#she gave me games tailored to my special interests

[padawansuggest]

I got a switch. I didn’t buy it, my girlfriend out-sugar mama’d my sister for the first time ever with a switch plus some games and a carrying case. Like. Damn. Heck yeah. My game is pink but my grips are blue because genderqueer af. I am continuing a trend of being a sugar baby and it’s wild. It’s a ‘I’m glad you didn’t die this month but also ur so brave for all this’ present and that’s so nice Omfg. I love her so much 😭

[azurefishnets]

Testing the Waters

For dearest @siverwrites, on the occasion of @fyeahghosttrick's Ghost Swap 2023. I had to write about a most particular "odd gift" tailor-made for Jowd!

The story can be found at the link above, or you can read below.

AO3 Profile Fandom: Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective Words: 3492

Summary: On a holy night 6 years before Ghost Trick begins, Jowd and Cabanela test their friendly rivalry in a high-stakes game of chicken. One of Cabanela's ever-weird but ever-useful gifts may save the day… or it may end their friendship forever.

The living room had become a place of glorious chaos: wrapping paper, garland, and bright ribbons were strewn haphazardly across the sofa, the coffee table, under the couch, around the banisters, and any other place a little girl too busy shrieking in glee over her presents to pay attention to the mundane matters of mess could be relied upon to have discarded it. The space under the tree was bare, save the place where the last mound of wrapped presents lay, and Kamila had just finished unwrapping her last gift, a fabulously glittery silver recorder which promptly went into her mouth. Something approximating music began to fill the air.

“I’ll kill him,” Alma whispered in mock despair, glaring at Jowd by way of proxy for the absent Cabanela’s gift to their daughter, then producing a dismayed smile for Kamila’s efforts. “Absolutely kill him. He’s not allowed to be the loud-gift uncle, you hear me?”

Jowd, who sat on the floor and had expertly navigated himself into being thoroughly covered in gift wrap and paper detritus, wore a smile that only barely escaped being more a rictus as Kamila hit a particularly shrill note. “Sorry,” he said in response to Alma’s protest. “Got a mango in my ear. What was that?”

“Jowd.” Alma widened her eyes at him in that special way of beleaguered spouses everywhere. “Don’t make me kill you too.”

Jowd laughed as Kamila played on with the indefatigable vigor of six-year-old lungs and enthusiasm. “Don’t worry, we’ll have her give him a concert. Soon! He’ll love it.”

“I’m certain he will.” Alma’s smile turned a little villainous. “I’ll give her some special tutelage.”

“Tutelage! Ha!” Jowd grinned at her. “A holy night miracle if he’s even got you making terrible puns now.”

“Please. Don’t start.” Alma rolled her eyes in faux-dismay, then sat straight. “Oh! I almost forgot!” She dove under the tree, reaching for the back corner which had gone undisturbed until that moment, and pulled out a midsize box wrapped in white with an ornate scarlet bow. It was labeled For Jowd. “Speaking of Cabanela, he made me promise to give you this last.”

“Hmm.” Jowd stroked a hand down his beard and accepted the box, meticulously untying the ribbon and folding the paper into a neat packet which he placed in the conveniently placed and nearly empty trash bag next to him. Alma glanced at this evidence of Jowd’s inconvenient sense of tidiness, around the room which displayed anything but, and sighed.

“Hmmmm,” Jowd said again, slitting the tape that held the box closed with a fingernail, and opening it to reveal a rubber chicken with a pulley in the middle. “This is…” He stopped. “What is it?”

“Ask your good friend,” Alma said with a shrug, unfolding herself from the floor and dusting herself free of scraps of gift wrap. “All he told me was that there was ‘nothin’ like it,’ and it was extremely important you knew that.”

“Hmm!” Jowd gave it one more interested look, then levered himself up, shedding debris as he deftly removed the recorder from his daughter’s hands and swooped a giggling Kamila into his arms. “If there’s nothing like it, I suppose that means I’ll find out soon enough.”

“I hope he comes back soon to explain it,” Alma said with a worried look at the phone. “I always worry about him when he goes on these…” she cast an eye at Kamila and finished somewhat uncomfortably, “trips.”

Jowd put an arm around her and drew her into a hug. “He’ll be fine. Spotless as always and I’m sure he’ll enjoy the gift you and Kamila are preparing for him when he gets back.”

Alma’s eyes went narrow as she glared one more time at the recorder, now hidden away from Kamila’s distracted eyes in the pouch of Jowd’s hoodie along with the chicken pulley. “Oh, he will. He’d better.”

Together, they surveyed the living room and the mess therein. Alma cast a glance at the clock. “Oh. I need to finish my appetizer platter and the cookies before we head to your mother’s—how did it get so late already?”

“Time flies,” Jowd said with an irony he wouldn’t recognize until much, much later. “I’ll get Kamila dressed, shall I?”

“And yourself,” Alma said with a pointed glance at his comfortable pajama pants and old hoodie. “You have a nice new outfit. Wear. It.”

“Fine, fine,” Jowd said, heading for the stairs, only to be stopped by the phone as it began to ring. “You go on,” he said to Alma as she looked back and forth from the kitchen to the phone with a harried expression. “I’ve got this.”

Still holding Kamila, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Jowd—” Cabanela’s familiar voice, then a buzzing silence. A burst of static, then something that sounded like the lapping of water. “I thought—beee here by— did you—the chicke—” There was a shout, then a very final sounding click as the phone on the other side dropped the call.

Jowd put Kamila down. “Why don’t you go on upstairs,” he told her. “Your new dress is all laid out on the bed if I know your Mama. Be back soon, OK?”

She looked at him with big, solemn eyes. “Where are you going, Papa? Grandma made pie. She promised there’d be chicken in it and everything.”

“Well, it looks like I might have to give Uncle Cabanela his present now,” Jowd said. “Hurry on upstairs while I talk to Mama.”

After a quick and quiet discussion with Alma in the kitchen wherein she wrung from him a promise to be careful, a secondary promise to get back home without undue delay so they could get to his mother’s for dinner, and a goodbye kiss with an extra one for good luck to all concerned, he went outside. As soon as he was out the door, his steps quickened and by the time he got to the car, he was all but running; he flung himself into the driver’s seat and fumbled for the thing still in his hoodie pocket.

Pulling out the rubber chicken with the pulley in the middle, he examined it thoroughly, all of his detective’s senses ringing every alarm in his head. The chicken’s open mouth drew his attention, and feeling gingerly down its throat led him to a small, rolled piece of paper. Unrolling it dropped a key on his lap, while the paper itself said only “Key to my heart, baby. I’ll B waiting for U in R spot but wait too long and I’ll be in hot water.” Examining the rest of the chicken yielded no other clues.

Jowd raised his eyebrows and sighed as he put the car in drive, heading for the underground reservoir and treatment plant on the far edge of town. Zone B was out of his usual beat; he trusted Cabanela knew what he was doing, but… he grinned and put on speed. Par for the course with his rival and old friend. Explanations would wait, but dinner was also waiting.

At the reservoir station, the parking lot seemed unusually full for a holiday and Jowd parked with corresponding caution in a spot out of the way; his unmarked car was unobtrusive enougamongst the rest. He peered at the visible entrances and let out a satisfied huff as he spotted Cabanela’s bicycle parked next to the one that most obviously led to the tank below. As he got out, he kept an eye out for anyone who might prove an issue, but the whole place was eerily quiet as he sidled to the door. The key slid into the lock and turned easily. Just inside was a pay phone. The receiver was on the hook but as Jowd lifted it, he realized the wire connecting it had been neatly removed.

Inside, metal stairs led down several flights which Jowd walked down as quietly as possible, testing each step for creaks. He peeked through the door at the bottom while crouching as low as he could. The door opened to a small, raised area with a railing and an exposed stair down to the next level and a maintenance walkway to the center of the reservoir; Cabanela stood there in the center, cornered, up against a chain link fence and alone against a small group of five figures standing around him. Dark water lapped at the concrete columns surrounding the raised platform upon which they stood with only the fence separating the group and a quick dunk.

“We’ve got you now,” one of the men said roughly, voice carrying and echoing through the cavernous room. “This hide and seek game’s been real fun but it’s time to finish it up. Give us the key or you’re going in the water.”

“Come now, baby,” Cabanela said in his most provocative tones. “I’ve given you aaall the clues. Don’t know why you’re bein’ so slow at this. I obviously don’t have it on me.” He flapped the short jacket he wore outward to show the lining. “See? Nothin’ up my sleeve.”

“Shut up!” One of the other figures slapped a fist against his other hand. “Don’t make us beat it out of you!”

Cabanela laughed outright at that. “Please, baby, threats? That’s beneath you.” He glanced up at Jowd, registered his presence, but gave no sign as he turned his attention back to those around him. “Let’s hurry it along, kiddoes. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Somewhere to be?” one of the figures said angrily, “We could have been done with this days ago if you’d just—!” She took a swipe at Cabanela, but couldn’t touch him as he danced out of the way, feet graceful as he circumnavigated a bucket sitting on the concrete floor next to him. She hissed with frustration, and shoved the bucket aside with her foot, the better to try a lunge.

“Oh, I thiiink you’re missin’ the point,” Cabanela said, tripping her and dancing out of the way of someone else’s attempt to grab him. “But you’re close, baby, real close! All you have to do is use those brains of yours, instead of your fists. Or your feet!”

“Rather use my fists at this point,” the last figure grunted. “I’ve had enough of you to last a lifetime.”

Jowd nodded to himself, then looked up. As he’d half expected, he found a long, sturdy cable that connected to some point in the roof above him and went over the platform and down to some control area on another level. Hoisting himself up to the long narrow maintenance path that led above him was child’s play. He pulled out the rubber chicken with the pulley in the middle and placed it over the wire but took a beat while ignoring the shouts and Cabanela’s ducking and dodging down below. He’d almost forgotten it was there, but there was something else still in his hoodie pocket, and he fished it out one-handed.

Kamila’s recorder sparkled there in the dim light, and Jowd’s face crinkled in delighted and slightly evil glee. He took a deep breath and put the mouthpiece to his lips, giving it a mighty blast as he grabbed both handles of the pulley and kicked off down his makeshift zipline. The little group down below had just enough time to take in the shrill sound of the whistle before Jowd burst through the chain link fence and was upon them, bowling them over like so many pins. They staggered and went down, leaving Cabanela to stand alone and laughing, a lanky and loose man of the law triumphant over them as Jowd dropped off the cable and landed next to him. Cabanela reached out and caught the rubber chicken with the pulley in the middle as it fell from the cable.

“Toook you long enough, baby,” he said, and shook the thing at Jowd. “You’re gettin’ slow in your old age. Suppose I shouldn’t have been expectin’ you to dress the part, Detective... but at least you had a theme song for your grand entrance. We’ll be teachin’ you showmanship yet!”

Jowd spat out the recorder, looked down at his maligned pajama pants and hoodie, and laughed softly. “Well, I was enjoying the holy night with my family, you know.”

“Justice never rests,” Cabanela retorted loftily, and looked around at the groaning group around him. “Ain’t that right, kids?”

“Detective Jowd?” One of the group sat up, disentangling himself from the man next to him. “Err… we weren’t expecting you, sir!” He put a hand to his head in uncertain salute, and Jowd gave him a lazy, two-fingered wave in the vicinity of his hair in lieu of a more formal return gesture.

Cabanela struck a pose and said, “Attention!” The five people around him scrambled upright and stood straight, saluting. Cabanela strolled down the short line.

“Uniforms… a mess. Suppose I can’t dock you too much for that given your ‘rescuer’ heeere. Even so, not a good look in any case.” He shot Jowd an ironic look. “Fooorm… all over the place.” He showed himself off with an ostentatious twirl. “Not a one of you landed a hit.”

“Untouched and spotless as usual,” Jowd muttered.

Cabanela ignored him as he reached out and knocked a knuckle against one of the men’s heads. “Demonstration of skills… not pretty, baby, not pretty at all. All in all, I’d have to call this a fail, kids. Better luck next time.”

“That’s not fair!” The lone woman in the group protested angrily. “We’ve been here for days trying to catch you; just because we didn’t expect some jerk in pajamas with a rubber chicken on a zipline to zoom in at the last minute…!”

“Baby, you fundamentally misunderstand the point of the exercise.” Cabanela shot her a disappointed look. “You have to be able to respond to unexpected situations and think on the fly as a detective. Might even have salvaged this yet if you’d worked together when an unexpected event happened.”

“But! You’re known for working alone!” the woman said. “You and Detective Jowd are famous for it!”

Cabanela shrugged. “That’s us, baby; we have our own ways of handlin’ things. You five, on the other hand, didn’t have a plan. That’s the wooorst failure of all.”

“Aw, man...” one of the other men said, then looked abashed and went silent.

“Think of it this way,” Jowd said with a genial smirk. “At least you get to go home for the rest of holy night. And next time, it’ll be me running the exercise. Won’t that be fun?”

“But we can’t go home yet,” one of the men burst out, as the rest looked dismayed and murmured amongst themselves. “We’re locked in until we find the key!”

“Now that’s just cruel,” Jowd murmured, for Cabanela’s ears alone. Aloud, he said, “And where do you think I came from? Cabanela’s right, you five are a little too green yet to pass the detective’s exam. Go on, get out of here. Up the stairs, door’s unlocked.”

“Yes, sir,” came the dispirited chorus, and the five of them began trudging up the stairs, leaving Jowd and Cabanela alone on the platform. Jowd looked around at the broken chain link fence.

“Well, that’s coming out of your budget,” he said. “What were you planning to do if Alma hadn’t given me your gift?”

“Oh, I trust her mooore than I trust you to remember these things, baby,” Cabanela returned, his voice abstracted. “Besides, I knew that phone call would get you here if nothin’ else worked.”

“Hmm.” Jowd looked down at the bucket of water, standing unobtrusively to the side, which had served double duty as a clue to the reservoir over the phone. “None of them thought that a standing bucket of water was an odd thing to find in an empty platform in the middle of plenty of water?” He bent down and sloshed in it, coming up with a rubber fish with a pulley in the middle, and dumped a key out of the fish’s mouth, tossing the key to Cabanela. “Better give that and the one you gave me back to the caretaker before we leave.”

“Don’t throw it if you’re that worried about it,” Cabanela retorted.

Jowd laughed and tossed the fish over his shoulder, and it flew through the hole in the chain link fence and down into the water underneath, sinking out of sight. “Fish go in the water. It’s just tidy. By the way, this gift was a weird one even for you.” He stared at the rubber chicken, still in Cabanela’s hand. “Where’d you get the idea?”

“Well, it had to be a chicken. That was a given. The rest of it? Eh, I asked one of the lab monkeys to design it for me.” Cabanela gave the recorder a pointed look. “Thaaat was for Kamila.”

“This is why your plan almost failed,” Jowd said, shaking it at Cabanela. “I’m pretty sure Alma is planning dire revenge for this thing. You’ve got a Kamila-concert to sit through in the near future.”

“Nooot happenin’!” Cabanela dropped the rubber chicken and made a swipe for the recorder; Jowd’s lightning quick fists took it out of his way just in time and Jowd shoved it back into his hoodie pocket. In a display of unusual clumsiness, Cabanela stumbled over the chicken, kicking it so it followed the fish into the water. Cabanela gave it the satisfied look of a gambit accomplished as Jowd caught him by the waist and set him upright before he followed it in.

“Oh, you’re definitely in for it now. Throwing away my favorite gift? Pretty sure that’s a crime on the books somewhere.” Jowd chuckled and turned away from the water, gesturing to the stairs. “Speaking of crimes, not too nice of you to keep the rooks working on a holiday, is it? I thought that one with the green lanyard would keel over when he saw me. And why the dramatics over the phone? What happened to just asking?”

“Really, baby. That little puzzle was juuust a little challenge to my rival. Ask? Whooo do you take me for?” Cabanela shot him an insulted look. Jowd shrugged; drama was an essential part of a Cabanela experience. There was no real point in asking why.

“Anyhoot, I was expecting this to be done daaays ago,” Cabanela continued. “Not my fault they didn’t have the brains of a rubber chicken with a pulley in it. Besides, I didn’t haaave anywhere to be. Holy night’s just another day when you’re a man of the law.” Cabanela said, walking past him.

“Of course you have a place to be,” Jowd retorted. “We both do. Dinner, my mother’s. She made pie! I’m told there’s noodles in it.”

“Unlikely,” Cabanela snorted. “Chicken, more likely.”

“Yeah, well,” Jowd said, not denying it, “Alma would probably kill me if I didn’t bring you back after all this. Come on with us to dinner.”

“Only if you go dressed in those spiffy new clothes laid out for you, if I know Alma,” Cabanela said lightly, as they walked up the stairs.

“Sure, sure,” Jowd said. “I’m pretty sure there’s some ‘spiffy’ new clothes for you too in some of those packages still under our tree.”

Cabanela stopped, his back to Jowd. “You had giiifts under the tree? For me?” he said, and scrubbed a hand through his slicked-back hair, absent-mindedly leaving it in a haphazard scruffle that he’d be horrified by later. “Can’t say I was expectin’ that from you, baby. You didn’t even know if I would be there.”

“Didn’t I?” Jowd said, and laughed. “Pretty sure I won my bet with Alma about the hour and minute I got your call. Anyway. I’m hungry and now you’re the slow one. Let’s get out of here and eat before it gets cold… enjoy some of that after-dinner music Alma was promising.” He scooped Cabanela up and slung him over his shoulder, jogging up the stairs two at a time while ignoring his lanky old friend’s protests. As they made their way back to a place of cacophany and chaos, Jowd didn’t spare a thought for the rubber chicken with a pulley in it, still sinking to the bottom of the deep water of the Zone B reservoir. It was gone, and it wasn’t coming back; the light and music of home called him more than those dark depths.

Cabanela slung an arm around Jowd’s shoulder as they walked into the house. Alma drew them into a hug despite not yet forgiving Cabanela the recorder, and they retreated together into the light. For just a little longer yet, they stood together as a bulwark against destiny, their stalwart presence a gift to each other that would fend off the ocean at the heart of the year’s longest night.

[ladyofriverrun]

Christmas Tag Game

It's Festivus for the rest of us so grab your Chanukah bush, your mistletoe, your pagan ritual or whatever brings you joy and come gather round the fire and celebrate your pocket friends.

Tagged by: @svetlanayevgenivna

Favorite nickname you’ve ever been given? I haven't really been given many because my name is short anyway. But I get called Lani by very close family. And it's what I call myself to my cats like 'come to your Lani'.

Where are you located? Manchester. The UK one not the US one.

What season is it where you are now? It shall be winter on the 22nd so we're in the last dregs of Autumn.

Favourite tradition this time of year? Watching Tailor of Gloucester at night on the 24th, followed by The Snowman.

Favourite holiday food? The gingerbread stuffing I make.

Mulled wine, eggnog or hot apple cider? I don't drink anymore since an illness made me severely allergic to a few preservatives in alcohol. I don't want to risk the roulette of which ones (it's terrifying when it happens) so I just avoid all of it now and drink non-alcoholic alternatives. But even if I did drink, it would still be 'none of the above'. I used to love a glass of sherry at yuletide, because my mum always gave me a small glass on when I was little, and it just tastes of the season. But they don't even make that particular sherry anymore!

Turkey, Ham or Nut Roast (Or Tofurkey?)? Quorn roast. Cooked with a really freaking fragrant and delicious all-spice gravy (it has a huge list of flavours in it but they just all hum together).

Would you rather spend the December holidays in: A cabin in the woods surrounded by snow, or a house on the beach with sun and sand? Cabin in the woods. It's December and I demand snow! Even though I prefer hot weather in general, there are just certain times when only the cold will do.

Are you pro-snow or anti-snow? Pro. I find it very magical and it always makes everywhere white and glistening. Plus there was that one year where everyone got a whole extra week off because it snowed so heavily that the whole country had to sort of temporarily pause.

Have you ever built a snowman? I built a snow witch with my mum when I was 11 (she had a little witch hat on, a broom, and was surrounded by these little garden ornaments shaped like hares) and then made a giant one with a friend when I was 22 in the middle this huge place called Heaton Park.

Skiing or Snowboarding? I'm a former figure skater, so i have to say ice skating despite the fact it's not an option.

Do you decorate for the holidays? Yes. It's all very yule based though, as we celebrate Solstice, not Christmas.

Favourite holiday movie? Hogfather and Arthur Christmas. I also cannot have the season without watching the midwinter special from CAOS.

Favourite holiday fanfic? I don’t have one.

If you were to star in a Hallmark movie, who would be your love interest? No doubt it would be someone wearing plaid. Who owns some kind of dying business...

Tagging: @indigoraysoflight @outragedmermaid @ness029 and anyone else who wants to!

[justice4harwin]

Light’s Corruption-Chapter VII

Summary: With few friends at the Little Palace, Alina must work to win the favour of her fellow grisha and their commander, who makes her feel light headed every time she sees him.

After training in Os Alta for two years, the king grows tired of waiting and demands the Sun Summoner joins a western post near the Fjerdan border along with the rest of The Second Army to test her abilities.

Something happens. Suddenly, Alina wants blood to run down the rivers and those who stand in her and The Darkling’s way will be blinded by her light and swallowed by his shadows.

It won’t be pretty.

Pairing: The DarklingxAlina

Rating: 18+ (better safe than sorry, u know)

Anyone fancy a playlist?

As usual, the tags are in the comments; if you no longer want to be in the list or wanna be added, please don’t hesitate to let me know :)

Click here for chapter VI

Chapter 7: Within the Palace's Walls

 Dear General Kirigan,

Dear General

Dear Kirigan

Dear Darkling

"Ugh!" Alina let her face drop on top of the paper, not caring if the ink got into her face, and groaned, loudly and at length. "Why?!" She asked into the nothingness of her room.

She had no reason to write to him. She knew he must've had frequent reports of the ongoings of the Little Palace, so she had no other excuse except to admit the truth, which was that she craved his attention, even if he was days away.

This was so pathetic of her; letting go of a life-long unrequited love just to fall into the arms of the first man who complimented her, even if she did feel a strange pull towards him.

What she needed was time for herself. Yes. She had finally said goodbye to Mal, falling for someone else so quickly would do her no good.

Oh, but Saints! The way in which he had kissed her, like he'd been waiting for centuries, like she was a treasure, like he truly wanted her. She had kissed people before, but never like that. She had enjoyed it, sure, but always stopped it before the clothes started to disappear. It usually bored people, but Alina didn't mind that much. It wasn't like when Genya was in the room while she bathed, helping her get to whenever she needed to be in time by pulling at the knots in her hair and handing her a towel. Genya was trustworthy, she was her friend and she had never given her one of those looks that had made her uncomfortable during her training at Poliznaya, nor made an unwanted comment or advance on her figure.

But The Darkling… That day, she had felt more than willing to let him have his way with her; nobody had set her body aflame the way The Darkling had done that afternoon a few weeks prior; she dreamt of it at night and woke up sweaty and hot, and it was a real effort to not daydream about it during her day.

General Imbecile Brute,

I write to you on this day to let you know of the first snow at the Little Palace. It makes quite the pretty paint...from the inside.

Also, I cannot stop thinking about you and your kiss, and I've been staring at the rose you gave me for such long amounts of time I fear my eyes will cross and I'll be stuck like that forever.

Please, tell me: do you feel the same? Mark 'yes' or 'no'.

Forever at your service,

Alina Starkov, Sun Summoner, Idiot.

Ps: You're not an imbecile, only a little rude; and you're not a brute, but some of your manners need polishing. Other than that, you're perfect.

Signed again,

Alina Starkov, she who lacks decency.

She looked at the letter, a low, prolonged, pitiful sound parting from her lips that turned into an animalistic groan. She grabbed the piece of paper, scrunched it into a small ball and threw it into her fireplace.

The snow covered the grounds of the Little Palace almost entirely, the lake would soon be completely frozen, and finalize the beautiful picture. Some Grisha were excited over the opportunity to skate. Alina had never done it, but Marie and Nadia promised to teach her.

From her horse, Alina moved uneasily. She still wasn't used to horse-riding, but Nina had invited her along with a few of her friends, who were all of different orders. It was a chance she wouldn't miss.

She tugged her kefta closer and held onto the reigns, advancing slowly along with the group, heading to the edges of the woods that surrounded the place.

A Fabrikator passed her a flask of kvas, and despite her dislike for the strong drink, Alina took it anyways and tried not to grimace as the liquid went down her throat.

If she were honest, she'd rather be inside the warm walls of her room in the Little Palace, chattering the afternoon away with Genya. She hadn't need to ask if the Tailor could join them at the stables; Alina was well aware of how little regard the other Grisha had for her -until they needed something-.

"I heard a few of you have been working on new keftas." she tried to make light conversation with the woman as she handed her her kvas back.

"Yes." she answered politely, "We're making a special fabric that should give us more freedom of movement during battle."

Alina rose her eyebrows. It wouldn't help her much if she didn't improve her fighting skills, but it was an interesting idea.

"How's it coming along?"

The woman tried to hide a grimace.

"It's complicated, but we're making some progress."

Alina smiled.

"Maybe you can tell me more about it during dinner." she suggested. "I, for once, would love a different type of trousers."

The woman smiled starkly, her blond hair getting on her face.

"They are rather stiff, aren't they?"

"I can barely flex my legs as it is."

The woman, whose name was Lada Alina remembered, agreed.

"I know. They're not suitable." she said in a strange tone, to which Alina gave her an odd, sideways look.

"Did you hear Zoya is back?" Fedyor interrupted, marching up to keep up with them.

