#she keeps the five of them out of legal trouble and just trouble in general

[your-stranger-halfblood-things]

Eddie and Jargyle get Steve into drugs and then we have the four stoner boyfriends who are all dating each other. And then their best friends- Ronance obviously, the ones who keep them out of trouble

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

SEP 22, 2023

The Senate has confirmed three top defense leaders. Last night it confirmed Air Force General Charles Q. Brown Jr. to replace Army General Mark A. Milley as chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff when he retires at the end of the month. Today, it confirmed General Randy A. George as Army chief of staff and General Eric M. Smith as Marine Corps commandant.

The Senate filled the positions at the top of our military by working around the hold extremist senator Tommy Tuberville (R-AL) has put on more than 300 military promotions, allegedly because he objects to the government’s policy of providing leave and travel allowance for service members who have to travel to obtain abortions. 

Jennifer Rubin of the Washington Post focused on the House Republicans today, though, when she wrote: “The GOP completely gone off its rocker—incapable of passing House spending, ranting and raving at AG, cooking up ludicrous and baseless impeachment, unable to greet Zelensky with joint session. This is not normal. This is egregious. You'd think the reporting would reflect it.”

Indeed, the House Republicans remain unable even to agree to talk about funding the government, let alone actually passing the appropriations bills Speaker Kevin McCarthy (R-CA) agreed to four months ago. Today, right-wing extremists in the House blocked a procedural vote over a Pentagon funding bill, keeping what is normally an easily passed bipartisan bill from even reaching the floor for debate. McCarthy acknowledged to reporters that he is frustrated. “This is a whole new concept of individuals who just want to burn the whole place down. It doesn’t work.”

The extremists do indeed appear unconcerned about the effects of their refusal to fund the government, and since they have the five or six votes they need to sink the measures McCarthy wants to pass with only Republican votes, this handful of representatives are the ones deciding whether the government will shut down. 

McCarthy could pass clean funding bills through the House whenever he wishes, but he refuses. To do so would mean working with Democrats, and that would spark a vote to throw him out of the speakership. And so, rather than keep the members in Washington, D.C., to work on the appropriations bills over the weekend, McCarthy recognized he did not have the votes he needs and sent them home.

The extremists are bolstered by former president Donald Trump, who posted on his social media platform today that the Republicans in Congress “can and must defund all aspects of Crooked Joe Biden’s weaponized Government…. This is also the last chance to defund these political prosecutions against me and other Patriots. They failed on the debt limit, but they must not fail now. Use the power of the purse and defend the Country!” 

Experts say shutting down the government would not, in fact, end the former president’s legal troubles, but he is actually doing more than that here: he is trying to assert dominance over the country. As Representative Adam Schiff (D-CA) said: “Let’s be clear about what the former president is saying here. House Republicans should shut down the government unless the prosecutions against him are shut down. He would deny paychecks to millions of working families & devastate the US economy, all in the service of himself.”

Extremist leader Representative Matt Gaetz (R-FL) responded to Trump’s statement with his own: “Trump Opposes the Continuing Resolution” to fund the government,” he wrote. “Hold the line.” Ron Filipkowski of MeidasTouch noted: “House Republicans refuse to fund the government to protect Donald Trump.” 

Trump’s accusation that President Biden is weaponizing the Justice Department against him and others who tried to overturn the results of the 2020 election is the opposite of what has really happened. Not only has Biden stayed scrupulously out of the Justice Department’s business—leaving in place the Trump-appointed leader of the investigation into Biden’s son Hunter, for example—but also we received more proof yesterday that it was Trump, not Biden, who weaponized the Justice Department against his enemies. 

Nora Dennehy, who abruptly resigned from former special counsel John Durham’s investigation into the origins of the FBI’s investigation into Russia’s interference in the 2016 election, explained in her confirmation hearing to Connecticut’s state supreme court yesterday that she quit because Trump’s Department of Justice was tainted by politics. Before joining the probe, she said, “I had been taught and spent my entire career at [the] Department of Justice conducting any investigation in an objective and apolitical manner.” 

But Trump and his loyalists expected Durham’s investigation to prove that there was a “deep state” conspiracy against him, and then–attorney general William Barr seemed to be working to support that fantasy, even though there was no evidence of it (as shown by the fact the investigation ultimately fizzled). Barr was, she thought, violating DOJ guidelines in his public comments about the investigation and in his consideration of releasing an interim report before the 2020 election.

“I simply couldn’t be part of it,” Dannehy said. “So I resigned.”

The resistance of the extremists to McCarthy’s leadership is spilling over into foreign affairs as well. Today, Ukraine president Volodymyr Zelensky was in Washington, D.C., where he met with President Biden at the White House and with leaders at the Pentagon, and spoke to a closed-door session for the Senate. But he did not speak to the House of Representatives. While McCarthy met with him privately, the speaker maintained that “we just didn’t have time” for him to address the House. 

As part of their demands, House extremists want to cut funding for Ukraine’s defense. This would, of course, work to strengthen Russian president Vladimir Putin’s hand in his war against Ukraine. Earlier this month, former Central Intelligence Agency director John Brennan told MSNBC that it is “absolutely essential” to Putin that Trump win back the White House in 2024. “I think it is Putin's main lifeline in order to find some way to salvage what has been a debacle in Ukraine for him," Brennan said. "If Trump is able to return to the White House...Putin could have a like-minded individual that he can work with, detrimental to U.S. interests certainly and detrimental to Western interests overall.” The intelligence community assesses that Putin worked to help Trump in the 2016 and 2020 elections, and is pushing pro-Russia and anti-Ukraine propaganda now.

Defense Secretary Lloyd J. Austin III assured Zelensky that the U.S. will continue to support Ukraine and work with allies and partners to make sure it has the weapons it needs. Lara Seligman of Politico reported today that the Pentagon will continue to fund Ukraine operations even if there is a government shutdown. Military activities deemed crucial to national security can be exempted from being shuttered during a government shutdown.

And finally, 92-year-old Rupert Murdoch announced today that he will be stepping down as chair of his media empire, including both Fox Corporation, which includes the Fox News Channel (FNC), and News Corporation, which owns the Wall Street Journal and the New York Post, among other newspapers. In 1996 the Australian-born mogul launched the Fox News Channel with media specialist Roger Ailes, who had packaged Republican presidential nominee Richard Nixon in 1968 by presenting him to audiences in highly scripted television appearances. 

The Fox News Channel initially presented news from a conservative viewpoint, but over time its opinion shows, delivered as if they were news, came to dominate the channel. Those shows presented a simple narrative in which Americans—overwhelmingly white and rural—wanted the government to leave them alone but “socialists” who wanted social welfare programs demanded their tax dollars. Isolated in the fantasy world of FNC, its viewers became such fanatic adherents to right-wing politics that FNC wholeheartedly trumpeted Trump’s Big Lie after he lost the 2020 presidential election because viewers turned away from FNC when some of its personalities acknowledged that Biden had won..

Angelo Carusone, president of Media Matters for America, said today that “Murdoch created a uniquely destructive force in American democracy and public life, one that ushered in an era of division where racist and post-truth politics thrive.”  Margaret Sullivan, formerly the Washington Post’s media critic, wrote in The Guardian that FNC was “a shameless propaganda outfit, reaping massive profits even as it attacked core democratic values such as tolerance, truth and fair elections.” Murdoch, she wrote, wreaked “untold havoc on American democracy.”

Murdoch sees it differently. In his resignation letter, he attacked “bureaucracies” who wanted to “silence those who would question their provenance and purpose” and “elites” who “have open contempt for those who are not members of their rarefied class.” “Most of the media is in cahoots with those elites, peddling political narratives rather than pursuing the truth,” he wrote. 

Forbes estimates that their media empire has enabled Murdoch and his family to amass a fortune of more than $17 billion.

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[waheelawhisperer]

Make your own skinline theme what would be the theme and cost and who are the operators in the line.

Idols specifically to torment Dreamer

I thought about a lot of horny options (because of course I did), but ultimately I settled on old-timey Western skins - the Columbian Pioneer line. Rhodes Island made the mistake of letting Nian direct another set of movies, but at least they got Ling and Pozzy to edit the script this time.

I kind of ran away with this and it got really long, so just pick 5-6 for the actual skin line or assume they're released in sets.

Protagonists:

Sheriff Nearl headlines the skin line, complete with cowboy hat and enormous fake mustache

Deputy Gavial helps Nearl bring in lawbreakers.

Blemishine is the protagonist, a young gun whose journey we follow over the course of the film series.

Whislash is her mentor, the retired gunslinger that passes on her tips and tricks to both Margaret and Maria. Can frequently be found drunk at the bar in the town saloon.

Allies:

Gladiia, Horn, and Bagpipe are Columbian military officers assigned to occupy the territory and keep the peace and provide manpower to the protagonists when necessary.

Mountain is a wealthy rancher with political connections back in more settled areas who comes into frequent conflict with SilverAsh over the latter's efforts to expand his influence. Saria is his bodyguard. Croissant and Exusiai are his ranch hands.

Swire is the daughter of a Senator and Mountain's childhood friend. She's the one he sends a telegram to when SilverAsh is causing too much trouble. Swire insisted that her character be married to Ch'en's before she would participate/help bankroll the film.

Ch'en wanted nothing to do with this nonsense, but was eventually bullied/cajoled into taking her (relatively small) part. Nearly throttled all three of Swire, Closure, and Nian when they tried to shoehorn her into a shower scene.

Tomimi barged into one of the planning meetings and demanded a part that let her be close to Gavial, so Nian made her the town barber and Gavial's wife. Tomimi initially demanded at least one explicit and fully method-acted sex scene between her and Gavial per movie, but casting director Shining managed to negotiate her down to making out with tongue.

Penance plays the Hanging Judge. She keeps correcting Nian's ideas about how the legal system works.

Antagonists:

SilverAsh is the wealthy railroad baron from back East, and the backer of the various troublemakers Nearl/Gavial/Blemishine have to contend with early on. He's the ultimate antagonist.

Degenbrecher is his personal gun-for-hire, the fastest gun in the west, who Margaret faces down in a climactic shootout at the end of the series. For added bonus points, she's the one that retired Whislash.

Matterhorn and Courier are more of SilverAsh's hired gunslingers.

Chongyue plays the corrupt territorial governor in SilverAsh's pocket. He asked if he could have a part to help Nian out. Closure agreed on the condition that he get at least one shirtless scene to drive sales.

Hoshiguma is the leader of the legendary Oni Gang, a group of outlaws that also includes "Deadeye" Schwarz, Specter "The Shark" Laurentina, Lappland "The Executioner" Saluzzo, and Indra "El Tigre" Jackson. All five of them are having the time of their lives hamming it up as villains.

Passenger is an arms dealer who hired a group of mercenaries to start skirmishes on the frontier to drum up business. W is the leader of those mercenaries. The heroes have to hunt them down before they manage to start a full-fledged war.

Townsfolk:

Mlynar once served in the army, retired, and now owns and runs the town's general store. He disapproves of his nieces' decision to become gunfighters and voices that opinion frequently.

Kal'tsit is the owner of the town saloon and the madam of the attached brothel. She frequently has to be reminded to deliver her lines as written and not... expand upon them.

Blaze is the saloon's bartender/bouncer. She was not permitted access to real alcohol during filming.

Skadi plays a dancer/singer at the saloon. She took the part to get the Doctor's attention and then immediately regretted it when she saw the dress that Nian and Closure expected her to wear. Forceful negotiation from both her and Gladiia convinced the costume department to provide her with clothing that is unlikely to cause a wardrobe malfunction during filming.

Elysium plays the classic hooker with a heart of gold and has to be frequently reminded that ratings agencies do not consider full frontal male nudity acceptable for the films' intended audience.

Franka plays another one of the brothel's working ladies and keeps asking the costuming department if she can show more cleavage.

Liskarm is a Pinkerton detective who swings by town to spend her wages on Franka with considerable regularity.

Saileach is the local schoolmarm. The kids at Rhodes Island play her students.

Eunectes serves as the local blacksmith. There may or may not be a budding romance between her and Blemishine.

Executor plays the town preacher and takes his assigned role very seriously.

[magic-is-something-we-create]

first snippet from the newest rewrite of goddess-touched lets go

(also new more casual format so i dont feel obligated to keep things Professional cause this is a play space not, like, a marketing presentation)

dusk pov, ~560 words content warnings: implied mass death, implied familial death

Emerald’s jaw tightens, gratitude and shame dancing around his throat.

