she had pretty good aim. But let Killian find that out the hard way. "You want to take advantage of an inexperienced dart player?"

Killian led her to the dart board and handed her three green darts. Green like her eyes. "Playing darts is like anything else, you need to find a good teacher." And he dared to touch her hand and showed her how to throw the dart.

Emma already knew how to throw a dart but the closeness threw her off balance.

"Let go." He all but whispered in her ear. The dart went sailing across the room but sadly did not hit the board.

Killian took a step back and handed her another dart. With the distance between them, his spell over her was broken. She could think clearly now. Emma aimed and threw the second dart.

This time it hit the center of the board.

"Impressive. Like I said, good teacher." He paused. "You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Maybe." She tried not to smile, that would blow her cover.

"You would get along great with my sister. Years ago, she fooled me and Liam into thinking she didn't know how to play poker. Cleaned us out in the fifth hand."

"So Tara is human?"

"She remembers her humanity every so often."

Emma and Killian played round after round of darts. And the drinks kept coming.

"Wait, wait, we need to toast before we drink! Do you know any?" Emma said, or rather sang slightly.

"Do I know any toasts? You are looking at the king of toasts." Killian stood up. "Here's to a long life and a merry one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one. A cold beer and another one." He was even all dramatic about it. There was a cheer from the next table. Killian knocked his mug into Emma's and drank.

"You know, until tonight I was not a fan of Guinness." She set down her fourth or was it her fifth glass. She couldn't remember.

"Maybe there's a little Irish in you." Killian observed.

Emma could feel her armor cracking and she suddenly became bold. "You want to be the little Irish in me?"

Killian's eyes bugged. That was a first. No woman had played the game as well as he had before. "Wow, you are drunk. I am cutting you off." He signaled to Evan. Then Killian leaned close. "And there's nothing little about it, I assure you."

Emma giggled then something in her face changed. "I could be Irish for all I know. My parents left me on the side of the road when I was a few hours old. I know nothing of my roots. I envy you, Killian. Not only can you trace your family back, you have connections with them. Names, dates, details, relationships. I have none of that."

Killian led her to a booth, she should not be on her feet after baring her heart. "You'll find your parents and have everything you ever wanted." He had faith.

"I tried, it's a dead end. So I just to focus on the here and now. It hurts less." Emma said.

"What about the future?"

That made her pause. Her future? She had a decent job, a least now she did. What more did she want? Love, a family, happiness? Pipe dreams, all of them. She couldn't just wish on a star and everything would magically happen. No, Emma Swan had to work for what she wanted. "The future? I don't even know what I'm wearing tomorrow." She joked, her preferred method of protection.

Killian wanted to joke about what Emma should or rather should not wear the following day but decided against. He could relate, slightly. He had always felt like the black sheep in his family. Emma was the only sheep in her family.

They locked eyes for a moment and it looked like she was going to…

"Killian!" A young woman's voice broke their moment. She bounced over to the booth. "I'm going to do my first Irish car bomb! Do it with me."

Emma studied the girl, she looked too young to be drinking and there was something familiar about her.

"I'm getting too old for this." Killian said under his breath but he did pull himself to his feet. "Emma, this is Kathleen McCartney, my cousin. She just turned twenty-one. Kathleen, this is Detective Emma Swan. She is helping us at the office." That was the best way to word it.

Oh, cousin, no wonder they looked alike. At least it hadn't taken Emma as long to realize like with Tara and Killian.

Kathleen's eyes widened. "Helping at the office… wait, are you going to catch the bastard who killed Liam?"

"Kathleen, language!" Killian sounded horrified.

"What, my parents aren't around." She shrugged.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back." Killian led Kathleen to the bar." One car bomb then I need to leave. I'll have Evan keep an eye on your drinking tonight."

"He would do that without being asked."

"That's what cousins are for."

Killian was right, he was not as young as he used to be. He could still handle his liquor but no need to push the limits. He half swayed back to the booth. Shockingly, Emma was still there. There was an empty glass in front of her.