Alina stared at him, groaned, and rolled her eyes.

"That's great." she said dryly.

Her absence was nice while it lasted.

"Maybe if I get under her skin and she attacks again, The General will send her off for a longer time. Or better yet, I could actually beat her."

Who was she kidding? Zoya was a formidable fighter, and Alina was just starting to win every now and then. Also, she suspected that Nina might have gone easy on her during their first sparring match a few weeks prior. She hadn't won against her ever since.

"Tell me about it." the woman in question said, rolling her eyes. "I don't understand her obsession with being on The General's inner circle."

"Says the one who is in the inner circle." Fedyor pointed out.

"Barely." Nina made a gesture with her hand, as if trying to rest importance to the matter. "Besides, it's not such a big deal. I don't know why everyone makes such a fuss about it."

"Well, the higher we are, the better we can protect other Grisha." Alina said, almost hesitantly. "I mean, if we have The General's ear, more ideas will flow about. I'm sure everyone has something to contribute to the cause."

"You don't need to worry about that, sun bean;" Nina smirked. "You're the Sun Summoner, it's likely he'll listen to you."

Alina's cheeks flushed as everyone in the group turned to stare at her.

"I think it's good to aim high;" Fedyor said, drifting the attention to himself, thanks the Saints. "As long as it's for the better of the Second Army."

Nina looked away and uttered something only Alina heard.

"Oh, yeah, betterment of forced servitude."

The Summoner stiffened on her saddle at the bitter words. Was Nina unhappy at the Little Palace? Why? She was one of the most powerful Grisha there; she lived in the most secured place in all Ravka, and her General held her in high regard.

A part of Alina wished she had never hidden her light. Maybe it would've been for the better to leave Keramzin, to leave Mal behind sooner.

It also made her think of someone who scarcely passed through her mind those days: her own mother.

She shook her head, ridding herself of such thoughts. She was thankful for the commodities and safe life she had at the Little Palace. Even if she was one of a kind, everyone else seemed to be adapting well to her, especially since she began to summon on her own and join in their little games by the lake.

She had been hesitant about it at first, but Genya insisted that going would be a great opportunity to both show her power and make allies.

"Besides, they won't believe you're a snob or a fraud if you show them a little." she had said, lazily lounging on a chair as they shared a nice tea one afternoon, while the queen took an especially long nap the very same day the Duke of Balakirev had arrived at court.

Lately, Alina felt more normal, and she was sure that her latest choices had a lot to do with it. From showcasing her powers, to sitting in different sections on different tables during meals and just talking normally about trivial things -even if those did exhaust her mind- and wearing an Etherealki kefta, she was more approachable, and the other Grisha seemed to slowly start to notice it too.

"It's not enough."

"We surely do deserve some more credit." she spoke, even if she didn't fully believe in the sentiment. The First Army was full of otkazat'sya, and they didn't have the advantages of bullet-proof clothing, private tents, furs for the winter and three decent meals per day.

It was all so difficult for Alina. She had once envied the advantages The Second Army possessed over The First, yet she couldn't deny there were other kinds of dangers for the Grisha, that not everything was perfect inside the walls of Os Alta.

Like the distrust of those who weren't like them, their fear, tamed only by their usefulness due only to the Black Heretic's greed.

All around her, her fellow Grisha nodded their agreements.

She wondered, briefly, what would Grisha life be like in Ravka if The Fold hadn't been created in the first place. What would happen if she ever managed to tear it down?

She didn't want to dwindle in those thoughts further.

With the Winter Fete approaching, everyone at the Little and Grand Palace seemed to buzz with all kinds of different energy. The servants were comprehensively nervous and stressed as they ran from one place to the other. Alina's fellow Grisha were either excited or indifferent, but none the less they all put the same amount of effort into practicing their yearly demonstration.

As for Alina herself, she had received the news that she was expected to showcase her power in front of the royal family and the other nobles of Ravka.

"The king wanted to throw a bigger party; invite diplomats from all continents and such, but General Kirigan insisted that it wasn't necessary yet." Genya said one afternoon, as Alina braided her hair.

She was seated very still, her eyes continuously darting from one side to the other as if trying to peek at her friend's work, concern etched on her face.

"He seems impatient." Alina commented, to which Genya huffed, accommodating her friend's new possessions on her vanity with a precision that seemed borderline obsessive.

"You have no idea. He can't wait to see the mighty Sun Summoner." she said, pouting and trying to imitate his deeper voice.

Alina frowned, said nothing, and continued braiding, her movements slowing but almost precise.

The Darkling

 Miss Starkov,

Due to my sudden absence, I had no time to notify you that I shall oversee your training personally from now on.

Being far away, I do not wish for you to stall, so I leave you some instructions on what to practice and how, and a few reading recommendations fo-

He leaned back in his chair and sighed.

He was being a fool, and he hated it.

Writing to her with instructions on how to practice her summoning was a foolish idea. She was barely starting and needed overseeing, and the only one besides himself who could help her was his mother, who remained bitter at the woman. He really wanted to know what Alina had said to Baghra to make her so upset.

He almost smiled, feeling something wickedly, childishly happy in his chest at the possibilities.

Tossing the letter into the fire, he leaned back in his chair.

Teaching her through letters would only lead to disaster, but how else would he know about her? How else could he earn her trust while being so far away?

Pathetic.

"Moi Soverennyi." Ivan presented himself, bowing before further entering his tent. He offered him an envelope. "A letter from the Grand Palace."

The Darkling took it and quickly read it, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Although he had convinced the king that inviting foreign diplomats was not yet a good idea, the stupid man insisted that the Sun Summoner performed alongside the other Grisha. Alina was finally able to summon on her own, but he knew a part of her still feared her gift; putting on a show for an audience was not the best idea.

He…worried? for her?

"We will have to be back in time for the Winter Fete."

Ivan grunted. "I hate that thing."

The Darkling nodded in agreement. After all those centuries, he was more than bored of them. It was always the same waste of time and resources for his army, only to entertain the nobles for a few hours. As if they would not go back to turning their back on them the very next day.

Those fools often seemed to forget that his Grisha could have them for lunch if they so wanted it.

Privileged as The Second Army may seem, people were wary of them, even the nobles who lived in the surrounding areas.

"But they will not attempt anything so long as they need us."

"We have little choice, Ivan."

"We could always host it near The Fold and accidently push the royal family inside it." he said, sardonic as usual.

"Tempting." The Darkling smirked, setting the letter aside with little care.

The Heartrender stepped aside to allow him out, and The Darkling marched towards the river, where a few of his fabrikators were working on a new skiff. It wasn't nearly as grand as the one Alina had boarded that fateful day, but that was due to a different purpose.

There was a strange device being placed underneath it.

"Are you sure this will work?" he asked Petya.

The woman hesitated for the briefest moment, and The Darkling reminded himself internally to summon new graves for his Grisha.

"Such a pity." he thought, sincerely.

"Yes. So long as the Squaller sets a slow pace and nobody exerts themselves too much, they should be able to pass in relative tranquillity."

He had a feeling it would not work. His Grisha had already tried several times to cross through the river, but David Kostyk was sure his new invention would cancel out the soft sounds of the skiff against the water and dwindle the sounds of a heartbeat.

"Do not expect the path to be clear." he said.

"That is exactly why we're going, sir." a Squaller, Igor, approached and bowed. "If this works and we can clear the path, we should be able to make it to the other side eventually."

"Let us hope it does not take too many tries." he said.

Too many Grisha lives, he had wanted to say.

"David is rarely wrong, Moi Soverennyi." Petya said.

That was true. David was one of his best Grisha, which was why The Darkling tried to keep him inside the safety of the Little Palace's walls unless absolutely necessary.

Still, The Darkling though the plan stupid and a waste; but it was either that or forcing Alina into The Fold, and she was far from being ready to make a crossing, even through its thinnest point up north.

As a Squaller, a Heartrender, two Healers and two Inferni boarded the skiff, followed by a few strong otkazat'sya men from the First Army, The Darkling thought of David.

He thought of Alina.

And his thoughts returned to David.

With a sharp nod, he sent off the small team to do their last test and headed back to his tent, where he began to write a letter addressed to Mr. Kostyk.

Click here for chapter 8

[battlestar-royco]

IT'S BEEN 84 YEARS. LET'S TALK ABOUT NETFLIX'S SHADOW AND BONE.

8.7/10 ⭐️

spoilers for everythingggg under the cut! i'll be discussing its merits as an adaptation vs as a show, characters and plots, and the overall aesthetic and magic/world.

SHOW VS ADAPTATION:

i say this as someone who knows all the books very well and has been in the fandom for nearly a decade, so i'm biased. but. s&b functions better as an adaptation than as a standalone show. alina's plot moves so well, and satisfyingly renders so many iconic scenes and sites from s&b. the worldbuilding is also pretty easy to fall into, with a forgivable amount of voiceover/infodump. and, hurting budget aside, i mostly liked this visual interpretation of the gv.

(sidebar: the in-universe racism... doesn't work. i tried to view it in good faith but imo it was very heavy-handed. if it was framed like, "wow it's a SHU WOMAN saving the world!!!" it might've been better, but it's just racism without recompense. and it's a terrible look to make other characters of color racist. i just. why?)

as for the crows, however... i'm just not sure how strong they'll be for new viewers? i totally understand why they were included, and i really like certain connections the show made between the two series. it was a great decision to introduce the druskelle in the first Cut scene, and showing nina as a ravkan spy.

the new crows stuff felt in character, but i think the show is at its height when it sticks to the books. the first couple episodes switching between tgt and proto-soc gave me whiplash, but luckily it got more organic as it progressed. if i didn't know and love all the crows before going in, i wouldn't be that invested in them based on season 1. aside from a couple fantastic scenes, it really felt like the writers were trying to make fetch happen for like 4 episodes before they figured out what to do with everyone. plus, ravka is such a different vibe from ketterdam--tonally, sartorially, technologically, etc they didn't totally feel like the same world. it was pretty jarring. although i prefer the duo to the trio, s&b is alina's story and she is That Bitch who walked so the crows could fly. so i didn't hate their inclusion but the shoehorned content did at times disservice both plots, imo.

CHARACTERS:

way too many, which is yet another consequence of smushing everyone into one season.

MAL/ALINA/DARKLING: first and foremost, and i PROMISE i'm not saying this just to be a hater, but there needed to be less malina. i'll be the first to say that show!mal really has what book!mal wants. the new pre-fold scenes were so good. li and renaux have amazing chemistry, and their laughter over stolen grapes was a highlight. his stag plot was also good. THAT SAID, there were way too many keramzin flashbacks and malina parallels like.. 🤢🤢why do they want us to love mal so much. for what. they only needed the teacup scene but they clearly thought they were doing something with micro-aggressions and that meadow shot they showed like 6 times. knowing mal's original character, and how they scrubbed his show counterpart almost to the point of flawlessness, he's just never going to be my fave even though i do respect what they did with him. also, why were there like 5 fake deaths for this dude? boring.

the darkling was great. ben barnes knows what the fuck he's about, and he funneled manipulation and charisma into every scene. as for the backstory: at first i really wasn't feeling it, but i eventually did warm up to it and i'm so glad they showed it because oh god the cut and the creation of the fold were SO FUCKING ICONIC. also, love love love the baghra development. WE LOVE TO SEE OLD WOMEN/MOMS WHO AREN'T "EVIL"/"CORRUPTED" BY THEIR MAGICAL POWERS!!!!!!! BITCH! it didn't have to be 12 minutes long though.

i honestly don't have much to say on alina. jml was excellent in her role and very true to the book. without her book narration she feels much more consistently written.

TRILOGY CHARACTERS: i really felt the lack of genya and zoya. genya's character and actress are perfectly layered and effective, even though their roles are relatively minor. i'm so looking forward to her razrushost moment, but i wish they'd laid more groundwork for it. (and i hope throw out the wig and just dye her hair next season.) also like. WHY KEEP THE IRRELEVANT MEAN GIRL/DARKLING THIRST PLOT FOR ZOYA??? AFTER ALL THE EFFORT THEY PUT INTO IMPROVING MAL? they sacrificed so much for malina at the expense of other characters. finally, it was interesting how they decided to kill marie. i love the tailor magic flex. but also they clearly just did that to emotionally manipulate us and connect the crows so. hm.

CROWS: speaking of! the crows storyline felt a little like filler. honestly i wish they waited to roll crows into later seasons. i'd prefer little foreshadowings about them, a la the druskelle cameo or the references to nina and matthias. introducing the crows so soon makes the ice court heist feel less special. the recruitment was super tight and pragmatic, so this felt a little fluffy/fanservicey. kaz also comes off as sooooo old again. especially without the vulnerability of his book counterpart, he just seems like a 40-year-old in a 20something body.

i was pleasantly surprised to find jesper my favorite crow. like wow.... second amendment rights for jesper fahey only!! i like all the crows but book!kanej are my faves by a long shot. they felt a bit stiff tbh, like the actors were a little uncomfy with each other and/or their exposition-heavy lines. however, the one scene that felt EXTREMELY kanej to me was when they killed that dude in the church holy fuck oh my god. WE STAN AN ANGSTY BATTLE COUPLE WHO ARE BOTH DEAD INSIDE. highlight for sure.

and i actually kinda loved helnik? i know helnik is controversial for very valid reasons, but i thoughy their dynamic was fantastic and they were among the strongest performers. it was much less overwhelming than the constantly interweaving kaz/inej/jesper imo. they need to fire their location scout though. those green screen mountains and beaches were um. interesting.

aesthetic and magic:

i really hope they get a bigger budget for costumes, cgi, and sets next season! the keftas are serviceable, but they look a little cheap at times. i will also never forgive ANY of the crows' hats. it's mostly just a personal aesthetic thing but god i fucking hate them. the darkling was best dressed, but in general i liked the ravkan look more than the kerch. why were the crows always in the most elaborate getups? why couldn't they just chill in their waistcoats??? they never seemed relaxed in the way alina and co did; the clothes never felt worn or broken in.

favorite sets: the darkling's room, the crow club, all the grisha tents, the matthias/nina ship, the church where inej killed the squaller, outdoor fountain where they told the story of the black heretic. the lighting was almost always right for each scene, and there was so much detail in every one of them.

THE MAGIC WAS SO COOL! my greatest beef is alina's light--it often looked so fake, and it washed out jml. oftentimes it was fluorescent or blue, and it was used as a forcefield or orb. it's supposed to be sunlight bro. what is so hard about that? the darkling's magic looked good, other than the fold. i've always imagined the fold more like a huge black fog rather than a literal wall. so that was a bit game of thronesy, but not terrible.

and can we talk about the amplifiers? amplifiers are my personal favorite gv lore but season 1 barely gets into them. they never mention the bear zoya slew, nor do they establish the unique strength of the stag, sea dragon, and firebird. BUT THE ANTLER COLLAR FUSED INTO ALINA'S SKIN WAS SUPER DARK AND MACABRE AND I KINDA LIKED IT? ALTHOUGH I HAVE TO WONDER HOW TF IS SHE GONNA SLEEP???

if you made it this far, thanks so much! that's all i have for today.

[darkmindsotome]

Tempting Thought

Fandom: Tears of Themis 

Pairing: Artem Wing x (non gender specific) MC

Word count: 1,783

Warning: Light angst, pining, lovesick.

Written by: darkmindsotome

Fantasies. Exploring the unknown through the ability to apply imagination to a situation or thought. The children around him growing up certainly had a firm hold on the idea and the ability to put it into practice. It was an ability he envied in a way. When others could escape using nothing but their imagination he could not without the aid of a book.

His mother had encouraged him to try to join in which he did, but found it hard. How were you supposed to play along with someone else’s game if they were the only ones able to see it? Eventually, she gave up and had to agree with his teachers when they said he showed no signs of childhood imagination.

It hampered his ability to bond with others slightly in early years but later on he found it easier to utilise his social skills on children that were older than him. The ones that had passed the age of playing games based solely in realms of non-reality.

Fantasy N. (pl. ies) 1. The faculty of inventing images, esp. extravagant or visionary ones. 2. A fanciful mental image; a daydream 3. A whimsical speculation 4. A fantastic invention or composition; a fantasia…

He was familiar with the term. It had been written in many of the pages he had seen over the years both in his beloved science fiction and in court. The fiction was always something glorified, it was pleasant. The reality of the court had fantasy as a basis for eliminating testimonies and claiming false evidence.

It wasn’t a big thing it certainly didn’t hold him back. So why now was he plagued with fantasy?

He was not oblivious to his attraction. It was something he was more than aware of, just had no experience in how to do anything about it. He thought he could be happy simply being near the object of his desire. Gaining precious minutes alone with them during a case or on a weekend when he finally worked up the nerve to invite them to see a movie.

A wonderful idea… until recently. The close proximity to them alone in the dark did reward him with what he thought he wanted. The chance to be alone with them. But it also gave him something he hadn’t predicted, fantasy.

The fantasy of what it might be like if he had less resolve. If he allowed his instincts to take over. How it would play out if they shared his feelings and allowed him to continue. Would their perfume wrap around him like a blanket and stain him in their scent or would he cover theirs instead?

Would the warmth he felt from them by just sitting next to each other in the dark become a burning fire, melting his moral compass and allowing him to finally show them the full force of his love?

This was something that had become a familiar issue when watching movies together. He frequently had to watch the movie before they even planned their nights in or out. Attempting to do otherwise resulted in a one-sided conversation where he had little to say. His minds focus had scattered far from the plot on the screen leaving him lost for opinion. He didn't want to ruin their private after-party Q&A session.

What started as a small thought developed into what others could call a deviant fantasy. He inwardly winced at the idea that Vyn might latch on to such a thing and make him the focus of some sort of therapy.

The issues on the weekend during private moments alone began seeping into work hours. He had always been aware of them and the little changes during work. How he seemed to be able to tell when it was laundry day by the familiar suit that showed itself once a week. When they changed their shoes because they had grown a half-inch taller.

Now those same things inspired new fantasies. The idea they might hurt their foot and require him to find a new pair of shoes to place on their feet. How when he lowered himself to rest at their feet, he might be the happiest he ever was if he looked up and saw them focused on only him. How that extra bit of height placed their lips at the perfect position for stealing a kiss.

Thoughts of that familiar suit ending up damaged and him coming to their aid supplying a perfectly tailored suit that proved how reliable he was. How he might be called upon to help with a stubborn zipper and be part of a heated office encounter as both their suits are turned into a crumpled heap on the floor.

It was a fantasy he knew to be far fetched as much as it made his heart race imagining it. He felt guilty, even though he would never act on such things without consent. He also knew imagining his work partner in such a way was inappropriate. He was caught between the devil on his shoulder pointing out and threatening to unlock all his hidden attraction and the angel on the other telling him to ignore all that. To focus on the pure feelings behind the fantasy, the desire to want to be with his partner. To be with them and cherish them. Not to continually act on the impulse to give in to carnal acts.

5:45 pm

The firm was only open until five and yet here they both still were. Cooped up in his office pouring over paperwork and details, polishing up their defence for a court hearing in the morning. It was quiet, the only noise in the room was their breathing and the sound of the clicking of keyboards and scratching of pens on paper.

He looked up from his desk and caught the sight of them diligently working. Their hands flipping through and reordering the papers at the workstation in his office. Their meticulous actions were mesmerising as he lost himself in the thought of those hands deftly working the knot of his tie loose. How they could nimbly travel the fabric of his shirt detaching the buttons exposing his skin to the lights in the room…

“Mr Wing was there anything else? … Mr Wing?”

Their question had him flustering and he only hoped his face was not on fire in the same way as the rest of his body. Seriously why develop an imagination now?

“No that is all. I looked at your report and marked a few areas for your attention moving forward.” He kept his voice calm and level even though his mouth was turning dry.

Removing themself from the sofa his partner happily came forward to collect the file. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, they had done this countless times in the past but right now he was acutely aware of every sway from their body. The click of shoes on the floor felt like a hammer in his chest.

“Thank you. I’ll get them corrected now.” Elegant fingers wrapped around the binder for the files plucking it from his desk.

“No. It’s late you should go home.” He didn’t want to see them leave but he wanted even less for them to see him like this. He was struggling to keep himself in check and cursing his own mind for its torturous fantasies.

“Alright… You should go home too. There’s nothing else to be done now, right? Just showing up to court and winning the case.” They tilted their head and their hair slipped away from their neck on one side. A beautifully bare path under thin cotton fabric laid out before his eyes from their ear to their shoulder.

Turning to his computer to avoid the dangerous path his mind was travelling he nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’ll be going after I send some emails.”

Satisfied with this they gave a smile that felt like it had sucked all the air from his lungs. Holding the file close to their chest they issued one last farewell and left. Their voice lingered in his ears as a feeling of loneliness washed over him.

Sighing he realised how laboured his breathing was. The collar of his shirt felt tight causing him to remove his tie and undo the top buttons of the shirt to gain some freedom. He took a mouthful of his now cold coffee. When making it he did so focusing on producing a bitter blend, an idea he had so he could use it to refocus his mind and suppress those troublesome fantasies.

“That’s enough now. No more foolishness.” He muttered to himself as he pushed aside the vivid imaginings that threatened to overwhelm him.

A knock on the door made him jump.

“Yes?”

The head of his partner appeared through the gap as the door opened. A sheepish look on their face as they failed to make complete eye contact.

“Sorry, Artem. Erm… are we still on for watching those old movies this weekend?” Their question was adorable and the uncertainty in their voice only endeared them to him more.

“We are unless you have other plans. Don’t force yourself to attend if-”

“Oh! No, I was just worried you might be too busy and forgotten. I’ll bring some snacks with me this time so you don’t have to cook. Bye!”

The whirlwind that was his love swept through his office and left just as quickly. Their concern that he had lost interest or forgotten their date felt impossible but was so like them. He shook his head and laughed. He really had it bad. To compound the issue and make it worse the one he liked was oblivious to his affection.

He thought about the ingredients sitting in his kitchen at home and how his plans to make something special were once more dashed by his partner’s thoughtfulness.

“One step forward three steps back…” His eyes fell on the book that had become something of a talisman to him since he had been given it. All its insight and helpful steps to acquiring love and making his feelings clear were so easily mapped out in its pages but in reality, it was not so easy. "If only everything could follow the plot of a book." He picked up the self-help guide to love and flipped it open at his bookmark. "Then again... if it were that simple could I really claim they are my chance encounter?" 

He leaned back into his desk chair the leather of it creaking under him as he began to read the next section of the book. How to plan the perfect confession.

---

[flamencodiva]

GBTY 1 - Nothing Against You

Book Cover by: @talesmaniac89​

Description: Amaya Campos and Dean Winchester had a playful rivalry. what happens when Dean is no longer her Dean. Will this change make one of them realize what they really desire, or will they continue to keep secrets?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Amaya Campos (Original Female Character) , AU Dean Winchester x AU Amaya Campos

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word for Chapter: 5704

Beta: @superfanficnatural​

A/N: Special thanks to - @crashdevlin​ @atc74​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @winchest09​ @waywardbeanie​ @deanwanddamons​ @malfoysqueen14​  @emoryhemsworth​ @janicho88​ @jensengirl83​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @katehuntington​ @anathewierdo​  and to all my friends who listen to me ramble about my writing. your words of encouragement mean the world to me! Without you I don’t think I could have found the courage to come back and share what I love most to do, WRITE.

Getting Back To You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The rumble of the black ‘67 Chevy Impala echoed in the alleyway as it came to a soft stop, the driver turning off the ignition and looking to his brother beside him. 

 "You said she was coming, right?" the driver said as his brother placed the bookmark in the book he was reading. 

 "For the millionth time," his voice dripped with annoyance, "yes, Dean, I called Amaya, and she said she would meet us here." 

 "Sam," Dean ran his hand across his face. "Look, she is a great hunter. You know it, I know it. But, she got injured in her last hunt. So I'm sorry if I'm a little apprehensive about whether she’ll be --" 

 The loud bang against the Impala's roof made the brothers jump as a soft chuckle filled their ears. They could see Amaya Campos through the window on the driver’s side, laughing. Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. He tried not to get distracted by how beautiful she looked when she smiled. Closing his eyes, Dean flared his nostrils and clenched his jaw. 

 "You know what, Campos," Dean barked as he threw open the driver's side door and climbed out. "You are a real pain in the ass." 

 "Yeah, I know," she shrugged and punched his shoulder. "But you know I'm the best." 

 "If it weren't for that fact, you would have been dead by now," Dean grumbled as he made his way to the trunk. 

 "How you doin’, Amaya?" Sam asked as he gave her a gentle hug. 

 "I bounce back, Sasquatch," she gave them a bright smile. "So, a coven of witches is in there," she pointed at the warehouse then crossed her arms. 

 "Yeah," Sam sighed, "but get this. These witches have been gathering ingredients for a big spell." Sam pulled out his notes as he showed them to Amaya, "They killed specific victims and took certain body parts from them." 

 "Well, that's just wrong… and creepy," Amaya shuddered. 

 "Something we agree on," Dean cocked his gun as he checked to make sure it was working. "I wish there was an easier way to get rid of these hags all at once." 

 "You and me both, Short Stack," Amaya breathed. She grabbed a few Witch-killing bullets and loaded the clip into her pistol. 

 "I'm taller than you, Campos." Dean pulled up close to her, his form towering over hers. 

 "I'm using Sasquatch as a reference," she gave him a sly smile before letting her fingers dance along his chest. "Wanna make this interesting?" 

 "What, like the ghoul hunt last month?" he raised an eyebrow at her before letting his eyes roam over her body. 