His eyes stay downcast as she helps him up. Pinned to the loamy earth as he tests his weight, not quite focusing once the liquid in the dirt stops looking close enough to water to convince oneself otherwise. Even so, before she can brush past him and start leading the way downriver, he stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. What comes from his lips isn’t a protest, though. Nor is it in Mae, nor Common. It shivers like an apology all the same.

Lakia freezes, tenses. The coil of anger around her rears its head, flaring and spitting like a cobra ready to strike. Braces, baring its fangs and rippling with a frenzied rage caged just beneath the surface of its scales. Her words are short, clipped. Rill, I think, the smooth trill of the language bleeding through and finally connecting to my memories of Tal’Ren. She turns her head marginally, not quite looking him in the eye as she shrugs towards the devastation. His expression falters. He gets maybe three words of protest out, before she snaps back. The only thing I understand of the exchange is the way she spits Veratrum like a curse. Nothing more is said. He lets go, blinking, troubled and confused and guilt-ridden. She walks on, waving for the crew to follow, surreptitiously telling one to keep an eye on Emerald in case his leg fails. And together, they all begin the dogged journey back to Aree. I linger, even after Emerald shakes himself back to the present. Watch the water, a flimsy thread of connection to something--someone--else tickling at the back of my awareness. Turn, once I’ve built up the courage, and look back to the remains of Impalfahr. Five glass statues stand atop the ruins. One is much smaller than the rest, her violet locs tied back in a name-bracelet that I lost along with the book it was holding place in about a year after she died, and that I still find myself missing at the oddest times. Two are strikingly paler than the others: one hunched and worn with age, her lilac braid nearly brushing the ground, the other standing at attention and baring the line of red rope burn that circles his throat even in death. Another, skin darker than mine and face more indistinct than the others, my memories too faded for the details to form, holds her hand up in a gentle, sad farewell. And the last, standing ram-rod straight as ever, peers at the center of the ruins as he chews on the pipe between his teeth. “Ember was right.” I hear Genli Rainer’s echoing, rattling voice again, just like when he first appeared in the desolation. He only managed a greeting, then, before the rest of the city awoke. “Wish I was brave as they are, to tell them when I could. Maybe this is the clean slate they can use to change the world.” He turns crisply on his heel, the only one of the souls still recent enough to move. He raises his hand, touches it to his forehead. And Genli Rainer, general of Impalfahr and my Godfather in all but legality, fallen with the rest of the city at the hands of it’s own, gives me the three-fingered salute of the Firebreathers. “Give Actaea hell for me.”

[little-wawita]

Im back <3. First of all

and

And the tags in cuestion of course

Now.

VLAD YOU´RE IN SO MUCH TROUBLE. Guy thinks that just because he (nearly) flawlessly hid his lab he wouldn't be discovered? Tell me you've never met a bat without telling me you've never met a bat. Keeping all his incriminating stuff togheter is probably the dumbest thing he's done but Vlad isn't known for being as smart as he thinks.

Also the image of his sorry ass waking up in the middle of the night hearing the-baby-that-refuses-to-be-his-baby chirping for family? baby want family?? but not you, asshole, he's playing with your feelings, go back to sleep (his ass is not sleeping, don't believe what he says, he's a liar who lies) ((he's also screaming his lungs out to the next underling he finds)).

Orphan apearing out of nowhere to help, girl how did you learn that? what do you mean with you worked in construction?? where??? Ask all you want, she's not answering, wait where did she go? whatever, you heard her boys, keep working!

Now, the kids going to the police instead of home? Awesome, everything according to plan :]. Oh, a social worker? Ok, this seems a little bit excesive but they haven't been around for many police related issues so maybe that's how they handle minors? Oh. Their parents are under investigation? The GIW are actually a bunch of humans sopremacist and aren't legal?. Ok, it's fine, they can take it.

(it's not fine, but they can take it regardless)

At least the social worker is nice.

But learning that their aunt won't take the, specially the reason why? DEVASTATING. It felt like that anyways.

I also had to google about the axolotl thing, it shouldn't have been so funny.

Also, Jazz is baby. Please let her act like the baby she is, even if we know she won't. :'((((

THE WHOLE THING JUST TO MAKE JASON RELATED TO THEM. These bitches (bats) aren't just pulling some strings and faking papers, oh no, they are completely puppetering the whole situation so the kids would end up with Jason in Gotham. He IS getting his son, thank you very much. And his son's sister. (he aint calling her daughter unless she allows him to) ((Danny is not getting the same privilege.))

NOW ABOUT THE TAGS

There are going to be so many misunderstandings when they realize WHO, specificaly, Vlad was trying to clone. And his reasons. The little badger thing is also not helping, sorry Vlad. It's also gonna generate so many awkward questions and even MORE awkward-er conversations, sorry Danny.

Jack having five siblings is literally the least surprising thing about this post. He is also the middle child but the physically bigger of all of his siblings, you CANNOT tell me he's not used to having little gremlings and bigger gramlings using him as a literal climbing post. That's why he's so strong, all of his siblings were always on top of him when they were togheter before he was disowned. Too bad there's no one to climb him now.

Anyways. Thank you so much for feeding us with this lovely addition Op, kudos, all the kudos for you <3<3. Also don't stress yourself if you dont have (or dont want) more things to add to this au AND if you do dont pressure yourself to write it quickly or whatever, we love you anyways <3.

Ghost Chirps AU Part 4

A little treat in these trying times

Part 1 & 2

Part 3

***

The first time Daniel chirps (to Vlad’s knowledge, but it’s actually the fifth, he was just out of range in the GZ all the previous time) Vlad responds immediately. 

The boy attacks him just as viciously as ever, and Vlad assumes from then on that the boy is merely taunting him, crying out for family only to go “no, not you.”

Vlad ignores it from then on. It isn’t particularly frequent anyway.

When he hears him chirping back and forth with some other ghost somewhere on the East Coast he feels his eye twitch. 

He dismisses it, however. No doubt it is one of Daniel’s little ghost allies helping him try to antagonize Vlad into showing up just to be rejected again.

Well, Vlad won’t fall for Daniel’s petty tricks. He would be Vlad’s son in time one way or another, no need to indulge the boy’s temporary sense of superiority.

It is grating when it wakes him up in the middle of the night, but he goes back to sleep quickly after.

Midday, he thinks he might have to track down Danny’s little friend for a nice long chat about Not Doing That. But that’s an issue for later.

Before “later” can arrive, Vlad finds himself taken into “temporary custody” while the police search his house.

He goes peacefully, assured that they’ll find nothing amiss, all of his ecto materials tucked neatly away in a lab that is inaccessible any way other than phasing. And wrapped in lead just in case.

He does not notice that a member of the Justice League is involved, nor would he care, certain that none could find his lab. And utterly unaware of the JLD’s existence.

Not that the JLD is needed in this case.

Despite his best efforts to change every copy of the construction crews’ blueprints both digital and physical in order to eliminate knowledge of the inaccessible room, there’s no accounting for memory.

Officer Roger worked in construction before joining the force, and it was only less than a half a year ago that Masters’ Amity home was constructed. Officer Roger still remembers the doorless, windowless box they built alongside the small mansion itself. It’s nowhere to be found on the property, so he brings it up with his superior.

Orphan questions it - nearly giving the whole team heart-attacks in the process - but a simple “I used to work in construction” seems to be enough to satisfy her curiosity.

A two hour sweep with some metal detectors finds nothing.

Then Orphan reappears from the shadows, providing another jumpscare, before pressing a hand silently to the side of her head.

The crew watches in silence as well, giving their pulses a chance to slow.

A ten-count later Orphan’s hand drops, and she strides confidently to the rear-left corner of the mansion and points at the ground.

“200 feet beneath the foundation,” she says before disappearing back into the shadows.

The crew shares a look and gets to work.

The time it takes to dig up the cube is just more time spent in a cell for Vlad, where he waits patiently, assured he’ll be released soon enough.

The lab itself would be only a minor problem - there would be fines and inspections and a heavy watch until everything was brought up to code. Questions about how he accessed it would be a larger problem.

But worst of all, in the comfort of his lab? He’s not much for hiding away incriminating documents. 

Of which there are many, given his propensity for keeping extensive records of his experiments, which include unethical cloning and what sums up to human experimentation. 

Once they find the actual facilities for the experiments in his Wisconsin home? It will all be over for him.

Being a ghost he could, of course, simply flee the cell and start anew somewhere else, with a new identity or even in a new dimension altogether - so long as he could nab Maddie and her children to bring with him.

But within his labs, he also keeps extensive records of himself.

A copy of the Plasmius Maximus.

Other ghost- and halfa-capturing restraints.

When he hears steps approaching his cell 2 days into his stay when it is clearly not a mealtime, he thinks “finally” assured that he is about to be released.

He only registers that it is Batman after he’s been hit by the Plasmius Maximus - cut off from his powers for at least the next two hours.

He has no chance to complain, as he is subsequently tranqued unconscious to be taken to a more secure location.

***

It’s an hour and half after school let out when the cops - who had taken to trying to distract Jazz and Danny with cards games and work stories while they waited - step away to answer their radios. 

When they return, they tell them that it’s ���time to go.”

The siblings share a look, then shrug.

It wouldn’t be the first time the cops had to drive them home - rare though it was, there were at least 4 such occasions in their memories. It wasn’t a big deal.

They were less than enthused when the cops explained that they’d be heading to take them to the station instead of to home. Still, they chalked it up to the whole “questions about the Red Hood” thing and moved on. 

At least it meant they could dodge a home visit like Danny had wanted.

Except when they get there, they are taken to a cushy room and introduced to their social worker, a woman with a kind smile and a soothing voice who introduces herself as Bethany Scott, sits them down and explains, very gently, that their parents are currently under investigation.

To her credit, she isn’t condescending. She doesn’t try to hide away the truth; when they ask why, she tells them.

It’s a surprisingly long list of charges. Of everything on it, the violation of the meta protection acts comes as the biggest surprise.

Their parents were obsessive about ghosts, but they were also good at it. They never attack anything that doesn’t have ectoplasm.

Well, barring a few misfires.

Another surprise comes then: the Anti-Ecto Acts don’t exist. Ghosts are covered by the MPA by design, the AEA would never have gotten off of the ground in any legal capacity. It is solely a creation of the GIW, an extreme “‘real’ humans only” supremacist group that had worked at every level to pull the wool over the eyes of the small town’s citizenry so thoroughly that they’d been thought a real government agency - the imitation of which would be just one of the many charges that every member they managed to capture would be facing.

Then Mrs Scott starts talking about placement options.

Their Aunt, they are told, is not an option. 

It comes as a surprise to Danny. On quiet nights, when no ghosts showed up to interrupt him and Sam and Tucker weren’t up to distract him with a game of Doomed, his mind would sometimes wander back to that darkest of timelines.

He’d wondered how Vlad had ended up with custody. Being his godfather made him an option, but Danny would’ve wanted to go with Alicia. Will be damned, Danny would’ve plead on both knees with the judge to go with his aunt. Grieving or not, he’d have wanted as much distance between him and Vlad as possible,

He’d assumed Vlad must have done something to her or paid off the judge to rule in his favor.

To find out it was because she simply wouldn’t take him?

A part of him understands. He doesn't - Aunt Alicia is a kind person, yes, but not particularly loving or caring. When his parents brought up the subject of children with her on one of their rare visits, she described herself as having “less motherly instinct than a starving axolotl.”

Not an encouraging description after he read a book on axolotls for context. 

With their options being “Aunt in a small wood cabin in the middle of nowhere with the emotional sensitivity of a bull in a china shop” and “Rich friend of the family who would enable them to stay in contact with their friends and could hire them therapists even if he’s personally useless for helping them through the grieving process” she probably also figured marking herself down as a solid non-option would just expedite them getting the help they need (because she does care, even if she herself can’t - won’t - be there for them in that way).

He doesn’t hate her, but the knowledge burns. To know that there really was no avoiding Vlad - in that horrible future and in the now - makes him sick to his stomach.

Except-

Except before he can spiral, Mrs Scott tells them that Vlad is also not an option. Because he’s also under investigation.

A hysterical giggle bursts past his lips before he can think to stop it.

“Why?” he asks, ignoring Jazz’ disapproving grimace.