"It's just water." She saw the look on his face.

"Good, as much as I want to help the damsel in distress get back to her room…"

"I think you are the damsel here, Killian." She got to her feet and grabbed his arm.

"Whatever floats your boat, lass." He tended to revert to terms of endearment when he drank.

"Lass? Wow, now you are drunk. You need to go home."

"No, I am taking you to your hotel, then I will call a cab."

"Seriously?"

"It's good form."

Emma decided not to fight him. They walked onto the street and headed to her hotel.

The night air seemed to wake Killian up. He realized Emma's arm was linked through his. He wasn't sure who that was for more and he wasn't going to question it.

They finally got to the front of the Mark hotel. Killian and Emma stood there staring at each other, unsure what to say or do.

Emma got herself together first. "I had a good time tonight, Killian." She was being honest. At least she wasn't drunk, drunk Emma did stupid things. But tipsy Emma?

She meant to kiss his cheek, but she missed the target. It was an accident, on purpose maybe. And Killian didn't stop her.

They fit together.

One of his hands rested on her waist while the other one was tangled in her hair. Emma's hands were tight on his collar.

Kissing him made her drunk and she didn't want to be sober. Apparently Emma now thought in clichés.

But she had to end it, before someone got hurt. She was working for his family; he was part of the job.

Emma pulled back and had to catch her breath. Killian's own breath was ragged. "Good night, Mr. Jones." She suddenly became professional.

He took the hint, reluctantly. Killian took a step back. "Good night, Detective Swan."

Emma entered the building and forced herself not to turn around.

So she didn't see Killian touch his lips and blink a few times.

Last night was stupid. Emma was never going to drink again. If she was being honest, she wouldn't have been surprised to wake up next to him. But she had shown self-control and shockingly so had Killian.

Last night had been a one-time thing. Things were going to be professional between them going forward. She wasn't going to touch him or be around him outside of the office.

Last night had been a moment in Heaven.

Emma slapped herself. "Pull yourself together. He has women lining up for him. Don't be one of those." God, she was at the pep talk stage.

She had to get the Jewel before he did, lock herself in her office and pretend to be on the phone all day. Anything to avoid talking to Killian.

That was her plan and it worked perfectly until she saw Killian out of the corner of her eyes. Actually she saw the flowers first.

Emma panicked and ducked under the first desk she saw. Flowers! Flowers? Pink carnations to be exact. Seriously, how old school was that?

"What are you doing under my desk?"

Emma looked up and saw a frazzled Noelle staring down at her. "Killian and I might have had a moment last night and now he has flowers."

Noelle was stunned then looked at the calendar. "Those flowers aren't for you."

"What?" Who did Killian bring flowers for? Emma was curious and maybe a little jealous, dare she say it.

"You're an idiot. If you have a few free minutes, I'll show you."

Around twelve thirty, Noelle knocked on Emma's office door. "You got a free few minutes?"

"Yeah." Emma was curious. She hated to admit it, but Killian fascinated her. He put on a cocky face most of the time but occasionally there was a reliable and caring person.

Noelle led her down a hallway to where Tara and Killian had their offices. She opened one of the doors. Emma peered in, there was only a table in the middle of the room. On the table were seven vases and a few battery operated candles.

Emma quickly spotted the flowers in one of the vases. There was something taped to it.

Kathleen Jones.

"That's their mother." Noelle stated the obvious. "Today is her birthday."

Emma saw the year of death and quickly did the math. Killian was just two years old. Was he just a motherless child?

Then she read the other cards on the vases.

Donald Jones.

Sophia Jones.

Robert McCartney.

Claire McCartney.

Michael Jones.

Liam Jones.

"It's a tradition that Mr. Jones, their father, started. New flowers on birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and the day they passed."

"Kind of morbid?" Emma remarked, hoping Noelle wouldn't judge.

Noelle gave her a hard stare. "You haven't been here long enough but family means everything to Tara and Killian."