 Her Ramones crop top and leather jacket was accentuating her chest, her cleavage leaving Dean imagining dirty things he could do between her breasts. He continued to let his eyes roam over Amaya's figure; her bootleg jeans hugged her hips in the right place. He bit the inside of his cheek, Dean's way to hold back from reaching out and placing his hand on the curve of her hip. His eyes continued to move up to her hair in a neat ponytail. He could always see himself pulling on the elastic to let the tendrils fall, his fingers running through her brown and purple highlighted hair. Shaking out of his thoughts, he looked into her eyes, feeling his heart pounding in his chest.   

 "Come on, Winchester," she moved her hand around to the back of his neck. Her fingers began to play with the small hairs at the nape of it, "If you can last five minutes without a witch blasting you away," Amaya's fingers ghosted over his cheek while staring into his green eyes, "I can make it worth your while." 

 "Whatever you're trying to sell me, sweetheart," he licked his lips. It was his way of controlling himself. He could not fall into the trap he knew she was trying to set, "I ain't buying." 

 "Come on," she cooed, "what's one little harmless bet?" 

 "Last time we had a--" Dean lifted his hands as he pushed back away from her, making air quotes, "' Harmless bet ' I had to drive the Impala in my underwear while listening to Taylor Swift." He shuddered at the memory of Sam recording the evidence to send to Amaya. 

 "Admit it," she chuckled, "you enjoyed it." 

 "You wish," he shot back. 

 "Guys," Sam sighed. "Can you guys please, just make a bet. Hell, I'll mediate. If Amaya wins, Dean has to--" he paused to think. 

 "Give up pie for a month," she crossed her arms, smiling. 

 "You bitch!" Dean growled. "There is no way I'm giving up pie. You win, I'll kiss you for two minutes," he gave an inward groan as the words came out. 

 "Two minutes of making out with Dean Winchester?" 

 Dean watched as she popped out her hip and placed her hand on it. He could tell she was thinking about it. 

 "I'm not thrilled about it either, but it's all I could come up with, outside of humiliating myself farther," he grumbled. 

 "I was gonna say you could dance to the Macarena while wearing women's underwear," Sam shrugged. 

 Dean watched as Amaya's eyes lit up and he gave Sam his best bitch face, "Asshole." 

 "I like Sam's idea better. Not just the Macarena in women's underwear, but I want a live performance!" She smiled, “You need to sing the song too!” 

 "We're wasting time," Dean said, rolling his eyes as he looked between Sam and Amaya. "Fine. You got a deal. But if I win--" he licked his lips, "you are going to give me a very nice strip show in the Bunker to the song of my choice." 

 "Bueno, que quieres? (Well, what do you want?) All nude reviews or bare minimum?" she asked as she gave him a casual shrug. 

 "All nude with a very nice view of the sweet stuff," he said, smiling. "Quiero ver a to-do tu que-ehr-po," ( I want to see all of your body.) Dean smirked, hoping he got the wording right for his Spanish.  

 "Spanish is getting better, perv," she muttered. "Fine. But you are only looking, not touching!" 

 "Fine with me, sweetheart," Dean held out his hand for her to shake. 

 But she did something unexpected. Grabbing Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket, she pulled him in for a short kiss on his lips. 

 Pulling back, she smiled, "Sellado con un beso (Sealed with a kiss). No backing out now Winchester. The challenge, you can't go fifteen minutes without getting blasted by a witch spell." 

 "You're on," he squeaked before clearing his throat and making his way inside. 

 Sam cocked his gun before looking at his best friend, "You love making him squirm." 

 "It's only ever going to be fun and games, Sam," she put on her bravest smile. "Nothing can ever come from two hunters in this world being together. Happy ever after doesn't exist." 

 Sam sighed as he watched his friend and brother head inside. He knew they were ridiculous, but there was nothing he could do except let them be idiots together. As the group filtered through the warehouse, Sam could hear the faint sound of chanting. 

 An eerie lavender glow came from an open door along a dark corridor. Sam crept towards it, self flush against the wall as he peered inside. 

At the same time, in another universe, a group of men dressed in black surrounded the warehouse, each one with a radio and a body cam hooked up to them. They all waited for a signal from their leader to storm inside and take down their targets. 

 "It's too quiet in there," one of them whispered. 

 "Yeah, but we have to follow protocol," the second one answered. 

 "Squad leaders, move in," a gruff voice called over the walkie talkie. 

 The warehouse had filled with the sounds of feet stomping the pavement. The women found themselves surrounded — weapons aimed at them. One of them strolled forward, her cackle bouncing off the walls and filling the warehouse with its shrill sound. 

 "The Men of Letters can't stop us," she proclaimed. "The spell is in motion. It has begun!" 

 "Fire!" 

 The command came from above as the warehouse filled with the sounds of gunfire, figures dressed in black emptying their clips. The witches all dropped one by one, save for one, who cowered on the ground behind the cauldron. When the firing calmed down, the mysterious soldiers in black all pointed their guns at her, waiting for her to make a move as she bled through her wound. As the silence began to fill the air, the faint sounds of high heels and heavy footsteps echoed around them as the men all moved aside for two  figures dressed in suit’s approaching closer to their target. 

 One of the figures was a woman, about 5’4 with long brown hair that flowed down her back. She wore a navy blue pencil skirt with a button up quarter sleeve white shirt that went well with her four-inch black stilettos.  The other figure was a man, 6’1 in height, wearing a navy blue three piece tailored suit, his brown hair perfectly combed back in a short cut. Both figures stood side by side as they surveyed their surroundings. 

 "Is this her?" the female spoke. 

 "Yes, ma'am," came the reply as the woman made her way closer. 

 She stood in front of the Witch and took her chin in her hands.  

 "Excellente. Bind her and take her to the prison, we'll question her there. Whatever they did, we need to find a way to reverse it." She looked over at the green-eyed man who followed closely behind her, "Que esperen y muévanse!" (What are you waiting for and move!)  

 "We will," he said, looking over the papers before signing his name to the documents. "I believe Grandpa Henry will be happy with what we've done. We do make a great team, Amaya." 

 "I wouldn't be marrying you if we didn't, Winchester," she smiled before making her way to him. 

 "We've been tracking them for a long time," the man sighed as the Witch had a black cover placed on her head. He watched as one of the men dragged her off, "I'm worried about the repercussions to their spell. I mean, according to Sam, they were working on something that could be transdimensional." 

 "Then all the more reason to get back to headquarters and interrogate her," she said, placing her hand on the man's cheek. "Dean, everything will be fine. Vas a ver. We've been doing this for years, and we have almost eradicated this world of monsters." 

 "I know but," he said as he leaned into her touch, "what if they bring something over here to throw the balance off?" 

 "Then we will deal with it," she reassured him. "Together, as we've always done things, mi amor. (My love)" 

 The Witch smiled under the hood over her head. Everything was working according to the plan. It was all a matter of time for the other world to align and cast their spell. 

 Meanwhile, in the slick black restored ‘67 Chevy Impala, Dean looked over at his fiancee. He couldn't help shake the pit he felt in his stomach. Following behind the black van, Dean pulled up into the garage of the compound. 

Before exiting the car, he turned to Amaya, "Are we sure this witch is going to talk?" he reached over, caressing her cheek. 

 Leaning into his touch, Amaya took in a slow deep breath, "We can only hope that she does. The only one who can really make her talk is you, Dean. Yo sé que no te gusta, pero, (I know you don't like it, but,) it's your specialty." 

 "Yeah," Dean rubbed his eyes, "I know. Mientras que me ayuda a proteger a mi Familia y el Mundo, (As long as it helps me protect my family and the world) I'll keep doing it." 

 "I love it when you speak Spanish, mi amor," she leaned over towards him and pressed her lips gingerly against his. "I will be in the other room, observing if you need back up." 

 "Amaya," Dean kissed her forehead, "you know I hate it when you watch." 

 "Don't get performance anxiety on me now, Winchester," she teased. "I mean, you look hot when you get all dom on them." 

 Dean let out a low growl before pulling her in for a deep kiss, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth as she moaned. Her hands found their way around his neck, fingers playing with the short hairs that she could find. Amaya shifted her position to press her body against his, her legs straddling him as they made out on the bench seat of his hunter car. The Impala was always good for making out after a hunt well done. Dean smirked against her lips as his hands found their way under her blouse; her soft skin sending a shiver down his spine. He loved touching her, kissing her, tasting her. The two lovers were engrossed in their feelings, too lost in their touches, they never noticed the person stalking towards their car. With a devilish smirk, they lifted their hand and slammed it on the roof of the Impala, making the lovers jump. 

 "That is very unprofessional of you two." 

 Sam Winchester smiled at the lovers as they both flipped him off. Letting them exit the car, he watched as his brother Dean adjusted his tie and smoothed out his hair. 

 "Is the witch ready for interrogation?" he helped Amaya out after she fixed up her appearance. 

 "Yes," Sam said, still smiling, "she's in your favorite room." 

 "Good," Dean linked his arm with Amaya's, "I say, after I’m done, we head on over to Albert's and celebrate with a nice meal." 

 Dean led her towards the dungeon where the interrogation would take place. 

 "Sounds good, baby," Amaya kissed his cheek as she helped him remove his blazer before lifting the sleeves of his dress shirt, "give her hell." 

 "I always do, sweetheart," he said, giving her a wink before entering the room and closing the door behind him. 

Back across the universe, to one where the Men of Letters is all but dead, Sam Winchester watched as his brother and Amaya began to signal to each other. The witches all gathered as, what looked like, the leader started chanting. 

 "Vocamus, antiqui potestates, audire nostrum dicere, sentire nostra potestate. Per tempus et spatium, sit animarum artem. Sicut anima est, luxatis sit pati in solatium, ut desiderium pro amore et carnem esse eius ruinam." (We call upon the ancient powers, to hear our call, feel our power. Across time and space, let the souls switch. As the soul is displaced, let it suffer in solace as the longing for love and flesh be its downfall.) There was a crash of thunder and a flash of lightning. All the while, the witches began throwing the ingredients into the cauldron. 

 "Sam, Now!" Dean bellowed as all three began shooting at the witches. Both Sam and Amaya found themselves back to back as they aimed at the ones running. Dean decided to make a beeline for the leader and had reached her when she gave him a devilish smile. 

 "It is done, my followers cast the spell, and there is nothing you can do," she cackled. 

 "What did you do?" he demanded as he aimed the gun at her as she smiled. 

 "You'll see," she teased and raised her hand and thrust it forward. She used her power to send Dean back, crashing against some empty crates. 

 His body crumbled to the ground while Sam and Amaya screamed his name. A shot rang out, and the Witch's body fell with a thud. 

 With a groan, Dean opened his eyes and sighed, "Did we get her?" 

 "Yeah," Sam chuckled as he helped his brother up, "but you lost the bet." 

 "What?" Dean cried and looked at his brother with disbelief. "No, I didn't!" 

 "Yes, you did! I had my timer on, and you had two minutes left," Amaya boasted with a bright smile. "We'll talk later. You're bleeding, and we need to make sure you don't need stitches." 

 Dean hissed as Amaya brushed her fingers along the cut on his head; he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at her touch. Dean could see the concern in her eyes as she looked for any more wounds; he never wanted to see that look again. He wished he could protect her from all this: protect her from himself. He made a small note to push her away once he was all healed. But then, she did something that made him change his mind. It was subtle, but the way she cared for him, it made him rethink how he should keep his distance from her. 

 "Okay, Romeo," she murmured after cleaning up his wound. "You'll be flirting with barmaids in no time." 

 "I guess I'll have to learn the Macarena then, huh?" he sighed.  

 "I'll give you a few days to recover before I collect," she said as they made their way back outside and towards their vehicles. "I gotta jet," she used her thumb to point to her bike, "need to get some stuff done." 

 "You know," Dean cleared his throat, "you can-- you can come live with us-- in the Bunker," he rubbed the back of his neck. 

 "Did the witch curse you with something?" Amaya wondered and raised an eyebrow at him. "I mean, we're friends but--" 

 "Look, we have a friendly competition," Dean grumbled. "Besides, it makes it easier to collect on a debt when you're close by."  

 Amaya bit her lip as she looked from Dean to Sam. She always found an excuse not to stay with them in the Bunker, ever since Sam first suggested it. It was easy to reject the offer when Dean would argue that he and Sam could no longer call it a bachelor pad if she moved in. 

 "Come on, Amaya," Sam's voice broke her out of her thoughts. "It would be better than being out on your own, and you always have a bed to sleep in." 

 "I--" Amaya hesitated as she decided to find the ground fascinating. 

 "Either you're coming or not," Dean growled. "We don't have time to argue about this when we have to figure out what those witches did." 

 "Fine," she breathed. "But I swear Winchester," she walked up to him and poked him in his chest. "One wrong move, one smelly sock or underwear in my room. I catch you playing Peeping Tom, and I am out of there so fast after laying your ass out you won't know what hit you." 

 Dean raised his hands in the air as he used his finger to draw a cross over his heart, "Cross my heart. I will be on my best behavior." 

 "Yeah, yeah," she sighed, "I'll follow you on my bike." 

 Dean watched as she made her way towards the gleaming black motorcycle and waited for him to start driving. Dean couldn't help but glance now and then at the rearview mirror. He had to make sure the bike was still behind them.  He could never shake the feeling that something would happen to Amaya if she stayed near him for long. Even with their friendly banter, Dean had known her since they were kids. And when they started hooking up, much to Sam’s dismay, he couldn’t help but feel he had cursed her in some way. The last thing he needed was for Amaya to end up like every woman in his life, gone, broken, and/or dead. 

 "You know you could just actually tell her you like her," Sam sighed as he read through his book, using his phone as a flashlight. 

 Dean let out a scoff, "What? I don't like Amaya like that. She's -- she's just a very good hunter who I consider a friend and is nice to look at." 

 "Yeah," Sam scoffed as he shook his head, "you keep telling yourself that, Dean." 

 "I'm not kidding Sam," Dean denied, glancing at his brother. "You know how this story ends. Jo, Lisa… they both ended in tragedy, and one of those was an experienced hunter." 

 "Dean," Sam shook his head, "what if it's different? I mean, Amaya is not Jo. Jo lived a sheltered life away from actually hunting. Yeah, she knew about it, but she didn't become a hunter until she met us." 

 "Yeah. And I don't want Amaya to meet the same fate," Dean huffed. "It's better this way, Sam. We don't get happy endings." 

 "Dean," Sam rubbed his eyes, "I know you guys have gotten together more than once." 

 "I have no idea what you're talking about," Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he made the turn towards the Bunker. 

 "You guys are not quiet," Sam pointed out. "You both are being stupid, and keeping each other at arm's length is only going to get messy. You guys think you're going to keep each other safe, but you aren't. And you are only going to hurt each other, or worse." 

 "What could be worse?" Dean asked as he pulled the Impala into the garage just as Amaya's bike pulled in behind them. 

 "One of you gets seriously injured protecting the other," Sam breathed. "You know it's true, Dean. You guys are so alike and…" Sam looked back as he watched Amaya grabbing what little she had on her. "The last hunt, where she got hurt… can you imagine if we were with her?" 

 Dean stayed silent as he tried to imagine the scene. Sam was right, Amaya wouldn't have gotten injured. He was sure that he would have jumped in and taken the hit for her. Or at least taken out the monster without any casualties. But Dean shook the thought out of his head.  

 "All the more reason for me to keep my distance," Dean argued. 

 Sam let out a frustrated groan as his brother got out of the car. He looked over at Amaya just as Dean caught up with her and was glad that she decided to stay with them. He only hoped that it would be a good thing and they wouldn't hurt each other in the process. 

Amaya watched as Dean paced in front of the Witch. The Witch's body hung in the middle of the room, her arms above her head as she dangled like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop. The double-sided mirror was the only thing separating her from him. She walked over to the mirror and pressed the button, indicating that the microphone was on, Amaya needed to hear what was going on. If she listened in, there was a chance that she could help read between the lines. Witches, like demons, always found a way to lie. 

 "What does the spell do?" Dean asked as he walked by the weapons table. 

 Amaya watched as his fingers ghosted over the various knives and tongs. She could see his fingers linger over his favorite weapon. It was a double-edged Turkish knife that had a serrated edge on one side and a smooth blade on the other.

 "There is still one component left," the witch sneered. 

 Dean moved his way towards her, letting the blade drag along her exposed skin, the blood dripping down to the floor as the Witch laughed. 

 "You can torture me all you want son of man," she growled as she took in a deep breath before breaking the chains. 

 Amaya tried to rush towards the door, only to freeze in place as the room filled with the sound of evil laughter. 

 "Foolish mortals," the voice boomed. 

 The Witch was now floating a few feet above Dean. Her eyes were glowing lavender. 

 "Don't take this the wrong way," she floated towards him and grabbed his chin. "Your counterpart in a different world brought this upon himself. You're collateral damage." 

 Dean tried to move, but he found himself frozen in place. He took in a sharp breath as the Witch placed a finger on his forehead and whispered an incantation. He watched as a life that wasn't his flash before his eyes. He saw a different life than what he lived, watched as he saw pain and suffering and a life without Amaya. 

 "No," he growled, "you are not going to do this to me." He tried to break free but found that he couldn't, "Who are you?" 

 "Your worst nightmare," she boasted with a smile as she let out a shock wave of power. "It is nothing against you, well this version of you, Dean. This version of you is more mature. But, you decided to mess with the daughters of Hecate."

 Dean's eyes widened at the name. They were not dealing with ordinary witches any more; they now pissed off the goddess of witches. His gaze shifted to the double-sided mirror, hoping that Amaya was safe before hearing a small laugh. 

 "Your little slut is fine," she assured him and gave him a pat on his cheek. "But I'm going to give you a few days before I rip you from her. Enjoy your time." 

 Before Dean could ask what she meant, the dungeon shook, the lights flickered, and everything went black. After a few moments, Dean gasped as he shot up, hissing in pain as he reached up to touch his head, flinching when he felt the familiar sticky feeling of blood. Looking around, Dean coughed, the pain in his chest radiating. He took a closer look at the damage; the double-sided glass had shattered when Hecate escaped. The Bunker filled with red lighting as the alarm was ringing around him and he could make out the faint yells of the other hunters stationed there, all on high alert.  

 "Amaya," Dean breathed as he made his way to the window. 

 The room was in bad shape; the roof had caved in. The destruction of the dungeon kicked in Dean's protective mode as he tried to look around for any signs of Amaya. He ignored the searing pain that was pulsing through his body as he filtered through the debris. 

 "Amaya?" Dean called out as he began to move the rubble. "Sweetheart, Donde estas? Amaya responde por favor!!" he called out. 

 "Dean?!" Sam's voice called through the door. 

 "Sam?" Dean croaked. "Sam, I can't find Amaya." 

 "Just hold on," Sam said. 

 He could hear orders echoing in the hall as he continued to look for Amaya. 

 "Dean!" a female voice called out. 

 Dean froze at the sound of Amaya's voice. 

 "Amaya? Where are you, sweetheart?" he said as he looked around. 

 "Over here," Her voice was firm. "Maldita madre de la gran puta. Cuando encuentre esa bruja la voy a matar!" (Damn mother of the big whore. When I find that Witch, I will kill her!) 

 He smiled at her outburst and sighed when he could see movement coming from one of the corners of the room. Dean rushed over, forgetting the pain that radiated from his wounds. He moved the debris, thankful that it seemed to only cover her without crushing her, helping her up and carrying her over to where Sam and his men had cleared out a path. 

 "What the fuck happened?" Sam asked as he looked at the damage then his brother's wound. 

 "Hecate," Dean said and winced when he felt Amaya's fingers assessing the damage, “she made an appearance.”

 "How did we miss that?" Sam wondered as he looked at the damage in the dungeon room before turning to his brother. 

 "She was inside one of the witches," Dean sighed. "I guess they invoked her before we got there." 

 "How do we explain this?" Sam asked.  

 "As with any other hunt that can and will go wrong," a voice came from down the hall. 

 Walking towards them was Henry Winchester. His salt and pepper hair short and neat, his face clean of any facial hair. His green eyes surveyed the scene before landing on his grandsons. 

 "Grandpa Henry," Sam acknowledged as he stood at attention. 

 Dean took that moment to show respect to their grandfather. He mimicked his brother's stance; back straight, shoulders squared, hands at his sides. Both brothers observed as the Patriarch of the Winchester family assessed the damage. 

 “Boys,” he said and offered them a small smirk, “it seems the witches have decided to stir up trouble.” 

Amaya looked around the Bunker. She had only heard the stories from the boys themselves a few times. Looking around the garage, she took in all the classic cars. Amaya held in her excitement; she couldn't wait to get her hands greasy from looking through the engines. As Amaya took in more of the garage, she made a note to look at the bikes and make sure they were in top condition. Parking her bike in an empty spot, she grabbed her things from the saddlebag and waited for the boys to approach her.

 "So this is your man cave?" she asked and looked over at Dean.  

 Dean scoffed, "This is just the garage, sweetheart." He took her hand in his, ignoring the jolt of electricity that coursed through his veins, "The man cave needs a… private tour," he gave her a wink. 

 Amaya gave a small smirk before pressing her body up against Dean, "Does that include a private show of your Macarena performance, Gringo?" her breath was right on his ear. 

 "Okay," Dean groaned as he placed his hand on her shoulders and pushed her away from him, "one, I still need to recover," he gave her a devilish smirk before wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her body flush with his, "B, if you want a private show," he caressed her cheek, "I'm in room eleven." 

 Amaya tilted her head at him, "Oh? Me vas enseñar algo privado?" she let her fingers dance on his chest. Two could play the flirting game. "It's okay," she pulled away from him, "I'm sure I've seen guys who are… bigger." (You going to show me something in private?)

 "If you want to see bigger, sweetheart," Dean reached for her again. "I'm not shy." 

 "I know you're not," Amaya shook her head while pushing at his face playfully. "But, slow your roll cowboy. I'm here as a roommate. I know in the past we've…"  

 "Danced the mattress mambo," Dean interjected. 

 "Yeah, among other things," Amaya smiled. "But, let's keep our hands to ourselves."

 Dean let her go as she pulled herself back and grabbed her duffle from the floor, watching as she made her way out of the garage and walked down the hallway leading to the main entryway. He couldn’t help but stare at the way her hips swayed when she walked away from him. Shaking out of his thoughts, he decided to follow after her. Grabbing his bag, he traveled down the same path she did before seeing her in the middle of the hallway. 

 "Come on," he called to her, "this way." 

 Amaya followed Dean as he made his way to the kitchen. Upon entering, they both found Sam eating dinner. 

 "What took you two so long?" Sam asked as he took a bite of his salad. "It's been a good thirty minutes since we got here. Everything okay?" 

 "We're good, Sam," Amaya chuckled. "We were discussing where Dean was going to dance the Macarena." 

 Dean rolled his eyes as he put his bag down and grabbed a beer from the fridge. His mind wandered to what he and Amaya did in the garage before turning back to his brother and friend. 

 "Why don't we show Amaya a room and let her get settled?" Dean grumbled and grabbed his bag before motioning for Amaya to follow. 

 "So my room is here," he announced and pointed to room eleven, "and Sam's room is right there," he pointed to room twenty-one. "So, you can have a pick of any of the other rooms that are empty." 

 "Looks like Twenty is empty, so I'll take that one," she said with a smile. 

Dean nodded as he looked at the room down the hall closer to Sam's. He had hoped that she had picked a room closer to him, but this was for the best. He wouldn't be as tempted to make his way to her room. He watched as Sam led her down the hall, and they disappeared around the corner. 

 Amaya looked around the room she had picked and smiled, she liked the feeling of finally having her own room. Amaya could decorate it how she wanted and listen to her music. All the while, she never noticed Dean. Never saw how he watched in silence as she settled in. Deep in his thoughts, he had to make sure he could stay away from her. But if they fell into bed again… well, he would figure it out and do what he always did.  

 Later that night, when the Bunker filled with soft snores, Dean found himself in front of Amaya's door. Opening the door to her room, Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. Amaya laid sleeping on her bed, blanket almost falling to the floor, her brown hair with purple streaks sprawled on the pillow, some of the strands on her face. 

Dean walked in and sighed. She looked beautiful and he had to make sure he could protect her. Taking the fallen comforter, he placed it over Amaya, tucking her in. His fingers grazed her skin as he put the stray hairs that were on her face behind her ear, smirking when she leaned into his touch. Dean could feel a pull in his heart. It took all his strength not to lean in and kiss her soft skin. With a sigh, he pulled back and walked out of the room, giving one final look before closing the door, making sure it didn't make a sound. He had to keep his distance, but he knew he had to get her out of his system one more time.

Chapter 2 

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[satorisa]

Falling: Chapter 3 - In Which the Boys Have the Best Sleepover Ever

Rating: T

Summary:  "I wanna forget all this burden in my past."

Alternate Reading: AO3

Because the best sleepovers involve watching Studio Ghibli movies, right?

With the May holidays coming up, Daisuke’s parents planned to go out of town to visit their college friends. Grandpa Daiki had left for Italy about a week earlier with a close friend to enjoy wood-fired pizzas, lemons the size of his face, and the beautiful, Sicilian breeze. And so, until Grandpa Daiki returned to Japan the Monday of the holiday week, it was unanimously decided that Daisuke would spend the weekend at the Saehara household.

“What’s the occasion?” Risa asked when she saw the duffel bag Daisuke had that Friday morning. “Running away from home?”

Daisuke nearly protested when Takeshi swooped in, wrapping his arm around Daisuke’s shoulder. “Nope! He’s sleeping over at my place for the weekend! Are ya—” Takeshi began to bounce his eyebrows. “—jealous?”