It’s less funny when they’re told that he’s under investigation under suspicion of mostly the same violations as their parents - including MPA violation, given the whole “million dollar ghost” incident and related propaganda. As the mayor especially, he should’ve known the AEA weren’t real and that the GIW were frauds and it was his responsibility to do something about them.

Depending on how he’d interacted with the group, he might be looking at aiding and abetting treason - or just outright treason - charges.

“If Aunt Alicia and Vlad both aren’t able to take us, then where are we going to go?” Jazz asks, shoving her emotions aside to deal with the matter at hand.

“Ordinarily, we would call up a few local fosters and see if one could take you in for a few days while we look into more long-term options. Worst case scenario you would have to spend a night or two in a hotel suite connected to mine while I found someone,” she answers. “But the two of you are in luck; Batman is the one who brought the case to our attention - apparently some erratic behavior from Red Hood brought them here, don’t ask, I don’t have all the details - and offered to run your parents’ DNA to check for other relatives that could take you. There was a match.”

The siblings share another look.

Both grandparents on their mother’s side had been only children and both were dead. Aunt Alicia had already said no and had no children of her own. Their father had been disowned by his family, and even if their other Aunts and Uncles would have been willing to take them in it didn’t matter, because all 5 had died in various accidents on their “hunts.”

“Apparently your uncle, Jerry Fenton, had a fling before he passed with one Ms Sheila Haywood. Their son, Jason, was thought to be the son of Willis Todd and Mrs Haywood until the DNA test today. He was raised by Willis and Mrs Catherine Todd until his subsequent adoption by Mr Bruce Wayne, and is currently living in Gotham.”

And it sounds wrong - the only thing most Fentons could love was mystery and danger - thus why only one out of six had survived. But they don’t know enough to dispute it.

Also. The involvement of another billionaire is setting off alarm bells. On the one hand: this could be a fruitloop paying someone off in order to forcibly adopt them. On the other hand, maybe Jason Todd really was a Fenton and being adopted by fruitloops was some kind of curse on the current generation.

“We contacted Mr. Todd the moment the connection was made. He has expressed an interest in taking you in, and flew out immediately to come and meet you. He arrived not five minutes ago.”

She paused and gave them a sympathetic look. 

“I understand that this is all a lot to take in. Please know that placing you with Mr. Todd is not the end of my duties; even after he takes you, I will be following you to Gotham. I’ll be looking into counselors for the both of you, and we’ll have a follow up on that topic in a maximum of a week’s time. I’ll also be doing regular home checks to ensure you’re both settling in well and that you’re being taken good care of. 

Even with what little I’ve gleaned, it is obvious that the environment you both grew up in until now was neither a safe nor a healthy one. It is my job to ensure that doesn’t happen again. If you have any concerns about your placement home now or in the future, please do not hesitate to bring them up with me. If you worry something is not “important” enough to mention, rest assured that if it bothers you in the slightest, then it’s important to me.”

She gives them each a long look.

Then she brings in Jason.

[deluxewhump]

Oh, that is a Carlo AU I would DIE to read!!!

Martin Olson

CW: pet whump, general creepiness. Mention of underfeeding whumpee. Past minor whump implied by timeline. eye whump mention

Summary: Erik hits some legal trouble and gives Carlo to his friend Martin Olson for safekeeping.

-

Martin Olson met Erik Holstrom over fifteen years ago, in a mutual friend's parlor. It was a champagne and tie event for their friend’s gubernatorial race. He later lost it to a democrat whose son’s left leg had just been crushed in service to his country— a rolling armored truck in Fallujah with impeccable timing. Martin and Erik had stayed in touch, their circle of mutual friends growing over the years.

Erik was a well liked and even better respected man, a businessman to his core and a bit of a pessimist. Which is why Olson was a touch surprised at the hot water Erik found himself in presently. It was one thing for the government to deal arms internationally and lie about it later. It was another for them to be supplied by someone in the private sector. Quite another. Erik had bitten off more than he could chew.

While he prided himself on being a little more low-key in his endeavors, Olson did admire Erik’s calm in the face of his proverbial ship going belly up. He sounded busy— mildly inconvenienced on the phone. “Do you want him? I’d prefer he stayed somewhere I can find him again. I’ve had him since he was only a child.”

Olson opened the plane’s plastic window visor with two fingers, looked out on the rainy tarmac. Baltimore. Local time 10:52 pm.

“Do I want him? Did I not offer you an outlandish amount of money for him just six months ago?”

“You’re always doing that. This is serious. And fast. I don’t need your money. This is a favor, really. A favor to me. Just don’t let him talk to any feds, lawyers, or journalists, and he’s yours.”

“I wouldn’t let my daughter’s iguana around feds, lawyers, or journalists, Erik,” Olson teased, though privately he was already imagining that beautiful boy-pet in his mind's eye.

Something about that one. Carlo. Something always made him look twice.

“It’s done, then. Keith will bring him to you?”

“I’ll be watching for him. I’m flattered I was your pick.”

“Martin?”

Olson hummed an upward inflection.

“He’s… he’s very sweet. Eager to please. You won’t have to apply much pressure in any direction, if you understand me.”

Olson smiled at the stewardess as she took his glass, vodka on the rocks that was now just rocks.

“Are you asking me not to go rough on a pet, Erik? Have you gone soft?”

“Don’t worry, prison will cure me of it, I’m sure.”

Olson winced. “Keep your head up. I hear you’ve got a dream team in the works.” 

In truth, he didn’t know what earthly good the best lawyers in the country would do with a rap sheet like Erik’s. 

The cabin lights came on as the seatbelt light chimed off. Olson checked his watch. Erik’s man might just beat him to his own front gate with his new pet.

- 

“You’re frightened,” Martin said, turning on another light. 

The house felt still and cold, impersonal as a hotel room despite the tens of thousands he’d spent to have it comfortably furnished. He didn’t think he’d slept in the master bed more than twice. The sheets were still stiff.

“I bought this house when my wife and I split,” he explained, looking into the shapeless shadows of the high ceilings. “It doesn’t quite feel like home yet. Sit down, love, it’s okay.”

Carlo moved quickly to the end of the bed, sat there obediently. Martin could see the tips of his dark curls giving away his shaking, no matter how well he tried to keep his composure. 

He’d never wanted a boy before, not as a personal pet, but from the moment he’d laid eyes on this one some five years ago, he knew he’d take him in a heartbeat. And he’d only grown more beautiful.

“But why on God’s green earth does he keep you underfed like that?” Martin mused, more to himself than the boy.

Big, dark eyes flew to his. He had the audacity to look insulted. Olson laughed and Carlo dropped his gaze, terrified.

“That was rude of me. Forget that. Tell me why you’re afraid. Are you worried for your master?”

The boy nodded.

“Are you afraid of me?”

Nothing.

“Speak. I don’t want to communicate with you in nods and silences.”

He went closer, meaning to lift Carlo’s chin. He flinched, turning his face to the side. Olson sighed and squatted down to eye-level.

“Erik’s going to be just fine, Carlo. Knowing him, he’s already planned for every contingency. Now as to why you’re so unsure of me… Did he tell you unflattering stories about me? Perhaps the one where I blinded my pet for looking at another man? Or was it the one where I cut off her eyelids so she’d have to keep looking?”

Slowly, reluctantly, the boy pulled his gaze from the bedroom wall and met his.

“Tall tales. Fantasies. I used to tell her similar stories about my friends and colleagues, to keep her safe. She could be too trusting. I’m guessing that was Erik’s fear with you, too.”

He could see the doubt cross the boy's pretty, smooth face. He was still trembling like a leaf.

“Do you know what Erik asked me to do?”

Carlo answered with a small shake of the head.

“He asked me to take care of you. He said he wanted you somewhere he knows he can find you later, when all this nonsense is done.”

Despite a valiant effort, the boy blinked at tears, his tightly held lips finally parting to choke back a sob.

Martin reached up and did something he’d wanted to do so badly in Milan, the last time he’d seen him. He ran the back of his knuckles over his soft dark hair, taking a piece between his fingers and petting the pad of his thumb over it. 

He knew he could not own someone like property, for people were not things. No slip of paper from the state of Maryland could undo that truth. But that didn’t bother him. Defiance and human error from a pet didnt bother him either, like it did some. It was not ownership he wanted. Only access.

“I know you’re scared. And homesick. Hell, I'm homesick. This isn’t home for me either.”

His heartbeat quickened pleasantly as he traced a finger over the boy's cheek, reveling in the intimate wetness of tears.

“But you’re a hell of a housewarming gift, aren’t you?”

[peakyoak]

This Dark Disposition: Chapter 26 - London

Arthur's Note - Unfortunately, the time has come where I will be changing my posting schedule to every other day. I am starting a new and incredibly busy job in the fall and will likely cut down further come September. It's important to me that I keep up the quality of the story, rather than how often I'm able to post. I hope you'll all stick around to read anyways!

Chapter 26 - London

Sexual Content - Minors Please Respect This Arthur’s Wishes and Do Not Read. 

Family Meeting - The Next Day

Danielle was sitting in the gambling den beside Arthur. Polly and John were standing near the back of the room. Danielle noticed that Polly must be nervous - pacing a little, smoking, not sitting with her at the table. 

“Where the bloody hell is, Tommy,” John looked at Danielle who took out a smoke and lit it with her lighter.

“He’s on his way,” Polly defended. 

“Right,” Arthur said as he stood from the table and placed a crate of whiskey on top of it, “Well we’re waiting patiently, whiskey left over from the Explosion.” He began to pour a few glasses, “It's good stuff as well.”

John silently took a glass and drank it. Arthur passed one to Danielle as well. She knew she was going to need it to get through this family meeting. It appeared to her that John and Esme, who had yet to say a single helpful word, were clearly not in favour of London.

“Okay,” John spoke. Danielle looked at Pol, Here we fucking go. “Before Tommy gets here, I think we need to take a vote about the expansion South.”

“Wait until Tommy gets here,” Danielle said as she sipped her whiskey.

“You have anything to say,” Polly walked towards the table where they were sitting, “You wait for Thomas.”

“The woman are fucking right,” Arthur exclaimed. 

“Well I see all the books, legal and off track. In the past year The Shelby Company Limited has been making 150 pounds a day. 150 pounds a fucking day!” John argued. 

“I see the books too, ‘tis me who runs this betting shop,” Danielle rose from the table and took a drag of her smoke, “Should we successfully expand South the company will be making five times that amount - at least by my estimate.” John looked her up and down, “You have five kids John, and lord knows Esme will be pregnant again soon,” she turned to look at both of them, “This expansion would create generational wealth, for all your children.”

John scoffed, though to Danielle that meant that he thought she had a point, not that he disagreed. 

“Generational wealth, John,” Danielle went to stand beside Polly, “The kind that outlives you, survives wars, and even depression. The kind that extends past the grave.”

Tommy walked around the corner and stood in the entryway, clearly he had listened to what she had said. Danielle made eye contact with him and then returned to where she was sitting. It's Tommy’s job to sell London now. 

“I’m told only family are allowed to speak,” Esme said.

“On your feet Esme, let’s hear what you have to say,” Tommy asked as he pulled out a smoke and ran it along his lips.

“I’ll speak for my family,” John said.

“Sit the fuck down, John, I can’t hear your wife,” Danielle snapped.

Esme looked at Danielle and then at Tommy, “I will get to my point.”

“That would be nice,” Polly said as she pulled out a smoke. 

“As my husband said, the company is very successful. But London, I have kin in Shepherd's bush and Portobello.” Danielle saw Tommy light his smoke and take a drag, “It's more like wars between armies down there. And the coppers fight side by side with them. I have a child. Blessed with Shelby family good looks. I want John to see him grow up. I want us to someday live somewhere with fresh air and trees. Keep chickens or something,” she adjusted to face Tommy directly, “But London is just smoke and trouble, Thomas.” She sat back down on the step, “That’s all I have to say,” Danielle stared at John as she watched the man adjust his arms over his chest.

“That was a lot of words,” Arthur handed the glass to Tommy, “Wash them down with a nice drink.”

“Thank you Esme. Firstly, the bang in the pub had nothing to do with London, understood?” Danielle’s ears perked up at Tommy’s words, this was the first she had heard of this, “The bang is something I’m dealing with on my own.” Tommy looked at Danielle who stared back at him. It was clear that they were going to be having a conversation about this later, “Secondly, we have nothing to fear from the business expansion so long as we stick together. After the first few weeks, nine tenths of what we do in London will be legal. The other tenth is in good hands, isn’t that right Arthur?”