Risa laughed. “Jealous? Of not being invited to your ham fest? Puh-lease.”

Satoshi appeared on the other side of Daisuke and silently waved at Risa. She returned the gesture.

“Congrats on waking up early again, Hiwatari-kun. You’ve been on a roll lately.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Risa asked with a grin, “what do you guys have planned for your super special sleepover?”

“I think we’re baking this evening,” Daisuke answered. “Then we’re marathoning Studio Ghibli films.”

“Absolute classics,” Takeshi interjected.

“Tomorrow, we’re taking Satoshi out to buy some clothes and…uh…spend the rest of the evening talking until we fall asleep.”

“For our brotherhood,” Takeshi interjected again.

“And then we’ll spend the rest of Sunday watching Studio Ghibli movies until we pass out.”

Risa blinked before she started laughing. “Actually, I take that back. I’m a little jealous I’m not invited.”

“You can’t sleep over, of course, but you’re free to join us!” Takeshi said, excitement dripping with each syllable.

She just smiled. “I’ll let you know if I can.”

…

Since Risa had lunch plans with Ritsuko that day, the boys decided to eat in Daisuke’s classroom. They needed to meet up before they headed home for the weekend to prepare themselves for Risa’s potential company.

“Boys,” Takeshi said as he sat down, “I shot my shot.”

“Congrats,” Daisuke said as he unwrapped his bread.

“Did you have to invite her over?” Satoshi grumbled, digging into the bento Takeshi packed for them that morning.

“Look, I get that you’ve got issues, but what’s the worst thing that could happen? Is she gonna try to get you alone to finagle information about Dark from you?”

Satoshi looked at Takeshi straight in the eye and knocked on the desk. Takeshi broke out in raucous laugher, and both Takeshi and Daisuke knocked on the desks they sat at in solidarity.

“I don’t think she’ll do that, though,” Daisuke reassured. “I think she was genuinely interested in what we’re actually doing.”

“I know,” Takeshi said with a smug smile. “She was hooked the moment you said we’re baking later.”

“Don’t tell me you tailored this weekend just for her,” Satoshi said.

“What little faith do you have in me?” Takeshi feigned offence. “I tailored this weekend just for you.”

Satoshi shrugged. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Takeshi shot him a quick glare before downing several large bites of his lunch. He chased it with water and, after a loud burp, he met both Daisuke’s and Satoshi’s gazes.

“Alrighty boys, let’s set some ground rules for this weekend if we so happen to find ourselves in Harada-imouto’s presence.” He raised a finger. “1) We do not joke about or discuss my crush on her around her. If she finds out, you are dead to me.” He raised another finger. “2) Satoshi is not to be left alone with her at all. For his safety. And, uh—” Takeshi put his hand down. “—that’s about it.”

“Um…I think I need to add one more rule,” Daisuke said.

“Aight. Add away.”

“3) Risa-chan cannot be left alone with me, either.”

Satoshi focused on his bento, picking at the eggs with his chopsticks. Takeshi leaned in, eyes glistening with curiosity.

“What secrets are you hiding from me, oh dear best friend?”

…

One of the underclassmen from the art club caught Satoshi on the way to the shoe lockers, so Takeshi went ahead while Satoshi talked to them. They quickly chatted about the en plein air social the club had planned during the holidays before going on their merry way with an enthusiastic farewell.

Those cute underclassmen of his were starting to grow on him.

After he switched his shoes out, he spotted Takeshi and Daisuke waiting by the entrance. He expected to leave with them to enjoy a fun evening with the boys when a familiar pink ribbon came into his field of vision.

“Hey, guys!” Risa greeted while Ritsuko, who trailed behind her, waved. “My parents said I could come over for some baked goods this evening! Mind if Ritsuko tags along?”

“The more, the merrier!” Takeshi said. “Welcome aboard the fun train, Fukuda!”

“I’m just here to steal your recipe for Valentine’s Day.”

He laughed, and the group was about to head out when Satoshi’s phone rang. He saw Inspector Saehara’s caller ID and picked up.

“Sorry to ruin yer plans and all, but somethin’ urgent just popped up that needs to be done ASAP.”

“Is it more urgent than baking?”

“I know you’re upset, Satoshi, but—”

“I’m telling Saehara-san that you called me in for work and ruined my youthful sleepover.”

“Satoshi, please don’t call—”

He hung up. The group looked at him in awe.

“Sorry, but something came up at the station. Have fun for me.”

…

Inspected Saehara locked the door to the office behind him. Satoshi glared at the older man, and he just guffawed.

“I’m really sorry, Satoshi.”

Fuming, he ignored Inspector Saehara’s apology and marched back home without him. When he arrived, Risa and Ritsuko were long gone. A half-eaten cake sat on the table, and Takeshi and Daisuke were playing a video game in the living room.

They looked away from the TV and, instead of greeting him, they started laughing at him for being a young professional. Satoshi’s eyebrows furrowed more as he ignored them, chucking his school bag at the sofa (narrowly missing Takeshi) before helping himself to some cake.

Plate in hand, Satoshi sat on the floor by Daisuke before having a bite. (Dark chocolate with ganache. Delectably moist, decadently rich and, most importantly, not too sweet.)

He watched them play while eating his cake, purposefully ignoring Inspector Saehara when he finally arrived with dinner. They all gathered in the living room, digging into the fried chicken as they began their movie marathon. They watched Princess Mononoke first since it was Inspector Saehara’s favorite film from the Studio Ghibli collection but, when the old man began to snore halfway through, Takeshi banished him to the master bedroom, and his muffled snores accompanied Joe Hisaishi’s ethereal score until the movie ended.

Daisuke ducked into the downstairs bathroom to get ready for bed in case he fell asleep while watching the movies, so Satoshi went upstairs to change and freshen up when he saw a text from Risa.

She sent him a picture from earlier; the girls stood to the left, guys on the right, as they framed the cake in the middle. The message underneath read: “had lots of fun earlier! hope we can do this again soon!”

Satoshi blinked, wondering what prompted Risa to text him. They only ever messaged each other to confirm plans with the group or to find each other in crowds: general housekeeping more than anything.

Satoshi: Did Fukuda steal the recipe?

Risa: yup! she’s got it stashed away on her phone! :)

He wondered what possessed him to message her, but the speed at which she replied with was astounding. His phone pinged again, and he saw another text from her.

Risa: how’s the movie marathon?

Satoshi: We just finished watching Princess Mononoke.

Risa: good choice! wish I could’ve stayed longer to watch with you guys :(

Satoshi: You’re still welcome to join us on Sunday if you’d like.

Risa: i’ll see if i can! thanks for the invite, hiwatari-kun!”

Satoshi sat at his desk, focused on his phone. And when Risa no longer responded, he left his phone on his desk to charge before heading downstairs. Daisuke was still taking a shower, but Takeshi was in the kitchen making hot cocoa.

When Takeshi saw Satoshi, he pulled him into a hug.

“Bro, thank you for inviting Risa over on Sunday.”

…

The boys breezed through more of the Studio Ghibli catalogue, getting through Castle in the Sky, Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, until they began to fall asleep while watching Porco Rosso. Takeshi leaned on Satoshi’s left shoulder, snoring at a tolerable volume and occasionally mumbling something in gibberish. Daisuke leaned on Satoshi’s right shoulder, cheek smushed into Satoshi’s upper arm while he hung onto Satoshi’s appendage like a sloth.

And Satoshi, enamored by the Studio Ghibli magic that gave life to a story about a pilot-turned-pig in the Adriatic Sea, watched on. And only when the credits began, with its calming music, did Satoshi join his friends.

…

Satoshi woke up to hear something sizzling on the stove. He rubbed his eyes awake before sitting up on the sofa. The blanket that covered him rolled off his chest as the cool air from the AC hit him, and he saw Takeshi and Daisuke in the kitchen.

(Inspector Saehara was not in the kitchen, but Satoshi picked out his snores from the room in the lulls of the sound of breakfast.)

When he finally came to, he joined the duo. He silently greeted them while he began to make coffee, filling up the kettle for some hot water.

Satoshi stood separated from the bustle in the kitchen, watching the kettle while Takeshi and Daisuke made small talk. Only when the kettle clicked did Satoshi move as he began to grind the coffee beans. He made enough coffee for Inspector Saehara to have his daily two cups and poured some out for the boys before joining them at the table.

“Dude, Satoshi’s coffee is to die for.”

Daisuke laughed before taking a sip. His face lit up, surprised, before he took another sip. “Wow, this is great! Thanks, Satoshi!”

He just nodded. Silent.

Even though he hadn’t said a word all morning, the guys didn’t force him to join their conversation. They let him be, just like he wanted, as he relished in this moment.

After they said their thanks, they dug into the breakfast. And while Satoshi silently ate, listening to Takeshi and Daisuke talk about the most menial of things, Satoshi genuinely wished that they could do this again.

…

Commissioner Hiwatari never took Satoshi out to shop for clothes. He would come home with items that somehow always fit but were always more fashionable than comfortable or practical. (And, if Satoshi had to be honest, he hated everything Commissioner Hiwatari bought him.)

Satoshi thought Takeshi would take him to a Uniqlo or SHIPS, but the trio found themselves in front of the department store.

“…with what money are we buying my clothes?” Satoshi asked, adjusting the tote slung over his shoulder.

“Ma said to charge it as a business expense.”

“…how?”

Takeshi shrugged before rolling up his sleeves. “Alright, fellas, we’ve got one job today, so let’s stay focused. No distractions!”

“Says the one who always gets distracted by the food and kitchen appliances,” Daisuke joked.

Takeshi glared before they walked in, politely turning down the makeup samples they could bring back to their “girlfriends” as they made their way to the escalator. Daisuke and Takeshi pulled their phones out as they ascended, but Satoshi looked down at the sprawling floor in awe. Everything shone, neatly displayed or folded, and he was too enthralled by the sight that he didn’t feel the pang of regret that often accompanied him finally experiencing something he should’ve long experienced as a child.

When they made it to the floor that housed the men’s section, mannequins dressed in sleek suits greeted them. Satoshi recognized those brands as the high-end ones that made up most of Commissioner Hiwatari’s closet, and Satoshi marched on to find something less expensive. He passed by some popular streetwear brands, only known to him because of Takeshi and Daisuke’s mild interest in fashion, until he finally found more subdued pieces of clothing that catered to his tastes.

“Satoshi, uh, that brand’s—”

Takeshi’s warning came too late. Satoshi looked at the tag, and the price bounced in his head. It was too damn expensive for a casual sweater, so much so that seeing that many numbers together physically hurt.

“Takeshi, this was a terrible idea.”

“Bro, you literally aren’t even trying right now.”

“But—” Satoshi gestured to the clothes surrounding them. “—there’s too much to look through. And they’re probably all pricey.”

Takeshi sighed. “Just ask someone to help you.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Just go up to one of the attendants and ask them to help you. I’m sure they can find something for you.”

Satoshi just blinked, looking at Takeshi like he had said something in Russian. Takeshi returned Satoshi’s confused expression, and Daisuke laughed when he finally caught on.

“Are you too nervous to ask them for help?” Daisuke asked.

Satoshi Hiwatari, literal kid detective, college graduate at the tender age of fourteen, terrified to ask for help at the department store?

Absolutely.

Takeshi smirked, and Satoshi sighed, leaving the thoroughly entertained duo before asking one of the attendants for help. She directed him to a brand he wasn’t familiar with, but Satoshi liked the style and, most importantly, enjoyed the price point.

And after Satoshi tried on what he picked out, narrowing down the pile of clothes he brought with him to the fitting room, they paid before heading downstairs so Takeshi could fawn over the food. Satoshi followed him, wondering what samples he could taste, while Daisuke went off to grab something for Riku when he visited her during the holidays.

After stopping Takeshi from buying an extravagant set of chocolates, Satoshi spotted a familiar pink ribbon tying back brown locks. Lo and behold, Harada Risa was in her natural habitat at the department store, admiring the cases full of desserts while she carried a basket of impeccable looking strawberries in her hand. He ducked behind the closest fruit stand.

“Takeshi!” he harshly whispered.

“Ye?”

“Harada is here!”

Satoshi motioned towards the preoccupied girl, and Takeshi’s face lit up. What a serendipitous occasion for them to meet at the department store! But a familiar mop of red popped into his field of vision and was in the peripheries of a certain girl who would most definitely stop him were she to see him.

Thus, by virtue of the bro code, Rule Number 3 of this sleepover took precedent. But it also gave Takeshi a fantastic opportunity.

“I’ll distract her,” Takeshi whispered. “Get Daisuke out of here.”

“Where do we meet up?”

“Men’s section. We should be safe there.”

Satoshi nodded.

“Harada-chan!”

She turned around and greeted Takeshi. Satoshi couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but she saw Daisuke briskly walk towards him. He ducked behind the stand next to Satoshi, and they silently watched Takeshi lead her away for them to escape.

May his shot go well.

…

“So, what’s the real reason why you can’t be left alone with Harada?” Satoshi asked as the two of them sat down in the men’s section.

“Is Riku being jealous of her sister not a good enough reason?”

“I’m sure it’s part of the reason, but I feel like that’s not the whole thing.”

“Is that your detective instinct?”

“No. You’re just a little too obvious sometimes,” Satoshi said with a smile.

Daisuke sighed while Satoshi directed his attention to the passersby. A frantic woman passed by, quickly talking to someone on the phone in English.

“It’s just…Risa-chan has been a lot more clingy lately to the point that Riku’s starting to get annoyed with how much time I spend with her. And I’m having a sneaking suspicion that it has something to do with Dark.”

“Like residual feelings of some sort?”

“Yeah, but I don’t know what do with that.”

“Talk to her about it?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why? Because you’re dating her sister?”

“Yeah. That’s one of the reasons, but I also don’t want to put her on the spot for it, especially if she doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“Is that why you were a little too excited to hear about Takeshi’s feelings for her?”

“Yeah,” Daisuke sheepishly admitted. “It’s the easiest way to resolve it. A win-win situation for everyone involved.”

“That involves Harada returning his feelings.”

“There’s always a chance.”

“You’re holding onto a slim hope, then.”

Daisuke laughed. “Better to be optimistic, I always say.”

“Well, I’m sure there are other guys in our grade we could always…gently persuade to pursue Harada were she to turn down Takeshi’s feelings.”

His friend shook his head in disbelief that Satoshi even suggested such an idea while Satoshi laughed. If Takeshi couldn’t worm his way into Risa’s heart, no one else in their grade would be able to. Only a person with such outstanding confidence like Takeshi could handle Risa’s overwhelming personality.

Either that or…

That wasn’t a train of thought he was willing to entertain. Not now. And, hopefully, not ever.

Satoshi spotted Takeshi’s spiky hair in his peripheries as he rode up the escalator, shining with jubilee.

“Hello, men,” he greeted as the enthusiasm faded from his face. “What the hell have you two been talking about to make y’all look like death?”

“We’re bracing ourselves for the interrogation later by screening our answers,” Satoshi answered.

Takeshi glared at him.

…

“You did what?”

Mama Saehara’s voice boomed through the house. The boys just arrived, and they stood at the entrance, removing their shoes while trying to make as little noise as possible.

Satoshi had never heard her sound like that. Her voice always had a light and cheerful tone despite her powerful looks, yet she sounded exactly like he expected her to in that moment.

“It was an emergency!” Inspector Saehara retorted. “I know that he had plans an’ all, but—”

“But what? You think work is more important than what you made him miss?”

“Well—”

Mama Saehara screamed a flurry of French, and Inspector Saehara gasped before replying to whatever she just said in Japanese. Takeshi sighed as they bickered on.

“I’m sorry about this, y’all.”

“It’s fine,” Daisuke said. “My parents get like this sometimes, too. Even grandpa has his moments.”

Satoshi blinked. It sounded like Inspector Saehara and Mama Saehara were arguing over what happened yesterday, but he didn’t realize they would get so heated over something like that. Satoshi had completely gotten over being called to work when he woke up that morning, so he couldn’t empathize with them arguing about it.

“Is this normal?” Satoshi asked.

“Honestly, I’m surprised it took you this long to hear them like this, but I guess they’ve probably been holdin’ back because of you.”

Mama Saehara let out another exasperated string of words in French. Inspector Saehara demanded she repeat it in Japanese, taunting her, and she did without any hesitation. The boys gasped.

“I thought they got along,” Satoshi said.

“They do,” Takeshi said. “I mean, how else could they have been married for this long?”

“But—”

“This is normal!” Takeshi assured. “Besides, what family doesn’t argue?”

Daisuke nodded. Satoshi, however, decided he had had enough of the petty argument and marched into the kitchen to try to diffuse the situation.

Inspector Saehara sat at the table with his phone leaning against his mug. He looked up from the screen and balked at the sight of Satoshi before shooting him an awkward smile.

“Hey, Satoshi,” Inspector Saehara greeted. “How was yer trip to the department store?”

“Good.”

He expected Inspector Saehara to reply or for Mama Saehara to say something to him. She just grumbled something in French.

Inspector Saehara gasped.

“Have you no shame in cussin’ me out in a different language in front of our son?”

It was Satoshi’s turn to gasp. If only to lighten the situation.

Inspector Saehara cracked a smile.

…

Chips and beer in hand, Inspector Saehara retreated to the master bedroom. And, arms full of snacks, the boys retreated to Takeshi and Satoshi’s room upstairs. Satoshi sat at his desk, attempting to tidy his mess, while Takeshi and Daisuke sat on Takeshi’s bed, sharing an opened bag of chips.

“So…” Takeshi began.

“So…” Satoshi echoed.

Takeshi glared at Satoshi, and he smirked back. Daisuke laughed at his friend’s antics before munching on a handful of chips, cutting through the tension in the room.

“Tell us why you like Risa-chan,” Daisuke started.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Takeshi asked. “She’s adorable.”

“Then why’d you only start liking her recently?” Satoshi quipped.

“Hey, if you wanna take the floor, then you spill.”

“Do you want to cry?”

Both Daisuke and Takeshi looked at Satoshi, mortified, but he just laughed. Perhaps it was in bad taste to joke about what had happened to him, but Satoshi didn’t have any deep secrets or life problems to spill besides it.

Takeshi pouted. “You’re disqualified from speaking from here on out.”

Satoshi gave him a thumbs up with a smile. Takeshi returned it before he began to rock back and forth like a metronome.

“Honestly, I don’t really know, man,” Takeshi admitted. “After Harada-ane moved away and Harada-imouto started to hang out with us a lot more, I jus’ started to pay more attention to her an’ all. Next thing ya know, I’m daydreamin’ about her in class.”

Daisuke nodded while Satoshi blinked. He didn’t mind talks of romance when casually mentioned or joked about, but he felt uncomfortable hearing Takeshi talk about it so sincerely. He opened the box of matcha Pocky and hoped no one noticed him snacking on something he would never willingly choose.

“And I can’t help it even though I think she’s got her heart set on another guy.”

Satoshi bit the stick of Pocky in half. His eyes bounced from Daisuke and Takeshi, noting Takeshi’s growing impatience and Daisuke’s obvious awkwardness.

Takeshi’s keenness never failed to surprise Satoshi.

“She probably likes you, Daisuke.”

“What? No…”

“Bro, have you seen how she acts around you? Look, man, I know you’re dense, but you can’t be that obtuse.”

Daisuke glanced over at Satoshi, eyes begging for help. But Satoshi zipped his lips, keeping to Takeshi’s words from earlier. And, honestly, he wanted no part in this conversation at all.

“Daisuke, please, be honest with me. I promise I’ll try my best not to take it personally.”

He sighed. “…I know. I’ve known for a while now, but I don’t know if she knows. And even if she does know, I don’t think she wants to acknowledge it.”

“Does she like you because you’re you or because you were Dark Mousy’s host or something like that?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure most of her feelings are coming from her residual feelings for Dark, but Riku also just moved away. I wouldn’t be surprised if she started getting attached to me, to us, to fill the void of her sister.”

Takeshi groaned before grabbing his pillow and digging his head into it. “Unrequited feelings suck, man.”

Daisuke nodded while Satoshi bobbed his head in reflex. He remembered the pang he felt when he realized how important Risa was to him despite knowing how she felt for Dark. His burgeoning feelings, no matter how fleeting, still haunted his mind. Somehow, someway, Risa always crawled into his life uninvited.

Unlike Takeshi, however, he couldn’t welcome any of those feelings he had for her.

Luckily, his friends didn’t notice his absent-minded expression as he stared at nothing in particular and precariously balanced the stick of Pocky in his mouth. When he came back to the conversation, Takeshi had a devilish smile on his face while he nudged a red-faced Daisuke with his elbow.

“Come on, you can tell us how far you’ve gone with Harada-ane!”

“Absolutely not!”

…

Satoshi woke up.

Daisuke and Takeshi were still asleep. And he was about to fall back asleep considering how late the trio had stayed up, but he saw slivers of light blue filtering through the blinds and the lethargic haze clouding his mind cleared up despite the sleep deprivation.

He sent Takeshi and Inspector Saehara a message saying he’d be out just in case they woke up while he was gone and, phone in hand, he left the house to grab breakfast for everyone. There was a coffeeshop by the police station he was partial to, and he didn’t mind taking the slight commute to get there.

Satoshi rarely found himself this alert so early in the morning, but he enjoyed the calm stillness of Azumano at dawn. If he began to consistently wake up at this time, he wouldn’t mind adding a morning walk to his daily routine.

He didn’t think the coffeeshop would be so busy on a Sunday morning, yet he saw a large group huddled around the register when he arrived. Satoshi noted how young they looked and wondered why a group of teens would be willingly awake this early on a Sunday until he saw Ritsuko intently looking at a tablet in her hands.

He went up to her. “Robotics competition?”

She turned towards him, initially shocked to see him there, but a smile quickly settled onto her face. “Yeah. It’s just an invitational, but we’re hoping to win something at least.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks!” she said. “How’s your sleepover going so far?”

“Fun.”

She smirked. “Did you actually fall asleep last night?”

“Yeah. And I woke up early.”

“Unfortunately?”

“Fortunately. I’m sort of starting to like mornings.”

She laughed. “Well, I wish you the best of luck on your transition to become an early bird.”

The barista called their order, and the group swarmed around the counter. Ritsuko stood up and slipped the tablet into her bag.

“Sorry to cut this short, but we’ve got to head out now. See you around?”

“Of course. Kick their asses.”

Ritsuko blinked, taken aback by Satoshi’s choice of words before letting out a hearty laugh. “Saehara-kun really has rubbed off on you.”

After Ritsuko left with her club, Satoshi ordered. He waited at a table by the counter, enjoying the ambiance and the light muzak as he skimmed through the news on his phone.

After they called his name, he ambled home with the food and drinks in hand, watching Azumano wake up with every step he took. As the sun continued to rise and the sorbet-colored sky turned its usual hue of blue, he saw stores open, joggers zoom by him, and the occasional group of elderly women briskly walk past him. Everything felt different from the lunchtime hustle, the evening rush, like a car engine humming to life instead of zooming down the highway.

He really could get used to this.

When he returned home, the house was still. He began to unpack the food from the bags when he heard heavy footsteps barrel downstairs. Satoshi froze in place, and the sight of Takeshi coming into the kitchen couldn’t shake off the fear.

“Bro, Harada-imouto’s coming over around lunchtime later!”

“Cool.”

“Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“You, um, scared me. With the loud noises and all.”

“Aw shit, fam. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Takeshi then noticed the food that Satoshi brought. He began to open the containers in excitement until he found an order he knew belonged to him. His face lit up before opening his arms. A proud grin eclipsed his face.

“Come here, brotha!”

“Too early. Hard pass…brotha.”

…

The boys (and Inspector Saehara) sat at the dining table, stiff from anticipation for Risa’s arrival. Inspector Saehara learned about his son’s feelings for the Saehara household guest after asking why the hell his son was making that much racket so damn early in the morning and, fully supporting his son’s infatuations, helped the boys clean up and splurge on some food from that fancy place he knew the Harada family frequented.

His boy’s gotta make a good impression somehow.

So, when they heard the doorbell ring, exactly at noon, they looked at Takeshi, begging him to let her in. They held their breath, pitying the lovesick fool when they heard his usual, confident babbling turn clumsy as he stumbled over his words. But when they heard the door close and saw Risa walk in, wearing a t-shirt dress that definitely leaned towards a casual ensemble for a day with friends than an outfit to catch a boy’s attention, they cautiously glanced at Takeshi to see his perception on Risa’s uncharacteristic fashion choice.

The boy was too ecstatic at her company that he was blind to her obvious message about how she truly felt about this.

Was this a success? Or a failure? They couldn’t tell.

“So,” Risa began. “what’s the plan?”

…

Risa insisted on starting with Whisper of the Heart.

Satoshi expected it have that whimsical fantasy that permeated the films he watched the evening before, but it didn’t. It had the whimsy, for sure, but he couldn’t connect with the realism of the film. So, while Risa, Daisuke, and Takeshi waxed poetic about the youthful vigor in the couple’s ending, the sentiment was lost on him, and he dismissed himself on the kitchen to “grab a snack” while the trio argued over what to watch next.

He stood next to Inspector Saehara who sat at the table that allowed for prime viewing of his son’s adolescence. He had a laptop in front of him, with Mama Saehara on the screen, and Satoshi waved to her. She didn’t notice since she seemed preoccupied with something else on her end.

“I didn’t realize you were in a call with her.”

“She’s just here to get real-time updates on Takeshi crushing over the Harada kid. We’re not actually having a conversation.”

“Because of what happened yesterday?”

“What do you mean what—” Inspector Saehara didn’t finish his sentence. He just began to laugh. “Oh, that? That’s nothing.”

“Nothing? But…”

“It happens all the time. Me an’ Ma are always arguin’ over somethin’. It happens with those yer close to, yanno?”

No, Satoshi didn’t know. The bemused expression on his face said everything, and Inspector Saehara guffawed.

“It’ll happen one day whether you’ll like it or not. Just don’t hate us when it happens, alright?”

Takeshi came in. “Bro, we’re starting My Neighbor Totoro! Hurry up!”

Satoshi nodded, following Takeshi back to the living room without any resolution to his conversation with Inspector Saehara.

He sat down in the recliner, distant from the trio on the couch. Risa was wedged between Daisuke and Takeshi, dangerously close to crossing the threshold of Daisuke’s personal space. The former was dangerously close to rolling off the couch over the armrest; the latter was dangerously close to crossing the threshold of Risa’s personal space. As an outsider looking in, the teens spelled out their emotions so plainly that it only hurt to watch.

Satoshi envied them. Of that innocence that allowed them to feel the emotions that come and go. To allow themselves to get caught up in a tempest of their feelings without worrying about how far-reaching the consequences would be.

The chipper tune of the movie’s opening brough his attention back to the TV. And while those on the couch sung along, he just nodded to the beat, unable to fight the smile threatening his face.

…

After the movie ended, to everyone’s dismay, Satoshi ducked into the restroom. When he returned to the living room, only Risa was there, lying down on the couch as she busied herself with her phone.

Clearly, this situation was in violation of Rule Number 2 of the sleepover code, but it seemed like there was nothing he could do to amend the broken rule.

“Where’d they go?” Satoshi cautiously asked.

“Daisuke’s parents called him during the movie, so he’s returning their call right now. And Saehara-san and Takeshi-kun stepped out to grab dinner.”

“So, your parents are letting you stay until then?”

“Yup! So we can squeeze in two more movies before I have to head back!”

“Which movies?”

“The Wind Rises and Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Do they have romance in them?”

Risa winked. “Of course!”

Satoshi rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand your obsession with romance.”

“You don’t have to, but just know that you’re missing out on a fantastic genre.”

Satoshi shook his head, and she just giggled. “Maybe you’ll change your mind when you actually fall in love with someone.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“I wouldn’t end your sentence so quickly,” she sang.

“Perhaps, but I still think you’re slightly delusional.”

“But who isn’t slightly delusional when it comes to love?”

Satoshi wondered what possessed her to say that. And, when she met his gaze, he didn’t expect to see that earnest expression on her face. The Risa in front of him was no longer the adolescent girl who lived up the stereotype. This was the Risa trying to expand her horizons, to learn what lay beyond her perception of the world: the Risa that terrified him.

“Do you think I’ve lost it?” she asked in a whisper. “Being hung up over a ghost of a feeling? Of a person I can’t clearly recall in my memories? At the fact that you can’t fill the hole they left not matter how much you tell me about them?”

Satoshi hated this. He hated how easily Risa managed to skirt the edge of his comfort zone. She was precise enough to get her point across yet vague enough that it felt rude for him to strike that boundary. Not without him risking sounding like an asshole.

Not without him allowing her to cross a boundary he wasn’t ready for anyone, let alone her, to cross.

He began to formulate the words in his mind to say that he couldn’t answer that question, that he felt uncomfortable even being in the position of receiving her inquiries. Satoshi had to brace himself for her disappointment at him pulling away, but Daisuke came down before Satoshi followed through with the decision his mind was heading to.

“So, what’re we watching next?” Daisuke asked.

Satoshi nearly wept from the timing.

…

Sunday passed without any more drama. After they finished the movies Risa wanted to watch, she left without much fanfare, and the boys went through as much of the Studio Ghibli filmography as they could before they passed out.

Satoshi, however, woke up that Monday morning in a cold sweat with a splitting headache. So, while Takeshi and Daisuke left to pick up Grandpa Daiki from the train station, Satoshi floated in and out of consciousness while a familiar, winged Phantom Thief haunted his dreams.

[heroofspiritsisthebestlink]

Why i like Hinamiki

Hinamiki is by a wide margin my favorite ship in the danganronpa series. That comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me closely. It’s practically what i’ve shaped my identity in this fanbase and DR related friend groups around. Unabated gushing about the things I like and love is practically my modus operandi. Shipping especially is something I’ve always loved doing. It comes naturally to me, for one reason or another. I see characters I like acting cute together, and my brain releases the good chemicals and says “That’s good, give me that. More.” It’s even why I started writing. I wanted what games didn’t give me, which was more, or in some cases, anything at all. Danganronpa 2 gave me Hajime and Mikan, two characters that, admittedly, have limited interactions comparably. Hajime speaks more often with more vocal characters, like Kazuichi, Fuyuhiko, the ever looming Nagito, and, of course, Chiaki, while Mikan’s interactions are usually limited to Hiyoko’s awful treatment and whoever else is around during it. Thankfully, the game has supplementary content in the form of Free Time Events, casual pieces of dialogue that gives you extra insight to chosen characters. However, this benefit is far from a unique attribute to the pair.

In that regard, protagonist ships could be seen as “easy.” You could make the argument that the FTEs gives equal leverage to all protagonist ships across all games, regardless of what character it is. Everyone is on equal footing, so the relationships that develop between the protagonist and the character feels less genuine, and more-so tailored after the player’s personal preferences, made more apparent by FTEs disappointingly not making an impact on the static story. With all that being said, what the FTEs does provide is an insight to character relation. How the protagonist and the other character talk, relate, interact, and perhaps most importantly, how they react.

Hence we arrive at Hajime and Mikan.

I have a huge appreciation for Hajime and Mikan's FTEs, because I honestly think it's where Mikan is handled best. It allows the game to focus entirely on her, which gives Mikan enough room to properly convey the nuances of her character. How an incredibly troubled past has left her deeply afraid of abandonment, hyper-observant, socially stunted, pessimistic and internally vitriolic, all caught up in a downwards spiral that gets worse when one problem bleeds into the next, with no band-aid solution. And when you’re spiraling out of control, it’s always nice to have someone to take a hold of you and pull you down to earth again.

Not only does Hajime actually hear her out, but he's able to make her calm down and have a regular conversation without enabling her worst attributes. And I think this is especially important, because there's rarely another instance where that happens. Mikan is so used to going on autopilot and be willing to give away everything she has, that she's actually taken aback when Hajime tells her she doesn't need to do any of that to make him talk with her, because he realizes how harmful it is of her to be like that, even if he doesn’t understands the depths of her scars, because he doesn’t need to. Him giving her genuine attention, and not expecting her to show off her bra, do a weird trick or tell Cool Nurse Fact #2364, is a completely new experience to her, because that’s usually how she’s survived in her shitty life.

And because of that, she actually feels comfortable opening up about her inner pain to him. She, at least partially, confides in him with what she's been through when telling others would probably drive people away. She employs a false sense of physical vulnerability so much to other people to keep them interested in her that it's a completely rare thing for her to open up and be genuinely emotionally vulnerable with him. It's a bit of a gamble to her when she's usually 200% deadset on not doing or saying anything weird, because that might make people disturbed with her and leave her alone. But regardless of what happens, Hajime doesn't leave her. And that's special to her, because to her knowledge, that's a first for her.

Of course, Hajime is not a therapist. But the first step towards improvement is trusting someone with your issues and identifying them. Having a shoulder to cry on is not a necessary step, but it’s a step that goes a long way. Then you take the next step, seeking help. And when it comes to that, it's always nice to have someone that holds your hand and leads you the right way. But in the end It's still up to you to walk forward.

Aesthetically, Hinamiki is a pair I’d describe as a “soft-looking” ship. Their height difference is adorable and they’re typically depicted as being very cuddly in fanart. Very Cool and Good. I also love how the purple and pink stands next to the green and white, the colors are noticeably different, but compliment each other in a soft way nonetheless.

I also really love the different dichotomies between the two. They both seek to be recognized, (one out of a desire for the inherent prestige of talent in a talent-obsessed society, the other out of love) both get taken in by a personal devil that promise them what they want, only to coax them into becoming monsters of hope and despair respectively. I love that one is a hyper nervous wreck of a medical genius while another is a tempered, but gentle heart that struggles to remember what a fucking elevator is. And I love how they just get each other. It’s heartwarming to see two people understand the other’s insecurities and how they affect them.

Ultimately, I think a ship that’s all about the respite and quiet intimacy between two who understand and love each other is a nice break from how bombastic and forward Danganronpa usually is, both for how they go through everything, but also for the viewer. You could say that I love Hinamiki for being what danganronpa usually isn’t then lol, just two characters taking their time to care for each other and getting a bit of respite. Because that's love.

Thank u for ur time ❤️

[quintessenceofdust73]

WINGMAN by Quinn73 on AO3

Pidge felt a cold trickle of perspiration sliding down her back as she approached the entrance to the most popular nightclub in this little corner of the galaxy, a posh establishment known as The Event Horizon. She clutched her sparkly handbag a little tighter and wondered if she should go inside. She checked her watch. She was still too early. Why was she foolish enough to agree to this? Pidge sighed and began pacing back and forth in the high heels she was still very unaccustomed to wearing. Hunk had been the one who talked her into this madness. He had been very persuasive, having gone on and on about how vulnerable Lance was.

“He hasn’t dated anyone since...” Allura’s name went unspoken. “...you know.”

“I know,” she replied to Hunk. “But aren’t you normally his wingman?”

“Yeah, of course! I’m the best wingman there is.” Hunk looked incredibly pleased with himself. He winked at her. Pidge frowned, perplexed by how strange Hunk had been behaving lately. In recent weeks he had been bombarding her with the most personal and embarrassing questions when she least expected it. “But you know I have an important diplomatic mission to Cyan III, so I can’t be there to help him get back into the dating scene. Pidge, please, do this for me. I don’t want Lance to get his heart broken again—“

She exhaled. “Fine. I’ll steer him away from the crazies and the stalkers. What time do I have to be there?”

“Seven o’clock sharp. And wear something nice. You know, maybe get your hair done, put on a little makeup—not that you need it—it’s just, Lance—- uh, I ,mean, that club is really upscale, okay.”

After that conversation Pidge rummaged through her closet and found nothing suitable for the evening except for the clingy little emerald green cocktail dress she had worn only once before. The diamond earrings she had inherited from her great-grandmother would look nice with it, she thought. There was only one necklace that she owned that was the right length for the neckline of the dress though, and she wondered if it would be appropriate to wear it or not. It was a golden heart on a delicate chain that had been sent to her as a special delivery on her twenty-first birthday. There was no return address, only a typed note that read, “To the strongest, smartest, most beautiful woman I have ever known. I hope someday I have the courage to tell you how I really feel about you.” The message wasn’t signed, and she had no idea who sent it to her. Colleen had teased her daughter so much about her “secret admirer” that she had hidden the necklace away in her jewelry box and had never worn it.

Lance had been particularly sulky at work that April, and often seemed as grumpy as he was when his siblings ate all the garlic knots and didn’t save any for him. He was even grouchy in his classes. Pidge overheard his students gossiping about it, and thought that it was very strange because Lance was known to be the most cheerful and enthusiastic of all the flight instructors at the Garrison.

Pidge began having lunch in her laboratory, pretending that this was saving her valuable time on her latest project. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was avoiding Lance because her feelings were hurt. After three years of long weekend video gaming sessions and endless hours at his apartment binge watching all of the movies and television programs they had missed while in space, she thought their friendship meant something to him. She couldn’t believe he had forgotten her birthday this year, and she had cried herself to sleep for three nights. Hormones, she thought. Maybe she should ask the doctor for something she could take for all of her mood swings. She thought it might have something to do with her being a late bloomer.

She checked her watch again. It was nearly seven. She looked up at the glowing sign above the famous club’s entryway, squared her shoulders, and walked towards the front door, then abruptly stopped short before entering the nightclub. There was a sign on the door in front of her that read

ONCE YOU CROSS THE EVENT HORIZON, THERE’S NO TURNING BACK.

Pidge read it, and then swallowed. She reminded herself that she was doing this for Lance because she wanted him to be happy, even if that meant he was going to find happiness with someone that wasn’t her. Her vision blurred, and she wiped the corners of her eyes with her fingers, hoping her eye makeup didn’t smear. She took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.

A young Galran woman greeted her in the front lobby. “How many are in your party?”

“Oh, uh, I’m looking for a friend. He might have arrived before me,” Pidge replied.

“You are welcome to look for him, miss. Let me know if you require a table.”

“Thanks,” Pidge responded, and she headed towards the bar just beyond a large sign that read “The Singularity.” She assumed that with a name like that it must be the singles bar. There were several sorry-looking males and only a few overly made-up females of a variety of species at the bar. All of them seemed either depressed, intoxicated, or both. She sat as far away from all of them as possible. If Lance was going to meet the woman of his dreams tonight, surely it wouldn’t be any of these pathetic creatures. What was Hunk thinking? The Polluxian bartender asked what she wanted to drink, and Pidge responded that she was waiting for a friend. She cringed inwardly as a gap-toothed Unilu male sauntered her way and sat on the barstool next to her. “Buy you a drink, sweetheart?” His breath reeked of intoxicants.

“No, thank you.” She moved away from him. He leaned closer, eyeing her in a way that made her very uncomfortable. Pidge’s mind raced. She needed an escape. “I’m meeting a friend here tonight.” She looked toward the club’s main entrance, and saw her opportunity. “Sorry.” She got up. Lance had just arrived, and she couldn’t repress her grin at the sight of him. She darted towards the front lobby, passing in front of the huge darkened room called The Black Hole, which was, by the sound of the loud music, a dance floor of some kind.

Pidge thought Lance looked quite dashing in the tailored blue suit he was wearing, but she soon realized that his expression was surlier than usual, as if he didn’t want to be there at all. Her smile melted away.

Lance didn’t see her approach. He had turned toward the young Galran hostess. “Table for two, please. I don’t know if she’s here yet though.” His stance was alert, with his fists curled at his sides. He looked as if he was ready to bolt at any moment.

“There was a pretty young woman of your species who arrived just before you did. She said she was looking for someone,” said the hostess. She saw Pidge standing a few feet behind Lance. “Here she is, sir.”

Lance took a deep breath, as if bracing himself for something very unpleasant. He slowly turned around, and Pidge watched as Lance’s expression went from a look of anxiety to one of elation. “Pidge?! What are you doing here?” He looked happier than he had been in weeks. “You look great in that dress, by the way.” His eyes lingered on the golden heart-shaped necklace at her throat, and his grin broadened even more.

“Hunk told me I had to be here, and I don’t understand what’s—”

“Hunk really is the best friend a guy could ever have, isn’t he? I owe him big time for this.”

Pidge didn’t understand what Lance was talking about. “I—“

The hostess interrupted. “Your table is ready, sir. Right this way.”

Before Pidge could even ask what was going on, Lance grabbed her by the hand and followed the hostess into a brightly lit dining room, past the larger tables for boisterous gatherings, and onward to a quieter, more dimly lit area where couples would normally sit at smaller, more intimate candlelit tables. The room was empty for the moment. Soft, beautiful music was playing in the background. Pidge was both overwhelmed and confused. She felt a momentary pang of regret as Lance let go of her hand, but she soon realized that he did this in order to pull out a chair for her. “Oh! Thank you.” She felt the heat rise to her cheeks. What was happening? She smoothed her skirt as she sat down. They should be at the singles bar. How was she supposed to help Lance get a date if...

“Hunk really had me fooled,” Lance said with a chuckle. His blue eyes sparkled with happiness.

“What exactly did he tell you?” she asked, trying to calm her nerves. She had her hands hidden in her lap, hoping Lance wouldn’t notice that they were shaking.

“Well, when Hunk said that he was gonna set me up on a blind date with a girl who would be an absolutely perfect match for me, I was really skeptical about that. At first, I refused to go because I told him my heart already belonged to someone and I wasn’t interested in meeting some other girl, but Hunk said that I had to go, and that if I didn’t go you would be really upset with me. I thought that meant that you wanted me to move on, and that hurt so much.” Pidge noticed that Lance began to tear up a little. “I thought you didn’t like me that way, especially when I saw that you didn’t ever wear the birthday present I sent you.”

Pidge gaped at him as touched her golden heart pendant with one trembling hand. “You sent this to me? I-I didn’t know!” She felt a cool tear slide down one very warm cheek. “The card wasn’t signed. I am so sorry. I love the necklace! It’s beautiful, and thank you for it.” Don’t cry, don’t cry she told herself, but it was too late.

Lance extended his hands across the table to her, and after wiping her face with a napkin, she reached out to him, allowing him to take both of her small hands into his larger ones. “Hunk had to trick me into going on a date with you,” he confessed. “I was too afraid of rejection to ask you out on a real date, even though we spend nearly every weekend hanging out together.”

Pidge bit her lip and then gave him a watery smile. “He had to trick me too. He said you were going out tonight and needed a wingman. That’s why I was waiting for you at The Singularity just now.”

“Wearing that dress and with your hair curled and—wait a minute! Are you actually wearing makeup?” Lance chuckled. “You look like a model or a movie star. Did you really think I would be looking at some other single lady at the bar when you look hotter than a supernova?”

Pidge giggled. “Well, I wanted you to see what you’re missing,” she teased. “And from now on, the only heart shaped pendant I will ever wear will be from someone that I love, not some unknown secret admirer.”

Lance beamed at her. “I hope that means you’ll wear it again.”

“Always.”

That was all the encouragement Lance needed. “When I sent you that note I was thinking of something a wise man once said: Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage.”

“Lao Tzu,” Pidge commented, recognizing the quote. “The note you sent said that I am the strongest woman you have ever known and that someday you hoped to have the courage to tell me how you really feel about me.”

“I guess that someday is today.” He let go of her hands and slid his chair around the table to her side. “I love you, Katie Holt. I always have. I’m sorry it took so long for me to find the courage to say it out loud.” He reached out to cup her cheek, wiping away one of her happy tears with his thumb.

Courage, she thought. Just tell him. She placed both of her hands on his broad shoulders, and he dared to move even closer to her. “I love you, too.” she said softly. “All these years, it’s always been you, Lance.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed as he leaned towards her. Their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. Instinctively, Pidge slid her arms around his neck, and Lance responded by pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

“I think we should stop,” she whispered in between kisses.

“Why? I know you’re enjoying this as much as I am,” he said in an uncharacteristically deep voice that made her shiver.

Pidge knew she had to be the sensible one. “The waiter will be here soon and we haven’t even looked at our menus.”

Blushing, Lance slid his chair back to the other side of the table. “I guess I was getting a little too carried away with kissing my new girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? You move faster than a proton in a particle accelerator.”

“Sorry. I should have been a gentleman and asked—“

“Yes, well I do expect my boyfriend to be a gentleman, especially when we’re in public.” Her eyes sparkled like the diamonds she was wearing. They were both giddy the rest of the evening, which was spent dining and dancing and talking about the bright future that was ahead of them.

It was mid morning at the embassy on Cyan III when Hunk’s deep space communicator received an electronic message from two of his fellow Paladins. When he opened the message, Hunk saw that it was a selfie taken on Lance’s phone. In the photo Lance was smiling at the camera, dressed in his finest suit, looking more cheerful than he had been in years. He had his arm around a gorgeous girl in a clingy green dress who seemed to radiate waves of happiness. It was Pidge, Hunk realized. She looked so glamorous he nearly didn’t recognize her. The message read, “I had the time of my life at The Event Horizon—dinner and dancing with the love of my life. Thanks, Hunk. You’re the best wingman ever! —Lance.”

[problems-turn-fics]

Part 2 of the HMRT fic about them falling in love after the war. [Words: 5,919] Part 1 Here

Robert had barely slept when he woke at dawn. The rest of the house was quiet and he was tempted to roll over and go back to sleep. If he were the type he would have, telling himself that he had resisted enough temptation the day before and could afford a little. Instead, he forced himself out of bed and got dressed.

As quietly as he could he lit a fire in the kitchen stove and lingered a minute to warm up his hands before he went outside. A thin layer of frost covered everything, making it sparkle in the early morning light and the grass crunch under his steps. “Good morning,” he said to the animals as he opened the barn. They all shuffled around in answer, knowing exactly what came next. With the same methodical process that he did every morning, he fed each animal. First the pigs, then the goats, then the horses. He fetched them each water from the well, taking special care not to splash any on his breeches. Because it was cold, not because there was a high society tailor with a smile that made his heart beat faster in the house. No, that was unrelated.

Once the animals were fed and watered Robert took the time to look them each over. He liked to watch the animals, to check on them, and make sure they were as happy as they could be. They were peaceful and watching them brought him a little bit of peace. His father to be up soon but he likely had a few more minutes before anyone missed him too terribly and could take the time to appreciate his morning.

He stood at the stall where Mulligan’s horse was happily drinking its water, unaware of the larger problems of the world. All it thought about was food and water and when someone familiar would come see it. It didn’t know or care how much the hay it ate cost and Robert loved it for that. It must have noticed Robert watching because it looked up at him with its big black eyes, licking the water off its chomps. Robert held out his hand slowly, unreasonably pleased when it nosed at his hands.

“Loves attention that one.”

Robert startled hard, whirling around to see Mulligan laughing at him. He hoped his glare at Mulligan would cover some of his embarrassment. “I can’t imagine who that reminds me of.”

Mulligan laughed loudly as he came forward to pat his horse, which did seem pleased at the attention. “Maybe that’s why she’s my favorite.”

“You prefer those who like attention as much as you?” Robert heard himself ask before he’d decided to. It gave away too much, Mulligan would surely see exactly what Robert was actually asking.

Mulligan cocked his head to one side, his smile softening and his eyes just a touch warmer than before. It made Robert warmer too. “What I appreciate about a horse is different than what I like in a,” Mulligan paused making a show of looking Robert up and down, “person.” 

Robert swallowed hard, looking away to the rafters. They offered no help. “Are you leaving so soon?” Robert asked when he had recovered the ability to speak. 

 “Not yet. Your father sent me to find you for breakfast.”

“Then we should go back inside before it gets cold.” Robert didn’t move, and for a moment neither did Mulligan. They just stared at each other, barely a foot apart.

But then Mulligan clapped him on the arm with a smile. “You’re probably right. I’m starved.”

Robert followed him out of the barn, pausing long enough to grab a scoop of grain for the chickens that had already started to gather at the door. He’d expected Mulligan to continue on without him, but instead when he looked up Mulligan was just standing there on the porch with a soft smile on his face, watching him.

“What?” Robert asked as he left the chickens behind to go inside.

“You have a beautiful smile. I wish you didn’t save it just for the chickens,” Mulligan whispered following Robert close enough that he could feel his breath on the back of his neck.

Robert didn’t have a good answer for that so he just walked a little faster to the kitchen to join his father who was already sitting and eating.

He must have made some face because Samuel looked up at him and shrugged. “What? Just because you two enjoy eating cold eggs doesn’t mean I do.”

Robert sat, sighed, and rolled his eyes while Mulligan laughed loudly. Robert focused on a silent prayer over his food before he started to eat. The eggs were cold.

“So,” Samuel said so casually that it set Robert on edge. “I want to extend another invitation. We would love to have you come visit us again.”

“I would be honored,” Mulligan said. “Robert and I were just discussing it actually.”

“Were you?” Samuel asked, turning to Robert with a smile.

“Yes,” Robert said, forcing himself not to blush. He felt as if he’d been caught doing something horribly embarrassing when really he’d just invited a friend to come back for dinner if he liked. That’s all Mulligan was, he reminded himself, a friend.

Samuel turned back to Mulligan with a frown. “We do understand that it’s a long ride out though.”

“Oh, it does me good. Fresh air can be hard to come by in the city.”

Samuel laughed, patting Mulligan on the shoulder as he stood to get something to drink. “That I won’t argue with.” The moment made Robert’s heart warm. He loved his father and to see him take so quickly to Mulligan and Mulligan to take to him felt like a relief. Friends Robert reminded himself. He was happy because he didn’t have a lot of friends and he wanted his father to like his friends. Nothing more.

“I’ll have to make sure the shop survived my absence before I make any plans or promises but I am happy to return as long as I am welcome,” Mulligan said, winking at Robert.

“We aren’t in the habit of rescinding invitations,” Robert said evenly, like it was a challenge.

Mulligan continued to grin. “Lucky me.” He held his gaze for a moment longer before he turned back to Samuel who was sitting back down with a fresh cup. “After all, your father owes me a game of draughts. Someone has to show me how to beat you if I’m ever to stand a chance.”

Samuel put his hands up. “I’m afraid that chance has passed. His mother taught him and I never won a game against her that she didn’t let me win.” He was laughing and smiling but Robert could see that he was remembering the same moments he was. She had taught him how to play at that very table, at least one game a day all the way right up until the end. She’d laughed the first time he won, high pitched and delighted. Robert looked to his father who was smiling sadly at him.

“Perhaps you can ask Mr. Rivington,” Robert said, trying to salvage the morning and escape that sad smile. “He won one or two games.”

“And how many games did you two play together?” Mulligan asked, his own smile a little strained as well.

“More than two.”

Samuel and Mulligan both laughed. “I’ll have to take any help I can get.”

**

A week later a letter arrived, addressed to Robert.

Dearest Robert,

I’m sure you’ll detest the greeting of dearest but I couldn’t resist. Forgive me.