“That’s right.” he replied. 

“Some of you have expressed reservations about the future of this company. If any of you wish to leave and no longer be a part of the future of this company, walk out that door, right now. Go raise your chickens.” 

His speech paused and he looked at Danielle, “Those of you with ambition, the expansion begins in two weeks.”

“There is one other thing I want to talk about today,” Danielle said as she stood from the table to be beside Tommy, “My brother, Jamie is now in the city.” She motioned for the boy to come into the room. She put her hand on his back, “A few of you have already met him,” Danielle looked at Polly who smiled back at her, “I hope that you’ll welcome him like you all welcomed me. He is to stay out of trouble and away from anything that involves razor blades, do you understand me?” She looked at the boys in the room, some family, some blinders, “That's an order.” She turned to look at Isaiah, “You will stay with him every hour that he is not sleeping, understood?” 

“Yes, Miss Virtue.”

Danielle nodded, “Right,” Arthur said as he slapped his thighs and stood from the table, “Well boy, let’s get you your first drink then, eh?” He poured another glass and whiskey and handed it to him as the meeting concluded and the betting shop reopened.

Danielle walked over to Polly, while the boys introduced themselves to Jamie, “Thanks again Pol for letting him stay with you in Tommy’s old room.” 

Polly smiled in reply, “Any Virtue is welcome, now that you’re soon to be a Shelby.”

That Night

Hours later, Tommy walked through the front door of their house, slightly annoyed. Danielle forgot to lock the door again. The house was dark, it was almost three in the morning. He walked upstairs and into the bedroom.

Danielle stirred after hearing him come in, “Tommy, come to bed,” she called. He took off his shirt and then leaned over the bed to kiss her, “The meeting went better than I thought.” 

Tommy took off his pants and then got into bed next to her. He sat up to lean against the headboard and she leaned against him. He put his arms around her, “The boys have taken a liking to Jamie.”

“That's what I’m afraid of,” Danielle said as she looked up to kiss him and he kissed her back. Then, just as Tommy was starting to get aroused she leaned away, “Where have you been? And remember, I will know if you’re lying to me.”

“Irish business,” Tommy responded as he leaned in to kiss her again, she pulled away more. 

“Irish business? Is that who blew up the pub?”

“I think so,” Tommy shifted in bed, and raised his eyebrow at her, he knew what she was doing, how she was getting information from him, “And Danny, there’s something else.” Danielle shifted in bed to face him as he stayed leaning against the headboard, “Campbell is back. Moss told me this evening.”

Danielle looked at him and examined his face. She wondered what this would mean for them and for the expansion. She knew he was telling the truth, though maybe not in full detail, “It seems like John is the only one who will need more convincing about London.”

“Aye,” Tommy replied as he put his hands on her arms and ran them up and down lovingly, “What do you really think about London, eh?”

“I knew what I got myself into,” Danielle said as she sat up facing Tommy, and looked at the ring on her finger, “When I agreed to be with you.” She leaned in to kiss him now that she had learned what she wanted to learn. 

Suddenly something changed and Tommy flipped her over so she was on her back. He put his hand on her throat and squeezed, leaving her reeling from both his hand and the weight of him on top of her. Tommy knew that he had her attention now, he leaned down and said in her ear, “Don’t you ever, threaten to take that ring off again. Do you understand?”

Danielle made direct eye contact with him as she nodded her head with his hand still around her throat, “You might be the queen of fucking Birmingham out there,” Tommy said as he motioned in the direction of the street, “But, in here, when its just you and me, I’m the one who gives the orders,” he squeezed her neck a little more, “And that ring ain’t coming off until the day you die.”

Danielle nodded her head again and then he loosened his grip on her neck. She gasped for air but as she did his lips hit hers and he began to kiss her passionately. He kissed all along her neck and fondled her breast before he suddenly ripped off her silk night slip, “Tommy,” she protested when she heard it rip. 

“I’ll buy you another one, love,” he said as he grabbed both of her hands and put them over her head. He then kissed down her body until he was between her legs, and it was then that Danielle realized how much she loved this. How much she envied this every moment she wasn’t in bed with him, “Ah Tommy” she exclaimed while he worked between her legs.

“Stay still,” he demanded and she tried to avoid squirming around on the bed. As she felt tension begin to build between her legs she put one of her hands in his hair, he took his mouth away from her body, “Who's is this?”

“It's yours Tommy, it's always been yours,” she exclaimed and he went back to work. After she had climaxed he came back up to meet her lips with his, making her taste what he had done. Then without another word he entered her and immediately Danielle began to feel the tension rising again.

She felt her body flex around him and his pace quickened. He put his hand back around her neck and she felt his thrusts get deeper and harder. She looked him directly in the eye once more, refusing to be defeated by his gaze or his rough thrusting. She gripped the sheets and felt her body let go and her eyes roll back as she shook uncontrollably. He let go at the same time and she felt him pump all that he had into her body. 

He took his hand off his neck and gently rubbed her cheek as he kissed her lips one more time. And then drew away from her body to look at her. He saw his seed leaking out of her and then he raised an eyebrow, and shrugged his shoulders, “I’m sorry I woke you up.” 

She playfully slapped his arm before he laid back down on the bed and she laid in his arms, “No you’re bloody not.”

[clarawatson]

It Only Takes a Taste

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded stuff, but I’m not sure where this is going as a larger work so we’ll say Fem!reader to be safe) Summary: You work at a diner. Aaron Hotchner falls in love with you. We’re not kidding around trying to make us all sound like profilers, just accept the diner life, we love it here. W/C: 1498 Warnings: none yet!  A/N:  First chapter of that diner!au i was talking about here! AO3 ps. I forgot to tag people, so: @willowrose99 & @genevievedarcygranger my beloveds. If you want to get added to the tag list jump in my inbox and i’ll try to remember to add tags every time i post. Where am I in this series?  01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |

~

When you first meet him it’s 5am and raining. You’re switching over shifts for your friend, Rita, because she’s been doing night shifts at the diner. This late into her pregnancy she shouldn’t be working, not technically, but she needs the money and she’s got insomnia because of the baby, so she works nights now. There’s always someone working with her, be it Joe (who’s got far too much muscle for a chef) or Lola (who can beat anyone to a pulp with a pie tray). In the early hours of the morning a bunch of tatt’ed bikies come and sit and talk about their extracurricular activities (definitely not legal) because one time there was an armed hold up and the police didn’t turn up until two hours after it had happened. People don’t like holding up a diner full of men who eat their own motorbikes for breakfast.

But when he comes in, he’s not any of them. He’s not even one of Lola’s nightly hook-ups (she needs the money, you don’t ask). He’s too well dressed in a grey suit (or is it black? Maybe it’s black), trying desperately to shove his I.D. badge in his pocket. He has a look about him that says ‘I’m part of one of the alphabet soup agencies’. A smile on his face, dead in the eyes, and the weight of the world on his shoulders. He fumbles with his wallet as he squints to read the menu behind the counter. The rain’s stopped dripping from his hair, instead he’s got droplets like his woken with the morning dew upon him.

“Hi love,” Rita coos as she hangs her apron up. She has a look about her that says she’ll eat this man for her breakfast. It’s an effort not to curse those pregnancy hormones some days.

“Go home,” you tell her, swatting her arm. “Put your feet up, rest, sleep while the baby does or some shit.” Rita sticks her bottom lip out and pouts, but she’s making grabby hands for her purse, which is stored where the tea towels used to be. Far too high to reach even when one’s not pregnant. You grab it down for her, ignoring the showering of thank-yous.

The new guy (who is getting more and more handsome by the second) is still looking at the menu. He doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking and order any time soon.

“Are you sure you’re fine to take the metro in this weather?” you check. She’s rubbing her swollen belly and looking longingly at the booths that haven’t had anyone sit in them for hours now. 

“Wait forty-five minutes and I’ll take you!” Joe yells. He’s slaving over something in the kitchen even though it looks like no one’s ordered in hours. “Wife gave me the car ‘cause of the storm!”

“Forty-five,” you repeat and point her towards the seat that she’s been eyeing off. Rita sighs, nods, then goes out to the seat. “What can I get you?” Usually when addressing the customer you’d add something gentle like ‘sweetheart’ or ‘love’ or ‘dear’ because the customers like it and they come back because they think you’re treating them like a long lost friend.

He bats his dark eyelashes and rubs at his forehead.

“I don’t know.” He sounds tired, balancing on the very edge of exhaustion. He might just fall off into a pit of sleep that he won’t wake up from. Been there, done that. “Do you guys do coffee?”

You laugh and point to the brewed pot beside you. There’s one for each table, free refills with a pie purchase. It’s written in decorative lettering right above you on the blackboard.

“We can put it in a take-away cup. It’s before six so it’s free anyway,” you offer. The last bits a lie, but Joe doesn’t care about a cup or two of coffee going missing. He’ll catch it up later when he flirts with all of the mom’s coming through after school drop off. The new guy nods and pulls out a ten dollar note and shoves it in the tip jar. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he nods anyway. He’s like a broken bobblehead.

“I know.” He goes to the sweets display and searches through it like he’s looking for something specific. Maybe he is. You’ve not seen him in the diner before, and neither has Rita, but maybe he’s one of Lola’s regulars. Maybe you’d judged him wrong. 

“Anything caught your eye?” you ask, leaning over the counter as if you could see it from his angle too. Maybe you do it to show off just that little bit of cleavage. He notices, then looks like he’s done entirely the wrong thing as he licks his lips and blinks like a school boy.

“S-sorry,” he stammers, and Rita giggles. You point at her and give her a stern look, but she just puts her hand over her mouth and lies down on the seat. She’s still silently giggling because her belly keeps bobbing above the table. 

“I just…” he has that exhausted look on his face again.

“Long day at work?” The answer is always yes for the people who work at the alphabet agencies. He nods. “Take a seat, grab some coffee, take a minute. It’s only just gone five, you’ve got time.” 

He nods. He looks like he’s gotten his words all mixed up and they’re just sitting in his mouth, refusing to leave. Tongue tied doesn’t exactly encapsulate what looks like is going on inside his head. He sits at one of the chairs in front on the counter, and takes the coffee cup gratefully as you pass it to him.

He’s definitely an alphabet soup man. He sits in this weird stance like he’s countering his weight against a gun. His shoulders are hunched forward as if he spends hours a day doing paperwork. He’s got a nervous twitch in his hands like sitting still is only going to bring the next case.

You think about making a joke about turning on the cellphone jammer, but last time Joe made that joke the whole place ended up swarming with cops. Absolute disaster. No one’s going to do that one again. 

“Cherry, berry or apple?” you ask, grabbing a plate.

“Sorry?”

“Cherry, berry or apple?” Rita repeats from her booth. “For the pie, sweetheart.”

“Uh, I didn’t—“

“Eat it,” Rita growled. You pull a face at her even though she can’t see you. The guy smiles.

“Apple, please.” Well mannered. Sweet. He looks elated as you slide the apple pie to him and hand him the canned cream.

“Not as good as fresh, but it’s better than nothing.” 

He puts a generous amount on his plate. You half think he might like it more than proper cream. Rita leans up just enough to look at him as he digs in, fanning herself playfully before sighing and collapsing back down.

Joe brings out his tray of caramel salted cookies. They’re thick enough to look like cakes with a gooey caramel center, and they usually sell out pretty quickly. The new guy watches them intently.

“How much trouble am I going to get into if I give those to my son?” 

“How old is he?”

“Ten.”

You smile. That’s a good age. “How much do you hate his teacher?” 

He considers this with a gentle tilt of his head. “Not a lot. I’ll give it to him after school.” He pulls out his wallet again and Joe looks like he’s just hit the mother lode as he grabs one of the cardboard boxes. 

“If you really want to spoil your kid, y/n here can write really pretty on top.” You glare at Joe. He shrugs. He’s covered in cake batter and cookie dough, and smells like pancake batter. He’s always smelling sickly sweet, and like a well lived in home, despite looking like the living embodiment of Gaston. “She does it for my wife all the time.”

The handsome man’s phone buzzes. He checks it, then shovels the rest of his pie in his mouth like a starved man. 