All is well here. The shop managed to survive. I think my new assistant Johnathan preferred when I was away. I’m likely a menace to the poor child but he has too much to learn. He’ll have to suffer me. All this to say I would love to visit again next Thursday. I’ll have to leave early since I have a meeting with a vendor on Friday in the afternoon for some new cloth. I’d love to see you both before the Christmas season starts and I’m unable to leave the shop for anything that isn’t a party filled with people far less interesting than you.

Write to me and tell me if you can spare the evening to spend with the likes of me.

Give your father my best.

- Hercules

P.S. I did talk to James and I think I’ll have you in our next game.

Robert wrote back immediately, much to his embarrassment.

Mr. Mulligan,

I forgive you for your choice of greeting. It seems very in character for you to pick one such as that. You seem to enjoy pushing just to see what you can get away with.

I’m happy to hear that the shop survived. I had no doubt as it seems unlikely to burn just because your back is turned. Training an apprentice is hard work, be patient with him.

We’d be delighted to have you over again on Thursday.

My father says to tell you he found the book of poetry that you were discussing last week.

If you are so confident in the advice James gave you maybe you should decide the stakes of our next game.

Your Friend, 

Robert Townsend

 ***

Robert flexed his numb fingers, trying to get some feeling back in them as he piled more logs into the basket. He was anxious to get back inside but they’d been running low on firewood and it was barely nightfall and needs must. He’d heard Mulligan ride up a few minutes before and his father helping to show him out to the barn.

Finally, the basket was full and Robert was able to go back inside.

In the house, Mulligan was standing by the fire warming up his fingers. He smiled wide and bright when he saw Robert. Samuel was humming in the kitchen.

“Mr. Mulligan,” Robert said, crossing the room to set the wood next to the fireplace, coincidentally bringing him close to Mulligan.

“What am I going to have to do to get you to call me Hercules? Even in your letter you were so formal. That wounded me, Robert. Would you prefer I call you Mr. Townsend?” Mulligan said with a laugh, taking his hand just long enough to make Robert’s heart stop before he let it go.

Robert narrowed his eyes. “Very well, Hercules.”

Instead of smiling as expected, Mulligan’s eyes went wide and he coughed. “Wasn’t so hard was it?”

“There you are,” Samuel interrupted before Robert could answer. He was carrying the roast he’d spent most of the week fretting over.

“Yes. I was getting firewood as you asked,” Robert said, barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes at his father who made it sound as if he’d been lost at sea.

“Yes, yes. Dinner’s read. Come, sit,” Samuel said as he set the platter down on the table. He sat at the head of the table with Robert and Mulligan finding their places on either side. They all joined hands for grace and bowed their heads. Samuel led the prayer as he had the last dinner they had shared.

Robert’s eyes shot open when he felt Mulligan’s thumb brush over his knuckles softly. He kept his head down and managed not to kick Mulligan under the table, mostly out of fear that he’d hit his father on accident. Instead, he squeezed Mulligan’s hand tighter and hoped that the message was clear. Mulligan did stop and instead squeezed Robert’s hand back in acknowledgment.

Finally, Samuel said “Amen” and Robert was able to take his hand back. He could still feel where Mulligan’s thumb had run over his knuckles. It felt like he was on fire. When he looked back up at him Mulligan smiled, though it looked more like a grimace. Apologetic even.

Robert decided to forgive him. It wasn’t like he had meant anything by it. It was a mindless gesture. It wasn’t Mulligan’s fault Robert struggled to breathe anytime he touched him.

“How have you been these past weeks, Samuel? Robert was very short on the details in his letter,” Mulligan asked suddenly, turning to Samuel as they ate.

“Robert,” his father scolded, though he was laughing.

“What? Nothing of note had happened,” he defended.

His father tsked. “Well, not particularly. But…” his father continued weaving a story about the neighbors who had visited last Sunday. Robert found it quite boring and would have been embarrassed about Samuel showing how boring they were compared to Mulligan’s own vibrant life if the man himself weren’t joking and listening as if he really was enjoying himself. Occasionally, he’d cast a glance at Robert as if making a silent comment, only for Robert.

Robert found himself watching Mulligan, waiting for the next smirk or wink or arch of an eyebrow that was just for Robert. Each one made him feel warm and special and filled him with a want for something he couldn’t identify. It was also dangerous and selfish. Unfortunately, the shame wasn’t able to smother the pleasant warmth, try as Robert might.

After dinner, Samuel disappeared to go find the book he and Mulligan had been discussing. It hadn’t sounded urgent to Robert that the book be found immediately but Samuel had been long gone before Robert could question him. Mulligan just shrugged and helped carry the dishes into the kitchen.

Robert put a pot of water on the stove to heat up and put the little bit of food that was leftover into the icebox, likely to be used in a stew the next day. He turned to see that Mulligan had shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

The sight brought Robert up short and the room was suddenly hotter. He had to cough twice to get rid of the lump that had formed in his throat as he removed his own jacket and tried to get his heartbeat back under control. Mulligan did a much more graceful job of staring as Robert rolled up his sleeves, still unable to look at Mulligan.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, Robert scrubbing the dishes in the hot water and then handing them to Mulligan to be dried. It was silent and peaceful as they worked, though Robert strained to hear where in the house his father had hidden himself.

“James sends his regards,” Mulligan said after a long while of silence.

“Does he?” Robert asked. He supposed Rivington couldn't exactly tell Mulligan why it was that he no longer liked Robert and acting friendly might have just been the easiest thing to do. Still, it seemed odd.

“He doesn’t hate you as much as you seem to assume he does,” Mulligan said softly. “He’s a man of principle. You did what you did because of your own principles. He understands that.”

Robert sighed, tired down to his bones. “He did nothing but try to be my friend and I betrayed his trust.”

“James is a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. I’d wager he knew; some part of him at least.”

“That’s worse,” Robert ground out, his jaw clenched tight. “That means he suspected me and yet he chose to believe I was his friend. And I betrayed that choice to trust me instead of blind foolishness.”

Mulligan sighed. “I don’t think he thinks that. For a while he might have but not after the soldiers came.”

“So they did come for him,” Robert said quietly.

“You knew they would. It’s why you broke that window. Oh, he ranted and raved about ‘hooligans’ who had broken his window in the dead of night the whole day. He was furious.” Mulligan laughed, put the rag over his shoulder, and brushed his hair out of his face. “But the soldiers arrived and he had everyone in the bar as a witness that the basement had been broken into. Everyone remembered because he was so damn obnoxious about that window. It was blamed on spies, not on him. He knows what you did. He knows that you did what you could to protect both of you.”

“I could have been doing it only to protect myself,” Robert argued.

“Did you?”

Robert didn’t have an answer for that. The problem was that Robert didn’t know. When he’d done it it’d been a half-formed thought, just a hope that it would keep the English looking elsewhere. He didn’t know if he had done it to protect his father, or himself, or James. He was just relieved it had worked.

“It can be both,” Mulligan said, whisper-quiet.

“No, it can’t.”

“But you don’t have a single answer,” Mulligan shot back, clearly pleased that he had bested Robert with his own logic. “You have three answers.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Are you always this obstinate?”

“So I’ve been told.”

Robert turned back to the wash pot, suddenly realizing that he’d been so wrapped up in his conversation with Mulligan that he’d lost track of what he had been meant to be doing. It seemed like that was becoming a bit of a pattern.

“Maybe you can afford yourself a bit of forgiveness. He’s already forgiven you.” Robert could still feel his gaze, hot and unwavering.

“Has he told you that he forgives me?” Robert asked.

Mulligan sighed, clearly hearing what was coming next. “To be fair as far as he’s concerned I don’t know that you need forgiving.”

“So no. He hasn’t.”

“I think I know my friend well enough to know when he’s holding a grudge or not.”

“Not really the same thing is it?” Robert asked, handing Mulligan the last dish to be dried.

Mulligan just stared at him for a moment, looking disappointed and maybe a little sad. “I suppose not.”

They finished working in silence. Robert almost felt bad. Mulligan had just been trying to make him feel better, maybe even heal a wound that Robert hid from everyone, a wound he pretended didn’t exist. But Robert had shut him down and now Mulligan kept his head down and his mouth shut.

When they were done they went back to the living room where Samuel was sitting in his chair with a candle next to him, flipping through the book of poems he had disappeared to find half an hour ago. The second before they passed into Samuel’s line of sight though, Mulligan plastered on a smile and shook his head. “Did you know your son is a menace to debate with?”

Samuel laughed. “Why do you think I enjoy having you here? That way he can debate with you and I can enjoy it from the sidelines!” They laughed together and Robert rolled his eyes to cover the swelling fondness in his chest. He settled on the end of the couch closest to the fire so he could read by the light, just as he had the last time Mulligan was there.

Mulligan settled into the chair next to Samuel, producing a pouch and started to pull thread and a round bit of wood out. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s just something to keep my hands busy,” Mulligan said, holding the items up for Samuel to see.

“Of course not! Are you making buttons?

“Yes,” Mulligan said with a sigh, shaking his head. “With Christmas coming I have many orders for new jackets so that everyone may be dressed in their finest at the first parties of the first Christmas season since the war. And they all require buttons,” Mulligan explained as he started to wrap the thread around the mold, his head bent and his eyes fixed down intently. He was frowning just a touch and his hair was tucked behind one ear to keep it out of his face. He was breathtakingly beautiful, Robert thought wildly, he couldn’t help but stare. Mulligan’s hands moved smoothly, sure and in perfect harmony with each other and the materials. It was mesmerizing.

Without warning, Mulligan’s eyes flickered up to Robert and the focused frown turned into a soft smile, barely there. Robert would have blamed it on a trick of the light if it hadn't been for the wink before he turned to Samuel.

Robert burned. He stared down at the book in front of him with his jaw clenched tight, willing himself to focus. His hands were shaking slightly and he gripped the book tighter to hide it. He was a fool; a fool with no self-control. Hercules showed a bit of quiet focus and all of his carefully crafted walls just vanished? They didn’t even crumble or fall, as Hercules had an annoying habit of making happen. No, they had vanished as if they’d never been there. As if they hadn’t been keeping him safe for years. 

He focused on the book and after a while, he was able to breathe again. The conversation around him flitted in and out of his mind. Shame still burned hot in the back of his mind but he managed to focus on the book and right then that was important. If he could make himself focus on the book right then he could sort himself out later.

Hours passed, Robert relaxed, and the conversation around him and turned mostly into the two men reciting their favorite poems back and forth. Most were about the war but every once in a while one of them would recite one about breathtaking landscape or the goodness of God. Robert sometimes stopped and listened but mostly he let it filter by, the voices becoming a soothing background noise.

“Tell me, my heart, if this be love?”

Robert tuned in as Mulligan was in the middle of reciting another poem. He was starting another button and his eyes were fixed down. Robert looked back down at the book but didn’t bother trying to read it, he just listened.

“Whene’er she speaks, my ravish’d ear. No other voice than hers can hear, no other wit but hers approve. Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

“If she some other youth commend, though I was once his fondest friend, his instant enemy I prove. Tell me, my heart, if this be love?

“When she is absent, I no more delight in all that pleased before the clearest spring or shadiest grove: tell me my heart if this be love?

“When fond of power, of beauty vain her nets she spread for every swain, I strove to hate but vainly strove: tell me, my heart, if this be love?”

For a moment, the house was still. The crackling of the fire and the ticking of the clock were the only sounds. Samuel broke the silence.

“It’s beautiful, but melancholy. It’s almost sad.”

“How so?” Mulligan asked.

“To have that dedication and still be unsure. Being so lost in your own feelings and yet feeling them so deeply. It’s sad,” Samuel explained.

“Not necessarily,” Robert said before he could stop himself. When he looked up both men were watching him, waiting. “It might not be confusion, but reluctance. It’s a love they wish they didn’t feel. They aren’t confused they just wish they didn’t feel this way. It frightens them.”

Samuel was frowning at Robert, not angry just deeply sad. Robert didn’t have the courage to look at Mulligan. He was too unsure of what he’d see.

“That’s sadder,” Mulligan said. “It seems more to be a person that does know their own feelings but they don’t know how the other would react to such a strong declaration. They cover it with the questions to give themselves that deniability.”

“How is that any less sad than what I said?” Robert shot back. “To be afraid of the one you love would be dreadful.”

“The fear comes not from the person themselves but from the uncertainty. And uncertainly has room for hope.” Mulligan waved one hand as if clearing the air. “Fear of your own emotions and desires is a fear of one's self and that leaves no room for hope.”

Robert opened his mouth to argue but stopped short when Samuel stood. “Where are you going?”

“To bed. This is a young man’s debate,” Samuel said with a laugh. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

He grabbed the candle that had been between him and Mulligan and started up the stairs. They each sat still until the door shut upstairs, then Mulligan leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “Did I misstep?”

“No. Why would you think that?” Robert asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What he said about it being a young man's debate I worry I may have brought up some unpleasant feelings regarding your mother. I didn’t mean to, of course. I had reread the poem recently and-”

Robert shook his head and cut him off. “No, no. He’s fine, I’m sure. He’s likely just -” Robert cut himself off when he realized he couldn't tell Mulligan his true suspicions. He’d never see Mulligan if he did.

“Just what?”

Robert waved his hand to try and make it clear how absurd he found it. “He likely hopes that you’ll win this debate and convince me to fall in love with the next person who smiles at me.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mulligan laughed and looked to the button half-finished in his hand, squinting at it in the low light. He was quite far from the fire now.

“You can come sit next to me...for the light...if you like,” Robert said, trying desperately not to show his nervousness. He was just offering to let his friend sit next to him for the light of the fire. There wasn’t anything to be nervous over. 

Mulligan smiled and gathered the pouch together, and moved. “Thank you.” He settled close to Robert, close enough that their elbows brushed with every movement and Robert had to angle his knees away to keep them from knocking into Mulligan’s. Mulligan went back to wrapping the thread around the wooden disk.

Robert tried to focus on his book but his eyes kept drifting back to Mulligan’s hands. He tried to be subtle and even turned the page once before reading it just to cover his fascination.

“I can teach you, if you like,” Mulligan said. Robert flushed but when Mulligan looked up at him he looked genuinely pleased. 

 “I’d hate to ruin your work or waste your thread. No doubt your customers expect the best, not the work of an amateur.”

“Nonsense. If you’re so concerned with supplies though, I can inspect your work before you cut the thread. If it’s terrible, which I sincerely doubt, I can unravel it and you can try again. No harm done.”

Robert opened his mouth to say no but instead “Very well, show me,” came out.

Mulligan’s answering smile could have lit whole cities. He pulled out a pink roll of thick thread and a smaller round of wood that he handed to Robert. Then came the beeswax and the pencil. Mulligan continued digging around, muttering “I think I still have the guide. I haven’t used it in a while, but if I’m honest. It’s been a while since I’ve made my own buttons at all. AH!” He held up another little wooden circle with 4 marks on each side. He handed it to Robert. “Use the guide to mark the 4 sides so they are evenly placed.” He waited while Robert did. He felt silly, like a child, but even as Mulligan explained each step and its importance he didn't seem to lose his patience or his smile.

“Here,” Hercules said, wrapping his hands around Roberts’. “This is what the tension should feel like. Too loose or too tight and it will unravel before you get done.” He looked up at Robert; maybe to see if he understood, or maybe to see if he was listening, or maybe to check on him since he must have noticed that Robert had stopped breathing.

The problem was, now that he’d turned his head to look up at Robert, still leaning over and holding Robert’s hands at the right tension, he was even closer. Robert could see the little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes from smiling. He could make out faint freckles on his nose. He could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes that made them sparkle even more than normal. He could see the slight part of his lips that made Robert’s mouth dry.

Mulligan’s smile had faded, his eyes just flitting across Robert’s face like he was searching or waiting. The thought of what he could be waiting for frightened Robert out of his stupor. “I see,” Robert said with a tiny nod.

Mulligan pulled back and nodded, clearing his throat. “Good.” He picked up his own button that he had abandoned when he had started teaching Robert. “Wrap it in that square twice more and then you can insert the pin to help hold it together. Just be careful not to go through any of the threads.”

Robert nodded and focused on the button. It was meditative and he tried not to notice or be embarrassed by how much more quickly Mulligan worked through his. It helped that every once in a while Mulligan would look over and say he was doing well or correct some small thing and then laugh about how many times he’d made that same mistake and he’d had to start over. All in all, it was nice.

“I never had the opportunity to ask. How did you get wrapped up in spy-work? Aren’t you Quakers supposed to stay out of the war?”

“It is a long story.”

Mulligan hummed in agreement. “You don’t have to tell it if you don’t want to.”

Robert shook his head. “I don’t mind. The short version is I met Abraham who was already a spy and he tried to convince me to join his cause. When I refused he enlisted the help of Lieutenant Brewster to burn down our barn and attack my father while pretending to be Queen’s Rangers. By the time we learned it had actually been Continentals who had attacked us we were already involved.”

Mulligan just hummed and kept his head down.

Mulligan didn’t usually respond so quietly and it made him self-conscious. “It’s not a terribly interesting story,” Robert said quietly. He was never known for his storytelling ability.

“No, it’s not that. It’s fascinating and someday you’ll have to tell me the long version, it seems as if there are more than a few parts of that story that you have left out,” Mulligan said with a smile that for some reason didn’t seem quite right.

“Then what?”

“I don’t have anything to say that you would be particularly interested in hearing.” Mulligan shrugged.

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

Mulligan’s hands stopped moving and his whole body seemed to tense. Robert wasn’t as polite as Mulligan, though, so instead of giving him an opportunity not to tell the story, he waited. “I don’t believe Caleb Brewster is a bad man. What he participated in, yes that was bad, but I don’t believe it is indicative of his larger truth.”

Robert felt his blood go hot. He thought he’d buried that anger long ago when he had rejoined the ring. The rage felt fresh though, as if it had just been lying in wait. “What makes you so sure?” He spat out, no small amount of venom in his tone.

Mulligan sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Caleb Brewster was the right hand to the head of intelligence and yet you and I are alive. He was captured by Arnold at the same time I was. And Arnold... he let this monster, John Simcoe, carve him up. My father-in-law’s word. Carved. And yet you and I are alive. It was awful there, Robert. And someone was coming for me. My father-in-law was never going to let his son-in-law rot in jail an accused spy, taken by a turncoat so-called General. For that same reason, they didn’t inflict the damage on me that they did to the others and it was still awful. I…” Mulligan trailed off. His eyes were distant and his face was twisted like he was in pain. Robert set down his button, slowly, and reached out to place his hand over Mulligans’ which had begun to shake.

Mulligan’s head snapped to the side and he stared at Robert for a moment. “I doubt Brewster thought anyone was coming for him. He’d probably thought he’d die in the basement of that prison.

“Carved. Carved and alone and yet he never told anyone about us just to make it stop. Just for a single moment of respite.” Mulligan took a deep shaking breath. “He may have done bad things but I cannot condemn him for them. Not when I’m uncertain about whether I would have done the same.”

Robert didn’t know what to say. He didn't know what to do. Mulligan was clearly hurting and upset and Robert just wanted to make it stop. “You...make a compelling argument. I suppose that is a strong show of character. Having met John Simcoe I can only imagine the pain he inflicted. And even without such a man around it sound like a terrible ordeal. An ordeal that you survived without giving up me or Cato.” Robert squeezed his hand and hoped he'd said the right thing. Tact had never been his strong suit and he wasn’t sure he’d ever managed to successfully comfort his own father let alone someone else.

“Not really the thing same, is it?” Mulligan asked, shaking his head.

Robert suppressed his disappointment in himself. That was to be dealt with later. “I suppose not,” Robert conceded, taking his hand back.

They finished their buttons together in near silence, the easy camaraderie gone now. Mulligan helped him tie off the thread and was very polite about the button despite even Robert being able to see the flaws. They both agreed to go to bed then. They didn’t say it had been a long night but Robert could feel it dragging on them both.

Mulligan packed away the button supplies while Robert dealt with the fire and checked that all the doors were latched. He’d expected Mulligan to be halfway up the stairs by the time he was done but instead Mulligan was standing in the middle of the living room, waiting.

“I’m sorry for ruining your night with my trip down memory lane,” he said with a laugh that felt wrong.

“Don’t be absurd. You didn’t ruin anything. You being here is a gift that I greatly appreciate. You couldn't ruin it just by being honest. That’s ridiculous.” Robert started up the stairs without waiting for Mulligan to respond. Mulligan followed behind him, his footsteps softer than Robert’s up the stairs in the silent house.

Robert stopped for a moment outside his door, waiting for Mulligan so that he could say goodnight properly. It reminded him of the last time Mulligan had visited. It reminded him of the way Mulligan had smiled at him that night. It reminded him of what he’d wanted that night; of what had left him breathless that night.

“Goodnight, Robert. You’re a good friend,” Mulligan said, already opening his door.

“Goodnight, Hercules. So are you.”

Mulligan’s door clicked shut and Robert was alone and breathless again. 

[rekkingcrew]

Campaign Debrief

So for nearly 2 years I ran an Edge of the Empire campaign with 3-4 players, mostly weekly. These last couple of months we’ve been using discord, which has gone great. I want to get down some of my thoughts about what worked and what didn’t. 

This is gonna be a big wall of text and all but two bits are gonna be under the cut: system and play style. 

Fantasy Flight Star Wars game system is legit my favorite system EVER. (Not to dick wave or anything, but that’s including D&Ds 2-5, Gurps, White Wolf, Blades in the Dark, Dungeon World, Deadlands, and a few miscellaneous other short form ones). The system of advantages and disadvantages, and especially triumphs and despairs rather than just straight successes and failures really opens up complex narrative opportunities and gives a chance for wild story beats that just would not have happened otherwise. The fights go fast but feel meaty and there’s a lot of room to pitch advantages to your friends so you’re not just waiting your turn. Character creation is granular enough that your choices always feel meaningful, and points can be spent anywhere, so you can really specialize and shape your character. 

We played very collaboratively and it made things AMAZING. Part of this is that we were all good friends and have played together for a while now. Our taste in what kind of story we want is similar- nuggets of drama scattered throughout, but mostly cutting up. A lot of the best NPCs and story suggestions came from my players rather than from me- our season one boss villain, Imperial spymaster “Uncle” Karston Severax, a pantoran ex-special forces black operative whose current public face was a Mr. Rogers-esque children’s TV presenter, for example, was someone my players started out and all of us collective “yes and” added to around the table, and he was JUST THE BEST. These kind of exchanges also gave us moments like the time our tech tried to blackmail the head of a security corporation with the fact that he was having an affair and he’d written just LOADS of incredibly cringey fanfiction; but the roll was such that the attempt ended with him finally getting the push he needed to quit a job he hated, get out of a marriage that just wasn’t working, and follow his dream of self-publishing. He even dedicated his first book to our slicer. Because it wasn’t a DM vs Players atmosphere, because we were all on the same page, I could ask my players “hey, what do you want for your triumph?” and “all right, so who is the NPC you know?” as well as just “that’s enough to finish this guy, what does this look like?” This campaign was 1000% better for sharing that world building load, and the players were all, I think, more invested. 

more below the cut. 

What Worked

One of the most useful things I ever did was start giving players morality pet NPCs that were their special hench people, and I’m embarrassed that I waited so long to assign one to our droid. 

The zero session was absolutely invaluable in setting the tone of the game and the relationship between characters, and I will bang this drum until I’m fucking blue in the face. Don’t meet in the first session. Sit the players down and say “how do you know each other, why do you stay together, what are some of your past adventures?” It’s just so much better. 

Cameos and ties to our other games, in what we’ve been calling “The Drax Kreiger Expanded Universe” have continued to be welcome pretty much every time. People were delighted to have a moment or two to slip back into old characters. 

I was able to identify what each player wanted and give them that. Brick’s player wanted quiet scenes with big character emotion, like his one on one pit fight the character didn’t want to have, or the letter from his mother telling him how proud she was of him, or the time in training where he tapped into how angry he really was and it spooked the character and everyone on the ship. Nyla’s player wanted a big epic, but also difficult space journey of good vs. evil, and so Nyla got a padawan whose parents she had possibly killed when she fought for the empire, she dug up the grave of her clone teacher’s order 66′d jedi for the crystal for her lightsaber, she got to cleanse a temple that was trapped in a fruitless struggle between light and dark, and a climactic lightsaber battle that was about possibly sacrificing herself for the good of others. TK’s player was deep into star wars trivia and space stuff, so he practically squealed when Verpine shatter weapons showed up, and he seemed to get a kick out of the Evocii, and also that time they put on wing suits and dove the atmosphere of a gas giant. It’s worth noting nobody was actually all that interested in the thing that turns my gears: complex mysteries with a lot of clues and investigation, and once I let that shit drop, things ran a lot smoother. 

Some of our best stuff was non-combat challenges, like climbing the cliffs of Naboo or navigating the deep undercity of Nar Shadaa. The guys reliably failed anything social, but environmental challenges were always appreciated. 

I always tried to make sure there was more than one way to do things. For any given mission, especially early on, I’d try to brainstorm at least three ways something could be accomplished. 

My party split up a LOT, but we found a sort of cinematic cutting back and forth to be really useful. When there was a big crit, or a goal accomplished, or something like that, we’d jump to the other party even if the fight wasn’t over. Sometimes that was only just, like, Brick and the guys doing drunk karaoke and saying to no one in particular “MAN, I hope Nyla’s having as fun a time as we are!” but it kept everyone involved and it wasn’t just people waiting their turn for 20 minutes at a time. Also people chimed in with fun advantages and disadvantages. 