“I have to go,” he says. He gives Joe another ten and tells him to keep the change. Joe looks like he’s about to break into a song and dance. You pour a fresh cup of coffee into a take-away cup and slide it across the counter to him. He thanks you a thousand times over then goes. With his cookie.

“Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Rita screeches the moment the door shut with it’s little jingle. “I’ll-show-him-my-cleavage-but-I-won’t-ask-his-name?? No wonder you can’t get a date!”

“I’ll do it next time.” Not that there’s ever a ‘next time’ for these alphabet soup agents. They’re always looking for the next place to go to so they don’t have a ‘regular place’ that can be ambushed. 

But in a perfect world... you’d see him every day.

[bartistic]

Bruce Goes To The Market!

knife tw, food cw, incredibly dumb self-indulgent concept cw, outsider (oc) pov

It is universally acknowledged that a cashier possessing free time, will be in want of an extra task to fill that free time. At least, that’s what James’ managers seemed to think. Privately, he agreed, as he found restocking the shelves to be a most agreeable pastime, one that could in fact suck up hours of his eight hour closing shift.

He was in the soda aisle, debating whether sparkling water belonged with seltzer or with the rest of the store brand items, when he noticed a broad-shouldered man in sunglasses and a Gotham University sweatshirt, inspecting the selection of diet tonic water and looking utterly flummoxed. Customer in need of assistance!

“Hi, how are you doing tonight? You need help finding anything?” Mentally, James winced at the preppy-ness of his ‘customer service robot voice’ as his favorite coworker Stephie liked to call it. Luckily, he’d thrown his voice out enough screaming to Queen karaoke the night before that his voice stayed in the normal octaves rather than shooting into the stratosphere. The man straightened up and looked down towards James, who suddenly felt very short in all of his 5’9” glory. (Well, 5’8 3/4” but who’s counting.)

“Yes, actually. I’m new to the store, could you direct me to where the soap is?” Oh god. Of all the things it had to be the one item James swore was never in the same aisle twice.

“Of course!” He lied through his teeth. “Here, right this way.” Turning, he set off towards the general direction of where the soap tended to lie, with a variation of four different aisles. Luckily, the first aisle was correct, and he watched, intrigued, as the customer gave a thorough inspection to at least 14 different bars of soap. “Anything else I can help you with?” He added, as the man finally selected a bar and placed it in his basket. The man looked sheepish.

“This is actually the first time I’ve been in a grocery store. I’m not usually the one doing the shopping. My—the person I live with gave me a list, but I honestly don’t know where or even what half of these things are.” He held out a grocery list, scrawled in an elegant cursive. It was double-sided. James checked the front of the store, where the other cashier was engrossed in his phone while trying not to appear engrossed in his phone. It was an hour and a half until they closed, and he was pretty sure there was only one other customer in the store at most.

“Sure! Alright, so our first step should probably be to hit the deli, seeing as they have the longest wait times.” After walking the man through ordering Roast Beef, Prosciutto, Pastrami, Swiss, Havarti, Gouda, and Picante Provolone (what) they moved on to the canned goods. “We should probably grab a cart, I don’t think that basket’s going to be able to hold all of this.” Turning into the canned goods aisle, James sighed.

“Caution: Hazard Detected! Precaución, ¡Peligro Detectado!” The store’s resident useless robot assistant was stuck in place, screaming at a small bit of an onion peel that had fallen to the floor.

“Batsy, I swear to god.” James went over and kicked the peel under one of the shelves, pressing the button on the robot to reboot it.

“...Batsy?” The customer sounded somewhere between bemused and amused. Perhaps just ‘mused.

“Yeah, it’s our obtuse robot that only sees what’s right in front of it and makes a big fuss over literally nothing. It can’t even clean anything up, and the few moments there actually is a spill it just skids through it and makes it worse. Technically corporate calls it Patsy, short for Patrick, because we’re Patrick’s, you know? But since this is Gotham, we call it Batsy. Short for... Batrick. I’m not the one who came up with the name, that honor goes to my coworker Stephie. She’s, uh, not working tonight.” James internally began banging his head against the shelves. Why. Was. He. Like. This. “So, do you know what brand of chickpeas your... roommate wanted?”

/ / /

Finally, after another 45 minutes of shopping, they were ready to check out. James noticed the shift had changed while he was away. “Alright, so I can actually take you at this register over here, ‘cuz I’m still logged in and all.” He gulped as the customer began to load up onto the belt. This was... a lot of food. He’d scanned around a quarter when he officially ran out of room, turning to bagging instead. “Let’s get you another cart, actually, so we can load into that without squishing what you haven’t unpacked yet.” He moved to go grab one, but the customer was faster, jogging back with another cart before he could even finish bagging all the protein shakes. There were, admittedly, a lot of protein shakes.

Scanning the meat-substitutes, James scanned his own mind for an avenue of conversation. “So, you mentioned that it’s your son who’s the vegetarian. How old is he?”

“He’s 13. It’s not religious or health-wise or anything, he just really loves animals. Our house is practically a zoo on a good day, and that’s not even counting all his siblings.”

“Oh, how many kids do you have?” It had to be a fair amount for it to be ‘all’ his siblings. The customer opened his mouth as if to answer, then shut it again. He seemed to be thinking. Did he... not know how many kids he had??

“Legally I have... fffffour? Five? Yeah... that sounds right.” James tried to hide the bewildered expression in his own face, but he must not have been doing it well. “That makes me sound like such a bad father. No, I promise, I love them all, I just have quite a few of their friends living with us as well, and I’ve known those kids long enough to feel like they’re my kids too. Not to mention the whole difference between the ones I’ve adopted, the one who was my ward who I then retroactively adopted, the one I’m fostering, and the one who is legally an emancipated minor. And... the one who. Is no longer with us.” James blinked. That was indeed complicated.

“You must have a lot of love in your heart,” he settled on, finally.

“I just h— Oh, #%*$.” The blueberry container had burst open, all over the floor. James internally groaned.

“Oh no! Sorry about that, that’s the third one tonight. The packaging is just... not great. Do you want me to go get you another one?”

“No, I can get it. Thanks though.” The customer gingerly stepped through the minefield as James power walked to go get the clean up supplies. Six feet away, Batsy was screaming at a blueberry.

“Eat your heart out, Mister Miyagi,” he aimed a light roundhouse kick at the button to reboot the robot. Batsy got two feet before it encountered another world-ending-threat, danger level blueberry. James sighed and went to go clear that area first.

/ / /

Finally, almost everything was scanned. James was scanning the bread and rolls as the customer fit all the bags into the two carts, like an expert game of tetris. There were a few hiccups where James had had to explain that you probably shouldn’t bag Raid with milk, or that it was a good idea to double bag heavy items, or that you should wait until the end to put the eggs in (and there were a lot of eggs. Gaston-levels of eggs. Probably to be expected with that many kids in the house. Hah. eggs-pected.) But by the end they were working like a well-oiled machine. James bagged the last item, hit the button to total it, and watched as the customer realized he forgot his deli items.

“I’m just gonna— gonna run and go get those real quick. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Can you fill out the charity question real quick though? Th...thanks.” The customer was gone before James could question him on the fact that he’d used the custom amount option to apparently donate $1k to Gotham General’s children’s ward. It was... probably a mistake, but he’d wait around to check. He turned as he heard the beginnings of a commotion behind him, from the one other customer in the store. This guy’s whole aesthetic just screamed gross, from the white-boy dreads to the Blue Lives Matter gaiter mask. It looked as if he was having trouble at self-checkout. James was about to head over to help when his coworker passed him. He turned back to keep an eye on the clock. 10 minutes until closing. Please come back with the deli items soon. He heard an aggressive murmuring that sent chills up his spine, a distinct feeling of Not Right Bad. He turned back to where his coworker was engaged with helping the other customer. His coworker who was... very pale. Frightened. The customer whose hand glinted silver with... oh #%*$, that’s a knife. Not Good Very Bad... oh hell no, you are not hurting my coworker on my watch.

“HEY #%$&FACE, EAT BEANS!” As the aggressive customer turned to meet the container of garbanzo beans that was currently hurtling towards his face at the maximum speed a theatre-kid-who-never-did-sports could throw, the world seemed to throw down. Faintly, James could hear rational thoughts pounding at the door to his mind, begging to be let in. Thoughts like ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for attacking a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for cursing in front of a customer’ and ‘They’re definitely going to fire you for damaging the merchandise’ and ‘You can’t even throw a ball to save your life, there’s no way that’s going to hit him.’ Praying to Freddie Mercury, Elton John, and all other things holy, James watched as the beans sailed through the air and struck their target true— albeit a little lower than planned.”

Grossface automatically brought his hands down to protect his nethers, apparently forgetting that their was a knife in his hands. He let out a second agonized howl as he stabbed himself in the balls. Blindly, James groped around for more ammunition. Holding out a zucchini as threateningly as he could, he watched as the would-be aggressor ran out of the store as fast as he could with both hands clasping his junk. “Are you okay?” He asked his coworker, feeling his voice echo through the suddenly very-quiet-sounding store. She nodded mutely. He nodded back, then turned back to his register and oH shit there’s His Customer, holding the deli items.

“Nice shot.” Okay, this time he definitely sounded amused.

“I... am so sorry about the beans, I can get you a refund on those or I can go get you some more or—”

“No need, they definitely went to a good cause.” The customer grinned and held out the deli items. Faintly, James began to wrestle with the bag to get to the barcodes. Finally, everything was scanned, for good.

“Alright, will that be everything?” The clock read two minutes until closing.

“Yes, that should be everything. Again, thank you for all your help.” James watched as even with the membership points taken off, the total soared to over $750.

“Alright, your total is... $754.33, here’s some coupons and a survey slip. If you fill that out you get entered for a drawing to win a $500 gift card. Which... I don’t know that you’d need, but. Why not.” The customer reached into his wallet and counted out 5 $100 bills. Then he pulled out a black card. He paid off the total with the card, then handed the bills to James.

“Here you go, I wasn’t sure how much you tip cashiers.” James opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish.

“People don’t normally... tip cashiers...” and especially not HUNDREDS OF DOLLARS.

“Oh. Well, you were a good cashier. You deserve it. And here—” at this he pulled a crisp business card out of his wallet. “At Wayne Enterprises we could use quick-thinkers like you.” Pulling down his sunglasses, he gave a quick wink. James waved absentmindedly as BRUCE #%*$ING WAYNE walked out of the store. He looked down at the business card. Written upon it were the words: “Call here for an interview, mention Malone and they’ll know I sent you. Best of luck with the current job— BW”

James sat down. The clock was 10 minutes past closing before he remembered to look at it. There were a million thoughts running through his head. Oh my god I joked around to a billionaire. I cursed in front of a billionaire. I chucked a can of beans into a man’s nutsack in front of a billionaire.

But oddly enough, the only question that remained at the top of his mind was this:

This is because I have black hair and blue eyes, isn’t it.

[indianamoonshine]

c h a p t e r | i

summary: every summer you work on your father's strawberry farm with your three sisters. it's a way to take a break from the big city but summers in the midwest are hot and they linger. this year, your father's old and mysterious friend shows up to stay on your land for a reason yet to be determined. din djarin seems dangerous, but kind enough, and the two of you quickly become...well, let's fact it...smitten.

rating: m (18+) for future and explicit sexual content.

author's note: reader is well over eighteen for obvious reasons. i won't ever go into physical detail about the reader's appearance because we include everyone. this fic is pretty much a mix between pride & prejudice and call me by your name except without the und*rage crap we do not condone. so, without further ado, here's an aesthetically pleasing fanfic.

the moment din djarin laid eyes on you he knew he was a dead man.

at first, his view of you had been obstructed because you'd opened every door and window in the house. june in the midwest sometimes required such nuisances, so all of the curtains billowing in the breeze prevented him from looking upon you.

you were also on the couch, but he hadn't known that until you lifted a hand - soft as a dove's - from the back of the sofa. you played with the light between your fingers, shielding its dazzling rays from your eyes, just before setting it down again. your hands were so small (smaller than his anyway) and gentle. he imagined how foreign your skin would feel in warm contrast to his; how your fingers would feel intertwined with his calloused ones, which had done enough work throughout the years to be mistaken for a beggar’s. within the first moment, he saw you as flawless.

your father had not stopped for breath since din arrived, lamenting about the farm or discussing the layout of the home with an eagerness din had yet to match. he would've initially been interested in the history of the farm or how many sprawling acres rolled endlessly before them, but his eyes couldn't leave your hand.

you must've been asleep - napping in the embrace of the sun - because as soon as your father drew breath upon entering the living room, your voice tickled din's ears for the first time. sweet as music.

"dad? is that you?"

din couldn't help but blink at the sound of your voice. it seemed unnatural, like one hears in dreams or spiritual awakenings. he manages to compose himself at your father's side, straightening his posture to err on the side of caution.

your father exclaims with a joyful "ah!" and then introduces you by name.

"my daughter. one of them, anyway. she and the three eldest help during the summer," he had said, and then turned to the bay windows to go on about the view.

but you meet din's eyes, rested and glimmering with curiosity, while your father droned on in the background. you reach out a hand - the one he'd thought of holding - to shake.

he does. and it's every bit as beautiful as he knew it'd be.

"how do you do?" you give him a polite and pretty smile. if he hadn't known any better, you bat your eyelashes for good measure.

your father's tour continues but din can't stop thinking about the way your skirt rose to your thighs as you stretched awake.

|||

you were lying if you said you didn't think about him for the rest of the day.

you weren't the only one. your sisters - all three of them - had also met the mysterious din djarin.

"who is he?" charlotte asked while you congregated at the nearby pond. it was a lovely place, nestled within the thick of the woods and bursting with greenery. flowers of every kind blossomed around you and scents the air with a sweetness.

rhea lays in the shade of a peach tree. "one of dad's old friends," she says. she waves herself with a floral paper fan she'd gotten from chinatown while visiting you in new york.

"but why is he here?"

madeline, who paints with her watercolors, pipes in. "i heard he got into some trouble with the law and now he's in hiding."

you roll your eyes with a scoff, lounging in the grass and watching the clouds in the bright, blue sky. "madeline, that's absurd."

rhea (who is the oldest and most pragmatic) surprises you when she shrugs her shoulders. "i don't know. he looks likes a bad boy..."

you recall the way his jaw clenched as you introduced yourself - his neck was tempting. his skin glowed with a radiant hue in the sunlight and his eyes shone with an aura of broodiness. he was very austenian.

"boy is hardly the word," you correct.

charlotte, being the flirt, wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. she swims in the pond, hair wet and fanning against the water. she sinks lowly for dramatic effect. "how right you are."

"trouble or not, he was a perfect gentleman." rhea sighs and skims the water with her forefinger. "either way, he's easy on the eyes so i don't mind having him around."

easy on the eyes was putting it mildly. you wouldn't say that to the girls though; they had a habit of teasing when you showed interest in anyone attainable let alone a man decades older than you.

"don't do anything stupid, charlotte." madeline dips her paintbrush into her mason jar full of pond water.

charlotte huffs and flips her hair from her shoulder. it makes a splash, rippling the water as a result. "why not? we're all of legal age."

"he's dad's friend and a guest," you remind her, tearing your gaze away from the clouds.

the middle child lets out a pathetic whimper. "you guys are no fun," she groans.

|||

it was a busy season on the farm.

strawberries were ready to be picked by mid june and there was a three week window to do it. harvesting wasn't easy and it took a lot of man work. hands went numb, skin grew calloused. the sun that beat down on the fields was only manageable by the sprinklers that went off every blessed-ed fifteen minutes. during a drought, it was even worse.

the employees picked from seven in the morning until five in the evening. your father was adamant that breaks be plenty and pay be as prosperous as he could afford, but a strawberry farm wasn't a fortune five hundred company. he did what he could to provide the families with some semblance worthy enough to continue, and so every year he threw a dinner party.

it was always a lovely occasion, brimming with delectable treats and savory entrees. candles were aflame, lanterns lit up the pathway that lead to the entrance of the home and then the land leading into the woods. as a child, the dinner party was as exciting as a birthday. it was a night to look forward to all year long, sharing time with family and friends and gorging yourself on food you wouldn't eat any other friday of the week.

your sisters loved it too, mostly because they enjoyed the promise of gossip that poured from the mouths of guests like the wine served. and now that din djarin - a stranger, in all respects of the word - was attending an annual dinner that's managed to keep as tradition for years, gossip would surely be abundant as the wine itself.

guests arrived by the hour until the clock struck seven. the evening was crisp but warm enough to be comfortable without a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. the rock doves sung loudly to declare that sunset had begun, a few rogue and early lightning bugs blinking rhythmically. children of the employees ran throughout the fields bare footed and chanting taunts to their friends as their parents chattered among themselves.

home. here is home.

while the party had already begun (officially, at least), dinner hadn't yet been served. admittingly, you were a bit behind schedule, but you worked quickly to finish setting the tables. the theme was simple; linen napkins and wildflowers in random antique vases you found in your basement. the lilacs you'd picked from their bushes were already beginning to limp but you hoped no one would notice.

you hum when you work. whether it be intentional or not you find your lips buzzing with a tune plucked subconsciously from your brain as your hands busy themselves. you straighten the tablecloths, fill the vases with water, and set the silverware in their particular order. needless to say, you had a tendency to get lost in your own little world. so when a hand gently tapped you on the shoulder, you spun around with a shriek.

din djarin - man of the hour - is smirking handsomely at you, hands fiddling with a depressed looking lilac. you place a palm against your heart and count its beats. too many.

"mister djarin," you sigh out. "you scared me."

he lets out a breathy chuckle, hands running through his wavy locks. "i see that. i'm sorry, but i was just wondering if you'd like some help."

his voice...oh, stars and garters. it was so rough but tender - like a steak. you cock an eyebrow at how strange the comparison is but convince yourself it didn't matter. still, you're blushing from the jump so you duck your head from his gaze.

"there's not much left to do," you admit, turning back to the table. you spread your hands against the tablecloth to ward off any wrinkles. "you can double check if i missed any forks, i suppose. i have a tendency to do that."

din hums in his throat and nods a little. "sure," he says, moving to the first setting. his eyes scan along the silverware carefully. "where are your sisters? they don't help, huh?"

"they're better at entertaining," you say truthfully. "i volunteer to take care of the dinner part...as long as i don't have to socialize as much i'm content."

it was true. it's not that you had an aversion to people in general, but you tried to avoid conversation whenever possible - it wasn't your strong suit. you could get away with it when need be but you found it took too much energy to pretend to enjoy conversation about the weather or politics.

"i understand," din nods. he straightens a spoon with the nudge of his finger. "i find myself to be the same way."

there's an awkward silence between the two of you. you didn't know how to respond. while you weren't good at social situations in general, you found it natural to feign interest in subjects bland enough to circumvent discomfort...but you felt the need to impress him.

"so you'll be staying with us this summer then?" you decide, falling short. how stupid.

din nods swiftly. "yeah. in one of the cabins."

the cabins were located at various points of the land your father owned. in order to get there, one usually took an ATV or walked if the going gets tough. you preferred to stroll along the river, but your sisters liked riding the four wheelers or their bikes.

"which one?" you ask, tone mindless.

din's finished with double checking your work. he pulls out a chair - an old, wooden antique - and sits down upon it with caution. you stifle a laugh and, if he notices, he doesn't say anything. he'd soon learn that everything here was old but sturdier than they looked. you wish you could say it was for aesthetic purposes but it was more convenient than anything.

"the one closest to the pond," din replies lowly.

you notice how his eyes survey your form and how intimate it was. he was studying you but for whatever reason you couldn't be sure. you try to shake away the idea that he could be (dare you say?) pining over you. how silly. like you told charlotte: din djarin was off limis.

that was the end of it.

you find yourself blushing again so you hide your face. "that's my favorite one," you tell him honestly. "i like the view."

din smiles in agreement. "so do i."

if you weren't so heated with frustration, you would've called him out on the implication (as out of character for you it may be). then again, you found yourself weakened by the mere presence of this man. it wasn't unlike you, per say; you were naturally timid but there was an eagerness to his charm that you weren't familiar with. guys your age were so sure of themselves but it was almost always under false pretenses. this man however...well, he was a man and that was intimidating.

fine. it was hot.

you clear your throat in an effort to regain a semblance of poise. this summer had already proven to be laborious in a way you hadn't expected.

[clairenatural]

destiel, 2k. mafia!Cas/Kingergarten teacher!Dean from an anon prompt for mafia!dean or Cas protecting the other at all costs. I’m not entirely sure what this turned into but it was fun to write so I hope it’s also fun to read :) it references stuff that happens in 12x10, Lily Sunder Has Some Regrets.

“Sir, we have a problem.”

Castiel sighs. His five least favorite words. He glances up, frowning at Inias. “What kind of problem?” He doesn’t add that it had better be important to justify the younger man barging into his office like this, but it’s implied.

Inias takes a deep breath before stepping fully into the room, letting Castiel’s glass office door shut behind him. “The DA’s office is refusing to back down on the Ishim case.”

“And you paid them the standard amount?”

“Yes, sir. But one of the DDAs refused it.”

“Refused it.”

“He’s new. He doesn’t understand our arrangement.”

“Hm.” Castiel closes his laptop and leans back in his chair, considering both the situation and the man in front of him. They hadn’t had a problem with the DA in years—at least, not since Castiel had taken over. Their messes were less messy and they paid more generously for silence. “How much does he need to understand?”

“That’s the problem, sir. I don’t think he will.”

Castiel scoffs. “Anyone in power can be bought off,” he replies, because in all his years he’d never met someone who couldn’t be. Power corrupts, after all.

Inias shifts uneasily, and Castiel can tell he isn’t going to like how this ends.

“We’ve received word that he’s begun investigating independently.”

Castiel groans at this, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“But don’t worry!” Inias continues quickly, hurridly. “We can put our best men on the assignment, have him taken care of by tonight—”

“Wait,” Castiel cuts him off with a sigh. He forces his eyes back open. “I’m not mad,” he says before anything else, because Inias looks like a deer in the headlights and even after all this time his employees still need occasional reminding that he is not his brothers.

When he’d taken over for Michael he’d promised himself—he’d promised everyone—less bloodshed. He swore to defend his family, business, and territory from Crowley and his cronies, but he’d been determined to stop ending innocent lives. For some reason, though, innocents just love getting in the way. He sighs again. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

And, well. That certainly complicates things. He’d known when Sam announced he was going into criminal law that this was a possibility—in some ways, he thinks he should have expected this.

“Sir?” Inias asks, and Castiel realizes he doesn’t know how long he’s been staring at him. “Are you…do you know him?”

Castiel blinks back to reality and glares at him. “Call them off,” he orders, and cuts Inias off when he tries to protest. “Call them all off, Inias. Now.”

“But, sir, what about—”

“I’ll deal with Sam Winchester myself. Nobody else is to touch him.” Then, just for emphasis, “Until I say otherwise, consider him under my protection.”

Inias is still staring at him, baffled, but after a moment he nods, and Castiel is thankful that he’s decided not to argue. “Alright, I—yes. Understood.” He nods again before leaving the office and Castiel sinks deep into his chair, pressing the heels of his hands into both eyes.

His phone buzzes and Castiel watches as a text message lights up the screen, revealing the photo from his wedding he has set as his background. It’s a message from Dean, because of course it is, asking him what he wants for dinner and if he wants wine with it.

Castiel looks around his office, awarded to him based on his surname but paid for in blood, and he’s never hated it more.  

————————————————————-

They get half an hour into the low-budget western Dean had insisted in watching before his husband sighs, pauses the movie, and sets his wine glass down on the coffee table.  “What’s going on with you?”

Castiel frowns up at him from where he’s lying on the couch, cheek against Dean’s thigh, his own wine glass barely touched. All things considered, Castiel thinks he’s been doing a great job acting like everything is fine. He forgets, sometimes, how easily Dean can read him.

“Work was…long,” he answers, and it isn’t a lie. Then, because Dean is looking at him like he doesn’t believe him, he follows up with “How’s Sam?”

It’s both a deflection and an answer to Dean’s question, but Dean doesn’t know that. Dean thinks he manages a hedge fund. Which he does. Technically. Legally, at least.

Dean knows he’s changing the subject but he doesn’t press it, and his face lights up the way it always does when someone asks about his brother. Castiel loves him for it. Dean starts on about Sam, how he’s doing with Eileen, how they just moved into a bigger house because they want to start a family. Castiel isn’t paying attention, not really, because Dean’s fingers are playing with his hair and he doesn’t really want to think about anything else.

“—I said I’d help him out, though.”