I had everybody write backstories and whenever I could, I incorporated in things from what they’d written. Our second season was basically TK tracking down the guy who’d made him, a Thackwash alien with the same sort of shifting personalities he had. TK’s player hadn’t written much about the guy except that he’d been a salvage mechanic who constructed TK for protection when he got in trouble with the local mafia. Giving that guy complementary personalities for each of TK’s really helped stick the landing on that one, and the player really enjoyed having actually completed his character’s goal. 

It’s worth saying, we took some time at several points during the campaign, either individually or as a group, to talk about what we liked and didn’t, what we wanted more of, where we wanted things to go, possible directions for characters, mechanical issues, how to have a better game, group dynamics, all sorts of stuff. In a way it’s like sex: people have this fucked up expectation that you’ll just be good at it without communicating, and man, fuck that. Talking to my players was ALWAYS worthwhile.

I was always adamant, because it was a thing that bugged me when I was a player, that if a character had spent the points to be good at something, they got to be good at it. That made some things difficult, but I think it was the right decision. It took me a while to tailor fights right, and honestly a lot of times, splitting up the party was the best way to balance fights, but I never said to anyone hey that thing you spent all those points on, could you please not do that?

My players were excellent about encouraging each other to have serious dramatic moments. TK was completely ready to die in a fight, and when he lost a significant chunk of his programming, the way he chose to play it was really heartbreaking. Everyone came inside and had tea with Brick’s mom. No one stepped on anyone else’s fun when it was time to be serious, and everybody was great about cheering each other on, whether they were being funny or being dead serious. 

I FUCKING FINISHED A CAMPAIGN. IT HAD AN END. So much stuff petered out over the years, I was adamant I wasn’t going to do that. 

What Didn’t Work

Boy, my players had pretty much all the trouble trying to remember to use “they/them” pronouns for NPCs with neutral or alien genders. 

No one is interested in falling damage. Sigh. 

I did not keep good track of money or ship fuel or anything. The campaign didn’t end up relying on it too heavily (I was honestly expecting a much more Cowboy Bebop setup than where we drifted), but that was an area I kind of fell down. 

We never really got obligation working correctly and in the end we just ended up abandoning it. We kept doing the force morality because the lone force player was very into it and it was a huge part of that character’s journey, but for the rest having people show up to collect on obligation was sometimes not possible in the story- or if it was possible it was pretty cumbersome. Campaign did obligation by arc, and I think that’s a pretty useful way to do it- roll at the end of the arc for what’s coming next. 

Early on, I made way too many assumptions about what was an adventure hook for my players and what was an annoyance. Honestly, bits of this lasted pretty late. At one point I gave my players a spy for the larger rebellion they could totally talk to- he was even working with their resident bothan spy- but they looked at the senatorial assassination he was doing and literally said at the table “I think it’s best if we just walk away from all this.” And so they did. Which was frustrating, but, you know, it is what it is. They also never much cared about the hutt gang war. 

I let a lot of things drop that I would have liked to bring back before the end, but in all honesty, I think we were all running a bit out of steam. I would have liked to put in Brick’s old mentor, or follow up with the imperial governor that was a falleen in a human skin suit, or see more of the bounty hunter’s guild, or have a nice end thing with our bothan spy, or any of that. But I do think it was time to end it. And we followed the threads people liked. 

I had way too many NPCS.

What sort of worked

I had like 200 npcs and they were not all bangers. In particular, I let the party design their own ship, which I wish had played a bigger role (though it did really set the tone), and I let them design 2 npc crew who would fill in any party roles they didn’t want to play and guard the ship so they could go on adventures without worrying about it. The devaronian scoundrel was with the party to the end though I never really got him to be more than a joke, but the bothan spy kind of fell off, and while she made some appearances, she didn’t really have as big an impact as I would have hoped. She kind of got replaced by Nyla’s padawan, a hench mon calamari called Nezrene, who was a better fit with the party. But, you know, players will do what they like.

Factions. In the first bit of the campaign, my factions were a fucking life saver, because I could design scenarios with a sort of “what is each faction doing/ which faction hurts from this, which benefits?” By the second season we’d kind of abandoned them to go to the core, and by the third my group was solidly rebel, so the hutts and bounty hunters fell a lot by the wayside. I still think having a couple of broad poles of power, and having the players know them and their leaders, is a good call. But they do seem to kind of organically pare down on their own, and it’s easy to get caught up too much in them. Useful sorta?

There was definitely a point where my players just were not challenged by conventional challenges. We ended up doing most of the later fights that involved a lot of minions in montage. I’d have them roll their fight skills unopposed, just to see if they got any interesting advantage/triumph set ups. I still had boss fights that were mostly challenging, but there just was no point in throwing storm troopers or low level gangsters at them. Not when they have soak 8 and autofire, and that one talent that lets you kill every minion in a combat. Designings fight got a bit tricky, and in those big high level combats, despairs and triumphs come up a lot more and really sway the fight, which I like, but also it’s very hard to plan for. 

Mass combat was tricky. I did a lot of it toward the end because my players were generals in a rebellion. I always had them do the rolls and some of the narration, but that wasn’t always enough to make them feel like things weren’t very arbitrary. 

I personally love the rule that if you roll a despair shooting into an engaged combat you shoot your friend. Nyla, who got shot twice this way, does not. 

We started the game with a tech character who dropped out. Toward the end, we picked up another tech character whose player couldn’t do their regular stuff because of covid lock down. Neither of these characters could fight at all, and both were very differently oriented than the rest of the party, and that was tricky to manage. Additionally, the dude coming in at the end had like a year and a half of in jokes he did not get and there were 200 goddamn npcs. I tried to give him the lowdown on what he might have heard about the party, but it was a combination of too much information and not that much player interest. He did get to break a star destroyer though, and I think he liked that. 

I offered players XP to write backstory stuff, and later goodbye notes others could find if they kicked it. Not all of them did. In the end it made a negligible difference, and I still think offering the bounties on this is basically a good idea. 

What I would do different next time.

Three ring binder that opens and closes so I could move fucking NPC stats around. I filled two goddamn school notebooks with notes for this campaign and there were so many goddamn times I was like “I KNOW I wrote this down, but where?!”

Players felt a bit aimless when they didn’t have a specific villain. I’d planted a few in, but they took finding, or they were too easy to avoid. Next time I would have a few more people who were actively on my player’s tails. 

I would keep better campaign notes and/or ask one of the players to do so. I used to do recaps for the games when I played Rek. There’s stuff I KNOW I’ve forgotten, and more I’ll forget as time goes on, which is a shame. It’s a weird, ephemeral medium, but possibly I’m just spoiled by living in an age of easy reproduction and enormous storage where data is concerned. 

Better book keeping in general, really. 

When I did a mystery short, I wrote up a list of all the clues people could find but not where specifically they were, so that I could just jam them anywhere they seemed like they’d make sense whenever a roll called for a player to find something. I think I’d try to do that with player’s personal stories so they could be woven in a little better. I did a lot of flying by the seat of my pants. 

All in all, I’m pretty happy with how it went, and I’m ready to get back to playing for a bit. I loved DMing, and I more or less DMed the game I would have liked to play, but man, doing this all the time, or being the only person who does it? After a while, that’d be a lot, and I’m looking forward to the break. 

[laularlau8]

As Gillian Anderson walked through the lounge of a posh Los Angeles hotel late last fall, I wondered how it was possible that no one pounced on her for an autograph or threw themselves passionately at her feet. The star of Netflix’s Sex Education, The X-Files, and soon The Crown was clad in a bright fuchsia tailored suit and seemed to radiate stardust from her pale pink pores, yet not a single head so much as turned. Instead Anderson quietly settled in beside a fireplace to observe others going about their business: well-heeled guests silently playing a mysterious board game with crystal discs, and a pack of shaggy-chic hounds that darted in and out of the room pursued by their equally rumpled master.

Anderson and I were supposed to be discussing season two of Sex Education, the British teen dramedy that was a surprise hit when Netflix first released it a year ago. She reprises her role as Jean Milburn, a forthright sex therapist and single mom to Otis (Asa Butterfield), who—despite his own bodily anxieties and absolute inexperience—follows in his mother’s sexpert footsteps and offers counseling-for-cash to his fumbling teenage peers. But Netflix had declared so many plot points off-limits, you’d have thought it was a Game of Thrones spin-off rather than a sweetly off-kilter series doused in adolescent horniness and confusion.

“I looked at the list of spoilers—it is basically every single plotline that’s in the entire season!” said Anderson. Suffice it to say that Jean remains the kind of parent who would loudly announce, “I’m so proud that you’re at this stage in your pubescent development.” She continues dispensing advice and embarrassing Otis by overstepping parent-child boundaries whenever possible. She also unabashedly pursues her own pleasure, even as Otis gets to grips (yes, literally) with his sexuality. “Poor Otis!” Anderson sighed empathetically.“I haven’t played many moms,” she said, sifting through a lifetime of roles in her head. Although she has three kids in real life, Anderson noted that  she’s “mostly played women that don’t have children.” Anderson specializes in high-intensity heroines, such as the iconic Agent Dana Scully in the The X-Files, a compelling detective pursuing a serial killer in The Fall, Great Expectations’ Miss Havisham, and All About Eve’s Margo Channing.

Her character in Sex Education is a rare comedic turn, though she approached it with the same desire for unpredictability. Anderson told me last year she wanted Jean “to feel grounded and neurotic at the same time. I wanted her to feel like she had things under control, and yet she might be losing her grip at any time. I wanted her to feel that she really was feeling like she was trying her best, and yet kept making mistakes and saying the wrong thing.”

Anderson has embraced her character’s sexpert status, dubbing herself “Shag Specialist” on Twitter, where she regularly posts playful images of things that look like genitals, hashtagged #YonioftheDay and #PenisoftheDay. She revels in the dilemmas Sex Education writers cook up for the scripts: One of her favorites this season involved a sexual experiment with a stocking stuffer filled with M&M’s. “You know those tubes that you get at Christmastime in your stocking that you can hang on your tree?” she asked in her crisp American voice, which occasionally strays into a British accent because she has lived in the U.K. for years.

Waving distractedly to a man in the distance, Anderson muttered in a hushed voice, “That’s my boyfriend, Peter”—The Crown creator Peter Morgan. The couple have been working together on season four of the series, in which Anderson plays U.K. prime minister Margaret Thatcher, but she insists there was no nepotism involved in the casting decision. “I’ve heard Pete say that were we not together, I still would have been offered it,” she said. I believe it: Anderson’s forte is exactly that type of steely charisma exuded by Thatcher, which earned her the nickname the “Iron Lady.”

Although she spent a portion of her childhood in the U.K. during the 1970s, Anderson said her family never cared about the queen at all. “I never paid that much attention [to the royals] until I was in a relationship with Pete,” she recalled. Even then, she didn’t immerse herself in the topic until she joined the show and, she said with mock exasperation, “it became a topic of daily conversation!” She dove into research on Thatcher’s life, searching for the key to that impregnable self-belief and drive that gave the Conservative prime minister her towering aura of authority and ability to bulldoze through any opposition.

“It was almost like she came out of the womb with it,” Anderson said. “Just seeing still imagery of her standing next to her father who was an alderman, she’s so self-possessed and she started making speeches back then. She probably watched him write them and absorbed it. But none of that really necessarily explains the particular power she had—how determined she was. She really believed that she had the answers.” Anderson ascribes that in part to Thatcher’s religious upbringing as a Methodist: “There were certain ways of doing things, and if you stick to the right behavior and right mind and right action then there are good results at the end of it. She felt like she could whip the country into shape in the same way that she could whip a household into shape.”

The Crown spent its first few seasons dramatizing Queen Elizabeth’s halting journey toward embracing her own power. She grew into her role in part thanks to the counsel and encouragement of past prime ministers like Winston Churchill and Harold Wilson. So it will be interesting to watch her more frictional relationship with Thatcher play out onscreen next season. Anderson said that while Elizabeth II and Thatcher were of a similar age, “their differences were such that you could understand why they would rub against each other.… They were the antithesis of each other.”

Anderson is fascinated by the way Thatcher came into her own later in life. Her own options seem to be similarly expanding as she grows older. She spent years adapting an Elizabeth Rosner novel into a screenplay but ended up putting the project aside because she was being offered constant acting work. “I haven’t been brave enough to create that time,” she said, “because there have been too many other tantalizing things.”

Her first big role as Agent Scully 26 years ago plunged Anderson into the maelstrom of celebrity sex objecthood—something that made her uncomfortable at the time. She said she feels much more comfortable in her skin these days. “Back then I never really quite understood what people were referring to, especially [with] Scully,” she said, letting out a throaty laugh when I stared at her disbelievingly. “I’m sure it had a lot to do with my own self-esteem or lack thereof at the time. But I can definitely own it now, in a fun way. Almost like, Really? Okay.” She paused to take a sip of tea and smiled. “I have fun with that because it won’t last forever.”

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer Chapter 2: Here

Robbie and Mom threw a goodbye party for me that I was sure they couldn’t afford. There were gifts, not only for me, but for my foster siblings. New shoes, TVs, video game consoles and bikes. I asked over and over, “Where did you get the money for all this?” But they only told me not to worry, that it was all taken care of. I thought of Anjou. A deep sense of gratitude and fulfillment settled in my mind. I wasn’t even a professional dancer yet, but already things at home had improved.

My gifts included shopping cards for clothing and school supplies and books. I bought my own personal set of toe shoes -- a must for a professional dancer. All these I packed in my new luggage set, pink with the silver embossing of the school's logo.

They weren’t done surprising me yet. The next week heralded the arrival of a white stretch limo with golden trim and dark tinted windows. We all gasped in amazement as it parked in front of our inner city house.

The back door opened. A woman in scarlet pumps stepped out. She was a willowy figure, dressed in a form-fitting short skirt the same color as her shoes and a dark top. “Wow, you’ve got quite the farewell committee.” She said as the children rushed past her to admire the car. She removed her sunglasses, revealing her scarlet eyes. She pushed her crimson hair out of her face.

She reached for my bag. I caught myself staring at the glitter of the false jewel shining on the nail of her index finger. “Are you ready?” She asked. She grinned with infectious excitement.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I looked at Robbie and Mom. “I’ll call you when I get there. Okay?”

Robbie gave me one last hug. “Sure thing.”

Mom went to herd the children away from the car. She stood with them and told them all to  wave goodbye. Some of them were starting to cry. I didn’t want to. I lifted my chin and swallowed the lump in my throat, blew kisses, and waved.

I marveled at the roomy interior. The leather seat was as wide as a sofa and stretched around both sides of the cabin. A passenger was already occupying the seat opposite mine. He looked a few years older than me. Blond, handsome, and dressed in a white bespoke suit. He flashed me a charming smile, those blue eyes sweeping over me. His expression made me self conscious. I wondered what he thought of my home-braided hair, simple eyeliner and lip gloss.

I caught myself blushing and tried to hide it by pretending to adjust the strap on my duffle bag.

“Go on, before I freeze to death,” the woman laid a hand on my shoulder . I climbed inside.

The man gestured to the driver and the limousine pulled away. I had resolved not to look back but as we started to move, I did. They were still waving at me.  I waved back. I forgot they couldn’t see me through the darkened glass. I settled back into my seat.

“I’m Ceasar Gattuso.” The man in the bespoke suit bowed, pressing his hand to his chest. “President of the Student Council and your future leader. This is Nono, my ravishing fiancee.”  They glanced at each other. She gave him a coquettish eye roll at his introduction. 

He reached for a  side console in the seat next to him, lifting the lid and pulling out a black box. From the black box, he took some sort of handheld device. It was grey and had a digital display. It was too round to be a cellphone. From the same black box, he handed me a wooden stick with a cotton swab at the end. “With that summary introduction, I need you to swab your cheek with this so we can see your genetic makeup.”

Nono crossed her arms, “Caesar, at least let her get her seatbelt on.” She said. “Please forgive him.” I turned to her and she’s giving him a subtle scolding look. “We’re all very excited by your potential, and curious about where it comes from.”

“It’s fine,” I said, doing as Caesar asked. “I read up on the school before I accepted. And Congratulations! On your engagement, I mean.”

Nono chuckled. “Thank you. Before you ask, no, we don’t have a date yet.”

“If you’re a promising student, I’ll invite you to our weddings.” Caesar grinned at Nono.

“Weddings?” My eyes widened.

He swept his arm in a broad gesture. “It will be a round the world tour! I couldn’t decide on which destination to host my wedding so I thought, why not all of them?” He looked at me as though expecting applause.

Unsure of what to say, I gave a nervous titter.

Nono leaned over to me and whispered, “You’ll get used to him.”

Caesar put the swab into the bottom end of the strange device. I watched as the display showed a readout on its small screen. He turned it so Nono and I could see. 

“What does it show?” I asked.

Nono massaged the ring on her finger. “It shows that you have a very special heritage.”

When I thought of heritage, I thought of the heritage festivals at the park. People of different ethnicities made traditional crafts from their nations of origin. “Like what sort of heritage?”

"Haven't you seen those movies? Where the ordinary high school girl is a secret princess?"

Nono stopped him. "Don't tease her!"

Caesar did stop teasing me, pointing to a button filled console. “By the way, if the seat’s too warm you can control the temperature from there.”

The seats were actually warm. I didn’t notice until he pointed it out. I stared at the variety of options on the console. I pondered the contrast between Robbie's cold beater and the warm decadence of the limo. It confirmed those high school rumors about the standard of living at Cassell. I wanted to know more. “So is it true? You only accept who you feel like? Did I get in because the Principal liked my show?”

Nono was not looking at me but at Caesar's device. I followed her gaze but he put it away. Caesar answered. “The short answer is yes. You’ll figure out the long answer on your own.”

“Do you know anything about your real parents?” Nono asked in a gentle voice. “It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it.”

My heartbeat quickened at her question. “No, nothing. Robbie said my mother left me on the doorstep. That’s all.”

“No name? Nothing?” Her eyes met mine.

“Well, there's this.” I pulled the chain of my mother’s pendant and lifted it up over my shirt. Nono glanced up at Caesar again. 

He said, “May I see it?” and held out his hand.

I hesitated. Both Caesar and Nono were nice and kind. I didn't know why I felt so uneasy. I had no reason to question the situation.  It was fine before. Only now did I think about how I traveled down the road in a stretch limo, sitting between two strangers. It occurred to me that I had no access to the door if I needed to jump out. My hand went over the pendant that held my only friend inside.

He gave a small amused snort at my protective gesture. He still held out his hand. “I want to see if it's real..."

He ventured to touch it when I didn't hand it over. I flinched, shoulders lifting to my ears. He held it between his long fingers, feeling the weight. “If you went dancing with that at the theater, I can see why Anjou took an interest in you.”

“Why?” I asked.

"Because it's pretty and valuable." He leaned back against his seat, lacing his fingers together in his lap. He maintained that knowing smile, lifting his eyes from the necklace to my face. 

I gave one reluctant thanks and tucked my pendant back under my shirt. “It's not for sale."

“We won't take it from you. We’ll teach you more about its history.” Nono said, reaching to the floor for a laptop case. She pulled the device out and opened it. Her fingers flew over the keyboard as she typed.

Caesar continued. “In the meantime, enjoy your first few days. Meet a few more students. I believe they’ll take well to you.”

I shifted my focus out the window to calm my nerves. The scenery changed from the grit of the inner city to the manicured landscape of the campus. There were signs directing pedestrians to parks, fountains, jogging trails, and specialty restaurants. Expensive cars began to outnumber the used models.

We pulled up to a gate that opened after a brief verification by a guard. A banner hung over a courtyard to display a ‘Welcome New Students’ message. The limo drove at a stately pace around a central fountain. It parked next to a wide paved pedestrian walkway split down the middle with trees and benches.

“Nono will show you the ladies’ dorms. There’s an orientation at 8 pm tonight. Settle in. We’ll see you there.” With that, Caesar picked up his phone and dialed a number, placing it against his ear. Nono took my hand and helped me out of the car.

A group of young men hanging out at the entrance spotted me getting out of the limo.  They straightened up and murmured among themselves in curiosity. I quickened my step to catch up to Nono, rolling my luggage behind me.

This place was bustling with people. Students made their way around on scooters and motorbikes. We passed by a large fountain, a holographic image of a dragon on top of it. It menaced me, hissing and growling. “Wow… This place is insane.”

"Yes, we have very advanced tech here thanks to our Gear Department.” Nono laughed at my slack-jawed expression.

 I could hardly believe my eyes. Those rumors from high school weren’t so unfounded after all. 

Nono stopped walking. She tilted her chin down and looked me in the eye. “We give tailored attention to each student based on their abilities and their personality. Midnight’s the curfew, though it’s not enforced so long as it doesn’t affect your performance.”

“First, you'll take the E3 exam to evaluate your talent. That done, you will be assigned to your team. You will also receive your entry level classes and training schedule." Her voice lowered and her eyes narrowed. 

Her eyes shifted to the fountain. “I know there will be a lot to take in. Keep this in mind. You’re someone who can be useful. It's not normal for Cassell to pick up people off the curb like this.”

“Right. I won’t let you down!” 

She crossed her arms, satisfied with my answer. “Good.”

“Is there a place where I can continue to practice dancing?” I asked, twining my fingers. 

“Sure. There’s a studio right above the gym. I can show you the exercise area later.”  Her eyes softened when she saw how worried I was. “Hey, relax. The best thing for you is to take your time and make friends.”

I lifted my head and noticed that same group of boys. Were they following us? “I just might have some issues fitting in.”

She shot a glare at our spectators. She put a hand on my shoulder to lead me away but she didn’t say anything more.

We reached the large multi story dorms but kept walking. The buildings appeared older and the trees got larger the deeper we went onto the property. 

We reached a brick two story building. The columns at the entrance rose to a carving of a knight with a sword battling a dragon. Nono scanned a fob to enter the double doors. She climbed a staircase and reached the third door on the right. She handed me the key fob and her personal contact card. “This is my number. Call me if you need anything at all, or need to talk. Okay?” She gave me a playful punch on the shoulder.

Satisfied that I was okay, Nono departed towards the stairs. “See you at orientation tonight!” She waved.

As soon as I stepped inside the dorm, I could see it’s more like an apartment. Light filtered down from a skylight in the ceiling.

The room was fully furnished with ornate high quality pieces and tasteful lighting. The red plush carpet was thick enough to sleep on. A tingle of delight ran up my spine and I let out a squeal.

I dropped my bags to explore. The galley kitchen had granite countertops, marble floors and glossy state of the art appliances. There was even a built-in wine cooler, but Robbie had already warned me about the dangers of underage drinking.

I ran my finger over the bar with its golden legged stools. I imagined people sitting on those chairs. People who were my friends. I let out a dreamy sigh.

I returned to my bag, fish out my cell phone and immediately text Robbie. “This place is FOR REAL!”

Message not sent.

I had a signal. I tried to resend a few more times before I gave up tossing the device on the couch. “Stupid phone.” I wondered if they would give me a new one.

I got to the bedroom and jumped onto a bed that felt too big for me. I rolled back and forth unable to contain the giddy excitement of all this space. It filled me to bursting.  I screamed at the ceiling, clutching a pillow. The down feathers inside slip between my fingertips under the soft fabric.

This place was something out of a fantasy. I couldn’t believe I was here!

* * *

Chapter 1

Chapter 3

[ravel-puzzlewell]

Ari: 5, 18,26,33,35,42,48,49,50,53,55

49. What are some themes tied to your character’s story?

“No wonder we cannot appreciate the really central Kafka joke: that the horrific struggle to establish a human self results in a self whose humanity is inseparable from the horrific struggle. That our endless and impossible journey toward home is in fact our home.”

— David Foster Wallace, Consider the Lobster and other essays

Ari’s central theme is this precise struggle to establish a self, but under a pressure of being perceived in a world that enforces a bunch of roles and identities on her. Being a half-drow girl in a small-minded village and having a cold, judgmental father, she knew from a very young age that there are acceptable and not acceptable selves, and if you show the world the wrong thing, you will be punished. And not just show the wrong self, but if you perform the right self in an unsatisfactory manner, you will not be accepted either. Like, she was a small orphan girl being bullied, but parents never took her side, because she was a grey-skinned drow child of this weird elf loner and she didn’t dress or look or behave like little girls, because she didn’t have a female role model and Daeghun just dressed her practically and didn’t bother giving her “feminine” cloth. So she watched other girls like a zoologist studying an animal behavior and adopted the patterns like “Oh hey guys, check out what a Hyper-real Idealistic Femininity I’ve got there, I think I deserve some acceptance and validation for that, huh?” Of course this realization that it’s not enough for her be something, people will only treat her like that thing if she performs what they expect from it lead to her building up a lot of resentment. And she never got a chance to figure her true self out as the pressures and expectations were being piled on her, up to saving Neverwinter. So Ari felt like a collection of masks hiding an empty center, where she doesn’t even have a self, just resentful rage and a bunch of shadows. She only got to figuring herself out in MotB, bc MotB was not about saving a kingdom, but about saving herself, and to save herself she needed to first define it.

33. How have they changed over time?

in original NWN2 Ari doesn’t really change, just grows better and better at performing what everyone around expects from her and becoming more and more bitter and angry because of that under a ethereal sweetness that she coaxed over herself. in MotB she’s finally forced to confront herself and realize that she’s not actually a despicable monster incapable of love and good things that she believed she was her entire life. She also came in terms with her masks, and being able to find her “self” and so to distinguish what part is a role and what part is she, Ari is now much more in control of the performance instead of compulsory mirroring the expectations. If before the world was theater and she was the actress, now she is also directing the play. She… well, not calmed down, she’s still very Extra™, but she’s lost the self-loathing self-destructive violent edge.