That catches his attention. “What? Why?” he asks, a bit too quickly, because even though he’s missed most of the context he can’t help the sinking feeling in his stomach.

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Come on, babe. I never get to use my degree anymore.” He shrugs. “And it sounds fun, you know? Helping my baby brother take down a corrupt criminal justice system. I feel like Serpico.”

“No.” It comes out more forcefully than he had intended and he sits up, turning fully to face Dean. “No, Dean, you need to stay out of it.”

Dean blinks at his husband, and Castiel immediately backtracks. “I mean, um. You don’t—you don’t have any evidence.”

“That’s the point of me helping,” Dean rolls his eyes. “I know I chose teaching five-year-olds over working in cybersecurity, but I still know my way around.”

“You’re going to hack into the DA’s office?”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that.”

“It is bad.” Castiel knows he’s being too insistent, is pushing too hard, but Dean can’t get involved, too. He can’t. “It’s dangerous. You don’t know who else could be involved.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“You should. You just don’t understand—”

“Understand what, Cas?” Dean snaps, and now it’s the fight Castiel didn’t want to have. “What could I possibly not understand that you do? A kid is dead and the DA is trying to cover it up and just maybe I can help figure out why.”

“There are things you don’t—” Castiel is already halfway through his next argument when the second half of Dean’s sentence catches up with him, and he stops. “Did you say a kid?”

Dean scoffs. “You weren’t even listening, right? Great. Yeah, some asshole killed his ex-girlfriend’s new boyfriend and her kid and the DA is refusing to press charges. Says there isn’t enough evidence. Sam thinks they were paid off.”

“No,” he says, quietly, because no. The daughter was never supposed to—that’s not what happened. He had been told that’s not what happened.

“What do you mean, no?” There’s less heat in Dean’s words, and Castiel thinks it’s because he himself has completely deflated.

He stares at his husband—the love of his life, the beautiful, generous, selfless man he doesn’t deserve—and realizes he’s never going to be able to talk Dean down from this. If he could, he wouldn’t be Dean.

He thinks about all he’s done to keep this part of his life safely tucked away. He cultivated a reclusive public image to keep Dean safe from being the husband of Castiel Novak, manager of the Novak Group. He expanded their territory to encompass the school Dean works at, something his family still holds against him as a waste of resources, to protect him from being the husband of Castiel Novak, leader of the crime syndacate. He’s hidden his marriage from nearly the entire family, labeling anything to do with Dean as the most privileged of information.

The only reason he’s still doing this at all, really, is Dean. He could have jumped ship when Michael died, when Gabriel left, when Lucifer took the fall and was sentenced to life, but that meant giving everything to Raphael, who promised to hunt both him and Dean down if he left. So he took the reins instead and he’s tried his best to keep his family safe while managing the business—both the above and underground aspects.

And now, despite all that, both Dean and his brother have somehow gotten themselves involved.

Dean is still staring at him, brows furrowed, and he doesn’t move away when Castiel reaches out to take both of his hands into his own. “I’m sorry,” he starts, and Dean looks taken aback but he doesn’t break the eye contact. “I love you. I don’t want you to end up in trouble.”

Something in Dean’s eyes softens. “Hey,” He squeezes Castiel’s hands lightly. “Come on. Have a little faith in me.”

And all Castiel can do, just like any time Dean looks at him like that, is smile back. And nod. And lean forward to kiss him, just once, softly.

“I do, Dean. I always do.”

Dean leans their foreheads together and Castiel can tell he’s still concerned, but he doesn’t want there to be any more yelling tonight, so instead he pulls back to lie down in Dean’s lap again. He hears Dean sigh before picking up the remote with the hand not still intertwined with Castiel’s, and then he restarts the movie, and Castiel tries not to think for the rest of the night.

 ————————————————————-

The next morning, though, he’s storming into his office, ready to lay into anyone involved with lying to him. He doesn’t get far—Naomi is sitting in his chair. At his desk. For a brief moment, he sees red.

“That’s my chair.”

His aunt regards him, cool as ever. “Is it?” she asks, and she stands, but only to walk around the desk and into his space. “And who gave it to you?” In her heels she’s taller than him but he glares anyway, refusing to be intimidated. He doesn’t respond.

“Why are you protecting Sam Winchester?” she asks after a moment of silence, still standing just as close.

“Why did you lie to me about the incident with Ishim?”

Naomi’s expression doesn’t change, but something close to surprise flickers across her eyes and she backs off to lean against his desk. “I suspect the answer to both of those questions is the same.”

“May Sunder was never supposed to die,” he presses, not backing down, and Naomi looks at him as if he’s being an unruly child.

“Yes, but her mother threatened to go to the police. Come now, Castiel, you’re old enough to understand these things.”

“I never authorized that.”

Naomi stands again. “You think you have to?”

This, of all things, catches him off-guard. “I—yes?”

His aunt steps forward, crowding him again, and he hates himself for taking a step back. “You’re a figurehead, Castiel. You’re in power because you’re Michael’s brother, people like you, and we thought you’d at least be loyal.”

“I am loyal,” he retorts, and she sighs.

“I’m not the only one who’s begun to question your sympathies, Castiel. Who are you loyal to?”

“My family.”

“Does that mean us? Or Dean Winchester?”

Castiel freezes, stunned. “How—”

Naomi cuts him off with a smile. “You think we don’t know? We’ve been letting you play house because it kept you distracted. Now, it seems, it’s making you weak. If you don’t fix this, I’ll have no choice but to cure you of that weakness.”

At last she steps away and turns towards the door. “You have an army here, Castiel. Don’t lose it for one man.”

And then she leaves.

And then, Castiel makes a decision.

In the next few hours, he makes several more—and then he’s driving home with all his family’s secrets copied onto a hard drive, the few items from his office that he actually cares about, and a plan forming on how to take the whole system down.

It’s almost funny, he thinks, the decision Naomi expected him to make—that she’d expected him to choose the family over Dean. That she’d expected him to choose anything over Dean.

She has no idea what’s coming. 

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH41

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 41: Star Death Reality Show (XXIV)

For a long time, Qi Leren couldn’t find the ability to think.

He seemed to be a poor man petrified by magic, just sitting in a chair, watching the system prompt gradually disappear from the screen.

Ning Zhou was dead?

Dead. Qi Leren couldn't put this cold word on Ning Zhou. Even if it was just in his imagination, he couldn’t accept it.

His trachea seemed to be blocked, and Qi Leren felt that he had returned to the sea, feeling the pain caused by suffocation in the increasingly strong water pressure. He couldn't breathe and couldn't escape. The oppressive darkness and death surrounded him, tormented him, and made him unable to endure for even one second.

He had to go to Ning Zhou! He had to bring him back from Purgatory!

He had always been used to waiting passively, indulging his interia and dependence as he waited, comforting himself. This was the best way, but he didn't expect that some people, some things, he couldn’t wait for. The anxious sense of urgency weighed heavily on his shoulders; just like when he had used the Prophet's Heart, a huge clock kept counting down behind him.

Counting the seven days after his death, today was the twenty-fourth day after his resurrection. There were only five days left for him. He had to hurry back and bring Ning Zhou back, otherwise...

Qi Leren couldn't think of what followed.

Don don don— When a knock on the door sounded, Qi Leren was startled and hurriedly closed the laptop. At the moment it closed, it disappeared out of thin air. Thankfully he had turned off the invisible camera that followed him, otherwise he really didn't know how to explain all this.

A skill card was lying quietly on the computer desk. Qi Leren had no time to think about it. He put the skill card in the item bar and asked loudly, "Who’s there?"

When the door opened, Du Yue stood outside looking surprised. "You’re really here?"

This was a strange question. Qi Leren felt strange when he heard it: "How did you know I was here?"

Du Yue scratched his head, a little muddled and a little confused, and said, "There’s a very strange gentleman... I don't know where he came from... He showed me the way and said that you were here."

A chill penetrated Qi Leren's back and cold sweat flowed down. Qi Leren's hand was shaking. If he didn't deliberately control it, his voice would tremble. The familiar fear returned to him; even if he just thought the name of that person, he would feel terrible.

A person who suddenly appeared and knew him like the back of his hand, a person who could access and even interfere with the copy, a… terrible person.

He had come here again for the secret hidden in this laptop.

"Where is he?" Qi Leren asked slowly.

"He said he would be at the lowest level of the institute. Qianbei, is he a survivor of this planet? Did they not leave here, but lived underground or something?" Du Yue, who didn't know Su He, never thought of the man’s real identity, but thought he was a part of this copy.

Qi Leren took a deep breath, shook his head, and got up and walked out of the room.

"What about the others? Have you spoken with them?" Qi Leren asked.

"We split up just now," Du Yue said in a depressed way.

Qi Leren didn't ask any more questions and walked quickly towards the safe corridor. Since Su He wanted to see him, he had to bite the bullet and go, but this time he had no Easter Eggs. If Su He made him choose between life and death again...

I should make an agreement with him, Qi Leren thought. He absolutely couldn’t die here. If he died, Ning Zhou would be fated to follow that terrible path, leading to the abyss of death. He couldn't watch Ning Zhou die.

If Ning Zhou became a demon, he would accompany him.

If the world wouldn’t let them be together, then they would go to hell together.

He wasn’t afraid, because nothing was more terrible than losing him.

But if Su He insisted on killing him... Qi Leren stopped on the stairs, turned to Du Yue, and said, "I have something to ask of you."

"Qianbei, please say it, I’ll do it!" Along the way, because of Qi Leren’s dignified expression, Du Yue felt nervous, thinking he may have made some big mistake. Now that he heard that his qianbei wanted to make a request, all he had to do was clap a hand to his chest and promise.

"Don't follow me later, do everything possible to protect your own safety. If I die, go back to the Village of Dusk and find a woman named Chen Baiqi..." As Qi Leren spoke, he took out a pen and paper and quickly wrote about Ning Zhou, then handed it to Du Yue.

Du Yue opened his mouth and looked ready to cry. "Is it that dangerous? Qianbei, don’t go!"

"There are some things that can't be escaped," Qi Leren said. Su He had come in person, and it would take him only minutes to kill everyone in the copy. He didn't even have the cards to negotiate with him. It was simply a fantasy to avoid him. "If you find Dr. Lu, don't get separated from him. Although he’s often confused, he’s still very lucky. That person should not be interested in killing you... I’m leaving, you should be careful."

Du Yue gawked at Qi Leren. He really was crying. A big and strong boy who was only eighteen years old could not hold back his tears when faced with life or death, and he took Qi Leren's hand with a face of snot and tears and refused to let go.

Qi Leren had to comfort him with a white lie: "Don't worry, this is only the worst case. Generally, I’m lucky and won't die."

Du Yue was dumbfounded: "But Dr. Lu said that your luck level falls below the alphabet."

“………………”

Qi Leren, who had been exposed, finally just pushed Du Yue out of the stairwell and continued to go down. As the floor numbers dropped, he entered deeper and deeper underground, and the surrounding air became colder and colder. Even wearing temperature regulating clothes, it still made Qi Leren feel stiff all over.

As he walked, Qi Leren looked at the skill card that had been left after the laptop disappeared.

[Sophisticated Lawyer: A cunning lawyer should avoid the traps in the contract and do everything possible to help their client, who has paid enough in legal fees to avoid contracts that are not beneficial to them. If you sign a contract with anyone after equipping this skill card, that contract can't bind you, but a payment of 130 survival days will be consumed. Remaining usages: 1/1]

Qi Leren's face turned green. He worked hard with the Devil of Fraud to save 147 survival days, but this would take 130 days at once?! If this skill card was used and his identity was revealed in this copy... Very good, he would be directly obliterated because of insufficient survival days.

But he knew in his heart that if "it" would give him this thing, it was already hinting that he… he would need this skill card.

Just like the Easter Egg.

Qi Leren looked at this skill card with mixed feelings and inserted it into the card slot.

He had already reached the 13th floor underground. The depth of this underground research institute was really shocking. At present, he faced the exit of the stairwell. Qi Leren hesitated outside the door for a while before fearfully pushing it open.

Ahead of him, there was a cold and featureless metal corridor, dark and lacquered, and the range of a flashlight was limited. Where light couldn't reach, the deep darkness was like a beast's open jaws, waiting for him to trap himself.

Qi Leren let out a mouthful of hot air that condensed into a thin cloud of white smoke in the extremely low temperature air.