48. What was their lowest point? What was their highest point?

Lowest point is def the end of act 1 start of act 2 of MotB when Ari thought she can’t control the hunger and also because all she could feel inside is raging darkness and she couldn’t tell apart where is she and where the soul-eater, so she was completely unraveling at the seams. The highest probably when she went back to Neverwinter and saw that people of the Crossroad Keep are still aggressively loyal to her, and Kana is keeping off Nasher from annexing the Keep with lawful bureaucratic nonsense like Penelope waiting for Odysseus to return.  

53. Expectations vs Reality: what did you expect and what did you get with this character?

I didn’t expect anything when I just started nwn2, I usually see what narratives and themes the game offers me and form a character I think would be the most interesting to explore them with. If we talk about defying the expectations, it’s probably that I expected her story to be over at the end of nwn2. I was  disappointed with the ending, but on some level I saw it as fitting - Ari didn’t have the character development as much as self-destructive spiral throughout the game, and she died after her biggest victory, she always wanted, but never could live for herself, ceasing to exist as Neverwinter didn’t need her anymore, a heartbreaker who was only loved for what’s projected onto her, a shadow disappearing when the masks covering it are smashed by rocks. And then Mask of the Betrayer happened, and gave me not just a story custom-tailored to the themes and development of Ari, but also with love interest having parallel thematic arc of performing vs true selves. Even the flaws of OC NWN2 were post factum justified, like characters being one dimensional because that’s how Ari saw them vs layered, complex characters in MotB bc she learned to let people have their own agency and not just as objects that she needed to manipulate in order to save. It was truly a poetic cinema moment. At the end of nwn2 I thought Ari would be a sad character from a mediocre game that never gave her space to grow, and she ended up as my absolute fav OC in motb.

50. What are some motifs associated with your character?

Masks, shadows, Fae glamour, flowing shimmering silks, mirages, lightning, sky, esp in transitional stages between night and day times, twilight or the blue hour before the dawn, labyrinths made out of lilac hedges with a monster in the center.

Her general vibe is this post: “She had the confidence of a well organized library and the haunted grace of a moonlit cemetery.”

5. Height and Body type 

Ari is tiny, like, not comically so, but pretty distinctly even for a half-drow. Half-elves are on average human-sized and shaped, and half-drows are normally just a bit smaller, but Ari’s mom was a half Moon elf herself, so Ari is actually just a quarter human. So if normally half-elves look more like humans with some elvish characteristics, Ari looks like a watered down elf. Still lithe and bony, with sharply defined features and elongated limbs, but the aggressive angularity is smoothed down. It’s most obvious when she’s standing next to pureblood elves like Sand or Daeghun, who are pretty much made up only out of triangles and straight lines, and Ari has some ovals and curves.

18. Have any special keepsakes?

Not really for herself, Ari is not sentimental at all. Her familiar tho collects shiny and interesting things like all magpies, and Ari has a designated pocket on her bag to carry it.

26. Guilty Pleasure

Interesting question for Ari. by the end of nwn2 original campaign she would technically classify as like high functioning alcoholic with also occasional drug abuse. But that’s just coping mechanisms, not pleasure. Having a breakdown and fucking several succubi in your Keep’s basement is also I feel like shouldn’t count as guilty pleasure, it’s just Ari’s equivalent of crying in the bathroom for 10 minutes, then fixing your make up and going out to get shit done. It’s “I can have a little drug-infused orgy, as a treat.” So for guilty pleasures… probably just junk food.

The ask meme

[strawberrymarshmallowstories]

Ice Queen (Gods&Goddesses AU) - Kim Seokjin

What the-

Your nose tickled with a familiar scent before you saw it - the bouquet of blue roses as waves of the ocean, the tips fading to depths not many witnessed in a lifetime. But instead of appreciation or surprise, a curse slipped from your lips.

You ran a scan on your psychic shields.

Negative - no irregularities over the past 12 hours.

It would’ve been scary hadn’t it happened before. The main house scan from security office came back a moment later - also negative. As always, you logged it for further investigation.

One day they were bound to make a mistake.

But when? And how?

Teleporting left a detectable trace. It could be masked, but not eliminated. You ran another scan on the bouquet itself - the flowers came back as pure, energetically untouched.

Human handiwork?

A tilt of your head, eyes narrowing at the inanimate intruder. Impossible. To bypass security, to bypass your rock-solid shields without a trace.

But despite all that, somehow still, at least once a year you woke to a bouquet of blue roses at your bedside. Blueberry-blues to arctic ice, from matte navy's to robin-egg blues. Unimaginable colours, hadn't you seen it with your own eyes.

A quick twinge along the familial line and your sister's energy greeted you before her long-limbed frame. As she danced through the doors, her long white dress flowed around her with a life on its own.

But her joy was short-lived.

'Again?' A whisper, her steps slowing to a reluctant gait. As the morning rays touched the flowers, tiny bursts of light erupted on the blossoms. As if small fireworks had sparked to life between the delicate petals.

You’d never heard of such talent for manipulation. With big eyes specialists deemed it impossible, all while clutching to the rose as drops of deep red stained their skin. But thorns mattered little with magic petals between their fingers, nose in the blossom as if its scent was a drug.

That they hadn't turned this into a fortune was a hint of their power. And wealth.

Ania leaned closer. 'It's kind of romantic though. Absurd, yes, but romantic.'

With a scoff you pulled a robe over your gown, soft yellow over black silk. An unexpected gift from your sister because you needed some sunshine in your life.

As a reply you’d almost iced over her aquarium.

'Cowards.’ You jutted with your chin as she pulled you into a hug. ‘It’s more creepy than what-not. How many years has it been?’

'Immortal’s infatuation lasts way longer. But hey sis, it’s not worthy enough to ruin your day.' A squeeze. ‘Happy birthday.'

Your arms wrapped around her on its own. With days being counted and her excitedly packing her bags, you wanted to laugh and cry the same. Accepting a position at the Union should've been a happy occasion.

But she'd chosen Alta on the other side of the world.

'I really don’t want to go in today. Can't I just burn the whole building down?'

She only laughed, having been there for many of your late-night rants. About Ancients and their Seconds who had no proper concept of time, about their minor territorial issues blown into elephants - the bare thought gave you a headache.

But you’d accepted it as a part of your job. You’d long realised Ancients didn’t see time as everyone else - they had centuries long behind them, a pebble in the ocean compared to yours. You’d once asked your mother how Ancients would ever respect you with their age against yours. She’d only laughed and told you to grow thicker skin.

Your sisters’ wink jolted you back to reality, mischief streak a spark in her eyes. 'You want me to do it? Oh please tell me yes!'

Different from yours, your sister had fire flowing in her veins, one that made her locks flow as lazy flames licking dry wood. It had placed its claim just after her first decade - early but not unforeseen. But what made her unique apart from her winning smile and olive-kissed skin, was the mark on her shoulder. Worn with pride, a medallion of a true claim.

Not many could take pride in it.

You, on the other hand, had been born from the other side of the spectrum. Ice queen, as per the hushed whispers. Ironic, as the roses always held an imprint of icy hues, as if a reminder of who you were.

'Would you like to come along?' You asked with a hopeful tinge. Ania had been there for your many risky escapades which had your mother breathing out fire, and her silence had earned your unwavering trust. Because even between family members trust wasn’t a given.

It had to be earned.

But today she only shook her head. 'Don't take it the wrong way but the Union you sure scares the hell out of me.' A theatrical shudder. ‘As if possessed, you know?’

You shrugged but couldn't hide a smile. 'What can I say, it’s a gift.'

‘Sis-,’ she said, her tone alert. ‘You may want to get dressed.'

Warning and uncertainty in one.

'Jin just, ported in?' A question of wonder, as if she herself doubted the pathed words. ‘Are you expecting him?’

'Not that I know of.' You scanned over your mental calendar. 'But let him in, he’s not the type to leave.'

Ania finished telepathing with a frown, seating herself in an armchair under the squared windows.

Every god had its own essence, something to warn the people ahead - a feeling of the sorts, that made weaklings scatter and called strong ones to attention. Energy reacted to his every footstep. It gathered around him, drawing nearer to the silent power humming through his veins.

He’s beautiful. Ania pathed with a nervous glance.

A fact. He was, even for an immortal. A muse for artists of many species since - whenever he was born. With his energy as a prided cloak he had nothing to prove - even his role as Lindiana’s Second a status to envy for.

He greeted Ania first with a kiss on the back of her hand that barely touched.

Before his gaze fell on you.

'Happy birthday to my favourite princess.' He mocked a bow, dark hair tickling his forehead, silken as if asking to be touched. But it was his eyes that had you pinned - deep earthy browns, whispers of warm summer nights and honey on the tip of your tongue. Tempting in a way he must’ve known.

And intended.

'Appreciated, not many call me a princess these days.' You leaned against the bedpost, arms crossed. ‘But I'd prefer not to see your face first thing in the morning, Jin. So why are you here again?'

He only smiled as he took in the surroundings, the space filled with the most luxurious of fabrics in the richest colours - ones you’d selected personally and had travelled lands to acquire. Ones heaven against your fingertips, of softness only cashmere could grasp the edge of.

How unlike you, and he must’ve known.

You shifted in your spot. The games he played, you didn't know how to win.

'Actually I've been demoted to a pickup guy.' A glance at Ania. ‘Summons.'

‘What is this about?' You forced your shoulders to straighten. Even when you felt nothing without your usual suit of straight-cut trousers and a blazer tailored to fit every curve.

'Incident on Ancient lands, your mother asked me to get you,' he said just as the buzzing datapad stole your attention.

Rebel activity in Alexei’s territory. Summons have been sent out, documents forwarded. Seokjin will pick you up. - Mother

'I’ve always wondered why my mother likes you so much,' you asked as much as sighed. 'What do we have so far?'

'It’s the charm,' Jin dragged out as you headed to the closet room, his voice loud enough to carry through the divider wall. 'But for the incident, lots of fire, no casualties.'

Nothing that’d normally require immediate summons. But your mother had a reason for everything.

'By the way.' His eyes skimmed over the formal suit as you walked out, twirling a blue rose between his fingers. 'Nice flowers.'

You cast him a narrow-eyed look.

'A special occasion? Or perhaps a message?'

He handed a rose to Ania who graced him with one of her sweetest smiles, her cheeks flushing to the skin of a ripe peach. With the dimples sharp as if encarved into her skin, even Jin held her gaze as if to breathe in her beauty and joy.

'That's none of your concern.' You threw a knowing glance at Ania. You'd seen those eyes work on its prey. She had yet to learn that Jin was never anyone's prey.

He was a hunter.

'However, Jin.' You refrained from rolling your eyes, focusing on perfecting your low bun. 'You're a pretty good teleporter--'

‘--one of the best, as a matter of fact.''

An obnoxious irritating man.

‘Is it possible to teleport something without appearing with it?'

A tilt of his head.

'An interesting question.' He ported another blue rose into his hand as he set his steps towards you. 'This information doesn't come cheap. What do you need it for?'

No other god would flinch at the proximity, and neither would you. Even when goosebumps ran down your spine and down to your fingertips. So you held his gaze as he stood before you, although your instincts demanded you run.

Your breath hitched at the gentlest brush against your neck. He’d tucked a rose behind your ear. 'And here I thought you didn’t like me.’

'Alright, that’s enough.' You shoved at his chest. Away, you had to get away. 'I don’t know how these flowers got here overnight. My security office detected no movement, neither did my scans find any breaches.'

Jin rubbed the spot on his chest. ‘I'm sure your shields are of steel. Then either a human or a family member.'

Human, perhaps. But a family member - not an option you'd ever consider. You glanced away. Stark contours stared back from the mirror, with a glint in your own eyes you’d never seen. But that didn’t faze you, not when silver flicks played in your hair.

Only a bare hint. As on the roses, until hit by sunlight and the chaos ensued.

With the look you threw at Jin, anyone would’ve been quivering in their boots. But Jin was an insufferable man not fazed by much. 'And no, nothing out of the ordinary.'

Jin ported a feet closer, making you jolt when his chest almost touched yours.

'You need a list who's been here for the past three days and why. Teleports can be set up and traces can be covered - the best can do it 48 hours beforehand with an inanimate object.'

A sharp inhale and you took a step back, one out of instinct. 'Stop doing that, you're setting off my shields.'

An excuse. A pathetic excuse that went on deaf ears as his hand came up to your ear once more, a brief touch before brushing aside the rebellious glittery strand. ‘It suits you well though.’

You swatted his hand away.

'You think it's previously set up?' Ania voiced, a grin on her lips at the unfolding theatrical play.

'Who knows, we all love a little secrecy around here, and you go around in pretty high circles. I think someone’s trying to impress you.' Jin sauntered across the floor, taking a seat on your bed as if that was the most natural thing to do. Back in the playful element - one surprisingly more comfortable. And predictable. ‘And some immortals like their lovers cold and stiff.’

You heard Ania gasp.

It would’ve been an insult had it not been Jin. But today your eyes lingered - on his suited up frame against the backdrop of your messy sheets.

You bit into your inner lip, body stiffening at the tightness in your belly. He was pushing your limits, he always did. This was your home field, a place where you were supposed to be your strongest. But still he smashed through every shield, every facade that kept you safe.

'I told you to stop,’ you muttered under your breath, hands balling into fists. Clutching for control under a veil of anger.

Silly silly girl.

He smiled. 'I don't think they'll make a move. Perhaps a message. What did they call it back in the day--’ he trailed off, a low hum at the back of his throat. ‘Desire for the unattainable?'

You shoulders tensed.

He’d spoken the same words as the old flower vendor many years ago. In an antiques store in the middle of a human town, he’d spoken of meanings humans placed on flowers. A human folklore passed down through generations.

But if Jin knew of it...

Ania's laugh pulled you out of your thoughts, the sound bubbling through her whole being. 'I'm sorry sis but it makes sense. You, uh--’ A quick glance at Jin. ‘Shoot down anyone who dares to approach.'

'I could care less,' you hissed back. It hadn’t been a choice, but a necessity. Because if you slipped once, someone could die.

And everyone would find out you were flawed.

'And you.' You pointed at Jin, lowering your outermost shields to initiate a psychic link, just enough for a teleport. He accepted it without hesitation and held out his arm.

You never had that freedom. Every single touch and mental contact had to be calculated and prepared for. A single wrong move and you could betray yourself.

And once you tucked away your darkest memories, you accepted his arm and the room turned into a whirlwind of colours.

~

 'Oh great, you're here - here’s the files,' you heard as soon as the energy materialised into familiar grey walled conference room. Your fingers clutched at thin air, digging into your palms, close to drawing blood. All to silence the past.

It always happened. The nightmarish demons had first found you when you had been no more than a babe. It was then when your mother had learned of your wide broadcasting affinity, when your scream for help blasted through every single pair of ears in the household.

You’d asked her many times about that night, but she always chose silence. Although her eyes spoke of sadness, of a little guilt and of secrets she’d one day take to her infinite sleep.

Luckily no one questioned your fears. To anyone, teleporting came with careful consideration due to risks imposed - it was a sign of great trust.

But in this case, you had to trust your mother’s judgement.

Because you knew, no one wished to be on the receiver end of your mother's wrath. You'd seen it, seen the power she held and the mercy she did not have.

Yes, she was your mother, but she was also a warrior queen.

'Wasn't that Jin?' Madeli piped as you sat down, her hands sorting paperwork to be reviewed. 'I thought you hated his guts.'

You scoffed. ‘My mother seems to like him. And I think she likes it when we don’t agree.'

'I wish he'd pick me up in the mornings, how romantic would that be.'

'Depends what you consider romantic,' you retorted. The room had started filling out, most entering in silent discussion. You nodded at everyone who glanced up, a couple of silent-mouthed greetings. ‘But you hate commuting and he loves women, sounds like a fair deal.'

Madeli lowered her voice. 'Did he ever do something to you?'

You shrugged and skimmed over the first report.

'It's about him not leaving me alone.' You handed her a signed document that disappeared into one of her many organisers. Once you wondered how she carried it all, and then recalled a queue of others that stayed behind for a kind word in exchange.

Maybe they had more commonalities than you’d thought.

A dreamy murmur under her breath. But your attention had already been stolen, by the friction in the air that had grown to a point where you could no longer ignore it. Too much energy in one space.

This time many territories had come as a pair when only one presence was required. The rumours had spread.

An Ancient had been struck.

Madeli finished with the attendance list and stepped down from the podium. After a nod at the closest guard, you started with the ancient incantations that came as second nature. Pages and pages of words that now slipped off your tongue, but once had taken a year to remember.

Fed by each Ancient’s contribution, the barriers could hold in anything. As a Mediator, at times like these you got a slight taste of their power.

A heavy mass, too heavy for frail shoulders. One could only be born to hold such power, and you were not one of them.

With a tight-lipped smile of control, you raised the outer barriers. As a barriers master, it was your job to keep it intact, to stop the energy from the world.

You cleared your throat, eyes browsing the crowd just as the microphone light flashed green.

The energy of the room focused on you. It was massive, possibly destructive even when constrained. The energy peak was also why Ancients rarely met in one place, and if they did - only under supervision.

Although civilised to a certain extent, one offensive remark and chaos would ensue.

That’s where you stepped in.

'This will be short. Alexei is still forwarding us the reports.' A quick inhale. 'It is true, his territory has been struck. And by someone with ancient control and strength, or something close enough.'

Quiet gasps and low murmurs around the room.

That should've been impossible, a pact of peace confining Ancients not to strike unless formally challenged or attacked. It had taken a century, endless hours of work and negotiations until everyone’s energy prints decorated the Terra Agreement.

If someone overstepped it, the Terra Union had the right to strike back as one.

'It's not one of us, as far as we know. The energy pattern doesn’t match our database, so we’re currently leaning towards a group channeling.'

Glances around the room - some of suspicion, some of surprise. Channeling was an ancient art lost in time. One not practiced or taught due to its inefficiency - it drained the participants of energy and could render them useless for days. No god would willingly leave themselves this vulnerable.

'I need access to energy reports for the past week, of any imbalances in each territory. We believe they yield fire as a general element but we cannot set it as a limit.'

You knew that didn't say much, earth elements only a basic affinity and could be trained. But this one had been nothing but simple, this energy had expanded until the verge of bursting.

Add fire into that mix, and you got what humans would call a bomb.

This required a long buildup, of months at least.

'Alexei is feeding information back to us as we speak, including ash samples. We will also get Yoongi's team dispatched shortly.'

'The one with the human? Is the human trustworthy with this?' A female voice jeered from the back. Lindinia, a goddess from a neighbouring territory to Alexei's, the one to steal your sister away.

Her eyes narrowed even further at your delay, making the resemblance with her cat uncanny.

'The human's a she, and she worked as much on the Lux medication as anyone else in that team.'

Silence. It had only been a remark, one you could've ignored but didn't. Everyone in that room knew of the specialised research team, one of the best in the immortal world with queues up to decades. And many of them had orders in for research costing billions.

Even with a human on it.

'However, while you're already standing, would you please share the incidents from your today's report?'

While gods kept to their own territories and upheld the value of family ties, there was a reason your family was in the middle of it all.

Aethra family were Mediators, ones who'd brought the lands together through a psychic network. And for that, they'd earned their respect from Ancients. They had even gone further to form the Terra Union, to work on justice with fairness extended to humans, gods and Ancients, and even creatures rarely seen in your realms.

But in the middle of it all, even the Union couldn't escape mundane politics.

And so your own special broadcasting ability had been skillfully buried under barrier-mastering and shield specialisation that gave you this job. But apart all the ranks you'd earned, your mother still considered you a weapon she'd protect, until the reveal was absolutely necessary.

Which hopefully never came to be.

Because that meant war.

Because what you could do wasn’t supposed to be possible - to blast out a message to any living being, or the whole globe if you so wished. Terra psychic network worked through signal transmitters, family members with broadcasting affinity, where they lent their abilities to connect others directly.

But you didn’t need signal transmitters for pathing, you didn't even need to link into the familial Terra network.

You somehow bypassed them all, exempt from any regulations. That meant you couldn't be tracked and left no evidence.

A weapon.

When Lindinia spoke, the calamity of her voice shushed the whole room. 'An energy bubble burst yesterday, exactly 24 hours before the incident. The centre was in the middle of an uninhabited forest. Sadly, no witnesses-'

'Not this again!’ A loud voice rumbled through the space. ‘I will not risk with the rogues getting to my territory! I'm out!'

In these moments you understood what your cousin Karter, another Terra network transmitter, meant with the impression of a burly bear. Still as handsome as any god, Rangeet held stark masculine beauty only the bravest would invite to their bed.

‘You can't.’ You said, stating what should’ve been obvious. ‘Your comms links will break and we need your link as much as you need ours. Karter can’t hold up your network on his own.'

His eyes blazed, fists clenched.

'But it's your choice Rangeet. You can go back to using phones, handy little devices that humans like. You can even give me a call sometimes, let me know how you're doing.'

You watched his eyebrows turn into a frown, his Second tapping on his arm. Phones could be too easily hacked, its signal picked up midway and destroyed without ever reaching its recipient. It was too easy, a child’s play.

Whereas Aethra transmitters could forward a message and no one would even know its contents. Once a link was initiated, it formed a secured bubble around the parties, formed from both energy fields and invisible on the psychic plane.

'Once we get our hands on those ash samples, shall we attempt a location teleport?’ Jin’s voice sounded and your eyes met his, a glint of amusement lingering on his lips. ‘Surprise them a bit? I'm sure Markir would love a slight exercise, that old man is turning grumpy.’

‘That’s right, let’s get the trackers on the energy lines,’ Lindinia cooed, her eyes flashing with her own power. ‘That would set a great example.’

‘No,' you interrupted. ‘They haven’t killed anyone yet. We’re sticking to the agreement. Trackers have already been sent out to scope the possible areas and so we wait. And prepare.’

‘Are the lines enough for an energetic photo?’ Jin asked and you glanced over at him again - while a reasonable question, you shook your head.

‘Not enough to attempt a teleport. I will not risk losing any more trackers on this.’ What you left unsaid was clear to anyone. Attempting a teleport on an incomplete energetic photo could be fatal.

You’d seen photos once, the torn limbs and the still beating heart halfway spiked through. Sickening. You took a breath to focus.

‘Let’s continue.’

~

'That was tough, Rangeet was so close to ripping out Jin's throat,' Madeli giggled as you both headed out, two pairs of heels clicking on tiled floors.

'I wish he had,' you muttered as you nodded at Lindinia. The goddess with feline grace in a hushed discussion sent back the faintest of smiles. Jin only nodded in acknowledgement, as per the etiquette. Nothing more, nothing less.

'I really have no idea what's up with him,’ you continued once you passed them. ‘He just… really irritates me.'

‘Well, my darling,’ Madeli started, her arm linking over your shoulder. ‘If you haven’t noticed, we’re all a little weird around here.’

Yeah, you'd definitely noticed.

‘But tell me,’ she hushed. ‘A little bird sang of a secret admirer.’

Damn it Ania, you sent another twingle along your familial line. You got back airy bubbles, showing her glee and joy. In hindsight, the rom-com loving secretary and your sister’s fiery soul had been a bad introduction.

‘Who knows, it’s been going on for years,’ you confided as you glanced into the mirror. The glittery strand still remained, but no one had mentioned it. They probably thought you’d lost it. ‘Please also schedule a meeting with Yoongi for later this week. But be careful, he’s in a foul mood.’

‘Of course.’ A snap of her fingers and her organised beeped. ‘What will you do about the stalker guy though?’

You touched the scanner pad and the doors slid open before you. Almost as large as your living quarters, your office space welcomed you with its delicate design and minimalistic interior - a perfect balance of cool ice you represented. Beautiful work, done by another cousin who’d pursued an alternative career path.

‘It’s beyond me.’ You plopped your bag on your desk and headed over to the windows. The view of the city was breathtaking in any weather, the streets bustling with immortals with a human or two thrown into the mix.

The room echoed as Madeli dropped a folder on your desk. ‘Anyway, Alexei just sent through additional energy reads, I’ve passed these on but there’ll be a copy on your datapad. No updates from other teams.’

‘Thank you.’ You glanced over your shoulder. ‘And listen, is it just me or something's not right?’

On your birthday, of all times. When you wanted nothing else but to relax, bask in the sunlight and laugh at silly things that didn't matter.

But a hunch was a hunch.

You didn't ignore hunches.

‘You want to fly over there? A plane would take 2 days and you can't leave for that long. Would you like me to schedule a teleport?’ Madeli checked her organiser. ‘The earliest is tomorrow morning, 7am?’

You shook your head while horrified somersaults ransacked your stomach. One teleport too many in one day.

The nightmares always waited, at the dimensional space you'd vowed to stay away from as a child. That's the only vow you'd ever broken.

‘Today.’ Your heart sunk. ‘Can you contact Jin please?’

Madeli’s raised eyebrows asked questions you didn’t have answers for. 'But he's not an official Terra teleporter.'

‘It’ll be fine.’ You assured, yourself more than her. ‘Sadly he finds me too amusing alive.’

A reluctant tilt of her head, nails clicking against the datapad. A quick affirmative nod a second later.

‘He said he’s free in about an hour, and that.. he’d love to spend some quality time with you?’ A quirked eyebrow. 'Are you certain?'

You slipped out of your heels, rubbing at your calves. ‘Positive, and thank you, I'll get some work done, so let me know what needs immediate attention.’

A shrug as a grin formed on her lips. ‘That's what I do best. And you must keep me posted on your date.’

You would've thrown something at her, but papers did not quite fly well.

 ~