He stepped out of the stairwell.

Light suddenly hit his eye, and the sudden light blinded his eyes with whiteness, but the fresh air and warm temperature from the tip of the nose made him realize that he was no longer in the cold underground research institute.

Sure enough, when his sight returned to normal, the ethereal and clean world around him made him hold his mouth tightly shut.

The blue sky was endless, and there was one white island after another floating around him, unable to discern if they were white clouds or floating islands. Pigeons flew from the direction where the sun was rising, and the whole world was immersed in the hope of dawn. Who could have guessed that this was a Devil’s field?

Qi Leren stood on the tower of the floating island, where he had once come and had a friendly conversation with the Devil of Fraud.

At that time, Su He had said that this was the Village of Dawn in his memory, and he had projected the ideal hometown into his own field. Qi Leren didn't know whether this sentence is true or not, but if he thought deeply, he couldn't help but feel fear for the truth of the Village of Dawn—was the so-called Village of Dawn itself not this Devil’s field?

"Good morning, lost lamb." A hoarse and charming voice came from behind Qi Leren, which scared Qi Leren into turning around quickly.

On this terrace that had been empty only a few seconds ago, there appeared a woman holding a white porcelain tray, as if she had appeared out of thin air.

This was the sexiest woman Qi Leren had ever seen. This was so even though her hair was tied in a meticulous bun and she was dressed in a high-necked black dress, her whole body covered—only her face was exposed, and even her hands were wearing a pair of black silk gloves. Even if a naked woman was standing there, she would not attract more attention than her, because no one would have the same reserved yet affectionate smile as her.

"Let me introduce myself. My name is Ruth. It's a very common name, isn't it? In the demon world’s capital city, if you shout Ruth casually, at least ten women will turn around. So I prefer others to call me the Witch of Lust." Ruth walked lightly to the round table and sat down, waving to Qi Leren again. "Sit down, the little pet His Majesty is in charge of keeps causing trouble again. If you ask me, it really needs to be changed to a bigger cage."

"What pet?" Qi Leren asked cautiously.

Ruth crossed her hands under her chin—this action was really like her master—and hesitated: "A goldfish."

A goldfish? Qi Leren was at a loss. What trouble could a goldfish make? Jumping out of the goldfish bowl? It was worth Su He handling it himself?

A goldfish bowl? This word suddenly awakened Qi Leren's reluctant memory. It suddenly occurred to him that Su He had been called away by a voice when he had revealed his identity and killed him. At that time, Qi Leren had lost blood and couldn’t see clearly, but his ears had still heard the voice. What were the exact words? They seemed to be...

[...The goldfish bowl has raised an alarm. It’s very likely that it will escape again...]

Wasn't what lived in the goldfish bowl a goldfish?

It was going to escape, and again? That is to say, it had escaped before?

What on earth was this thing?

Lust calmly poured tea for Qi Leren, and there were three tea sets on the table. Her and Qi Leren’s cups were already filled, but the empty one still waited for its bearer.

"He always makes us wait so long. If you don't mind, we can talk casually." Lust stirred the black tea in the porcelain cup with a delicate silver spoon, but her eyes never left Qi Leren for a moment.

"...What is there to talk about?" Qi Leren asked warily.

"Let's talk about men. Women like me and men like you always like this topic," the Witch of Lust laughed.

"..." What do you mean, "men like you"? Qi Leren was a little depressed.

"What do you think of His Majesty?" the Witch of Lust asked wistfully.

Could he say that he thought he was a deeply-scheming pervert? After Qi Leren learned Su He’s true face, it made his hair stand on end when he recalled the little things from when they used to get along. This feeling was probably like if he had found out an old friend of many years was actually a serial murderer, and that he was his next target.

However, Qi Leren couldn't make such comments to the witch about her boss, lest she become angry from his impudence and teach him to be a man in 10,000 ways. He had to breathe a sullen sigh, consider the sentence carefully and thoughtfully, and after deleting a few-hundred-word-long negative review, provide a small truth that wouldn’t offend anyone: "He’s very handsome."

Lust giggled with joy and reached out to touch Qi Leren's cheek: "You’re so cute, I like you a little."

A sigh came from behind Qi Leren: "Ruth, I asked you to dress properly and take care of the guest, not flirt with him."

The voice struck Qi Leren's head like thunder and lightning. He suddenly jumped up from his chair, then felt that he had overreacted, so he sat back down in embarrassment. The footsteps behind him were getting closer and closer, passing his seat and sitting down in the empty chair opposite Qi Leren.

Su He wore what appeared to be a riding suit, as if he had just arrived by horseback, and he took off his white gloves and held them in one hand. He looked like a human being, handsome and gentle. He didn't seem to notice Qi Leren’s blunder, and he forgot his former unhappiness. After sipping a mouthful of black tea that Ruth poured for him, he put down his cup and smiled, saying to Qi Leren who was on pins and needles:

"On this beautiful night, are you interested in making a deal with me?"

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[goodlucktai]

the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter three: build bridges with these arms 

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying, jiang cheng/wen qing word count: 3794 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

x

Jiang Cheng doesn’t remember dropping the phone, but he must have, because Wen Qing is holding it now and talking to A-Li in the sharp, rapid-fire way she speaks when she’s frightened. He doesn’t remember getting off the couch or leaving the room, but he’s pacing back and forth on the veranda, the warm glow of the porch light pushing away encroaching nightfall. And he doesn’t remember Wei Ying coming after him, but his brother is there, watching with wide, anxious eyes, his hands balled into fists in the front of his shirt.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Jiang Cheng bites out, his heart beating so fast it’s painful. “I can’t believe she didn’t fucking—she didn’t fucking call? She couldn’t let us know that—that our sister—”

“Maybe she meant to,” Wei Ying says hoarsely. “Maybe she—forgot.”

“Our mother never forgot a single thing in her fucking life as long as she could hold it against us.” He’s so angry he feels brittle with it, as though moving too much or too fast would cause his body to break. “A-Li asked her to call us and she didn’t. A-Li wanted us there and we weren’t.”

His baby nephew was coming early, and his sister was having an emergency C-section, and his brother-in-law was pacing a waiting room by himself for hours waiting desperately for good news, and Jiang Cheng was just fucking around in a lake the whole time.  

A-Li’s voice was so tired and shaky that Jiang Cheng knew, inherently, how bad it was.

She didn’t say it on the phone, of course she didn’t, but she didn’t need to. All of Jin Ling’s useless uncles have been reading every article about pregnancy and prenatal care that they could get their hands on from the moment A-Li told them she was expecting, and they each, to a man, could probably write a white paper on the risks of preterm labor.

Yanli could have died from complications. It wasn’t unheard of even now, in the twenty-first century. She could have bled too much, could have been gone, and Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have known until it was too late. He wouldn’t have been there to hold her.

Mother was supposed to call. She didn’t.

It’s like the sudden collapsing of some integral foundation. The weight-bearing limit was reached and the floor is crumbling beneath him and this building he’s lived in his whole life that he mistook for mortar and stone is actually some childish construction of paper and wax. This place he thought would withstand storm and fire and erosion is finally falling apart after so many years of careful repairs, so much frantic patchwork.

Mother hurt them over and over and over again, but she was still their mother. Family is just hard, Jiang Cheng had always thought. Family hurts. That’s just the way it is, it just costs you every day, and you’re always discovering how much farther you can push your threshold, how much more you can actually take.

Except... his siblings never hurt him. Never on purpose. He doesn’t look at A-Li or A-Ying and feel anything but fondness and exasperation and loyalty for them. He would do anything for them.

Wen Ning plainly adores his sister, and Wen Qing’s world revolves around her brother. None of their immediate relatives stepped in to help them after the fire, clearly screening their calls, none of them eager to sacrifice their time or money, but Granny has been almost a constant presence in their lives since they got here. She adopted all of them, no relation required.

Wei Ying came to the Jiangs when he was five, an emergency placement with the second family listed on his parents’ will, because his legal godfather was dealing with the death of his brother and sister-in-law, and the subsequent adoption of his young nephews. By the time Lan Qiren could be reached and came dashing to New York, it had been almost a week, and Wei Ying and A-Li and Jiang Cheng were all comfortably attached at the hip.

Rather than uproot his traumatized godson again, so soon after the initial upheaval of his young life, Lan Qiren reached an agreement with mother and father to let Wei Ying stay with them. He paid for all of Wei Ying’s expenses and then some. Jiang Cheng only knows because mother likes to complain about being short-changed when she’s drunk.

And then when his nephews were a little older, and he could step down from his role as director of a ridiculously prestigious music school, Uncle Qiren retired, and relocated his family from Suzhou to New York City. Wei Ying always had a second place to go home to if he needed one. His siblings were always welcome there, too. Uncle Qiren was strict and never let them get away with a goddamn thing, but he keeps all their pictures on his desk.

Family, Jiang Cheng finally realizes at twenty-three years old, isn’t supposed to hurt.

You’re supposed to be loved. You’re not supposed to have to buy it.

Wei Ying is crying in that awful, silent way he cries, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to make a sound. Jiang Cheng storms over and drags him into a hug that’s probably too tight, and Wei Ying hugs him back just as hard, and for a moment that’s all there is.

Night is creeping in around them, inky and inexorable. They’re suspended in the warm orange porch light like a couple of sailors marooned at sea. Jiang Cheng holds onto his brother, and finally lets go of someone else.

#

It is silently agreed-upon that Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying need to see their sister. Wei Ying tries to apologize for leaving in the middle of retiling one of the bathrooms and Wen Qing gets properly angry with him for it.

“He’ll finish when he comes back,” Jiang Cheng promises, which ends up sounding more like a promise that they’re going to come back at all.

“The tiles in the bathroom are literally the least of my concerns,” Wen Qing snaps, and that sounds more like she’s saying she doesn’t need a promise, she knows they will.

They barely pack anything, they just sort of move around the house in anxious circles until the airport shuttle shows up, and then they shove on their shoes and grab blindly for bags and jackets.

Goodbyes are made on the veranda. After living together and rebuilding a home together, the embraces come easily. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have a chance to feel self-conscious about any of it.

“The tickets should be in your email,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying checks his phone and frowns. “You only got two?”

Lan Zhan says, “I will stay here.”

His eyes are dark and unreadable, but Wei Ying must see something in them that Jiang Cheng doesn’t. He drops his bag and shuffles forward and Lan Zhan puts his arms around him. He stands there like some ancient, immovable structure, like a load-bearing wall, like Wei Ying could bring absolutely anything to him and Lan Zhan would help him hold it.

“Give the bunnies a hundred kisses for me while I’m gone,” Wei Ying mumbles against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, muffled and wet in a telling way.

“A hundred kisses,” Lan Zhan agrees solemnly, and presses the first one into Wei Ying’s hair.

A-Yuan, holding Wen Ning’s hand, largely confused and a little troubled by the tense atmosphere, earnestly assures that he’ll take care of the bunnies. Wei Ying ruffles his hair playfully, and then finally seems ready to go.

“Try not to let the place fall apart without me,” Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing.

“I’ll do my best,” she replies. She doesn’t reach out to him with her hands, but her eyes seem to.

Jiang Cheng can’t get her eyes out of his head.

#

Yanli is pale and tired and beautiful. She lifts her head as they come into her private hospital room, and then lifts her arms immediately, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both run to her like they’re children again. She’s sobbing, trying to wrap her frail arms around them as hard as she can.

“I missed you so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Jiang Cheng can’t think of how close they came to losing her or he’ll go insane. He just sits on the edge of the bed and holds both of his siblings and doesn’t make fun of Wei Ying for crying as much as Yanli.

Jin Zixuan comes in with a nurse and a bassinet at that point, and there are deep bruises under his eyes and his clothes are as unkempt as Jiang Cheng has ever seen them, but he’s smiling.

The nurse bustles around cheerfully, checking vitals and talking to A-Li about how well the results of some screening or another turned out, but Jiang Cheng can’t focus on anything except the tiny little swaddle of butter-yellow blankets that Jin Zixuan is lifting out of the bassinet.

“A-Ling, this is your Uncle Cheng,” Jin Zixuan says softly, passing the infant into Jiang Cheng’s arms. He doesn’t take his hands away until Jiang Cheng’s apparent panic must have faded, and then he’s suddenly sitting there holding his nephew.

Jin Ling is faintly purple, and his tiny limbs are all curled up like he still hasn’t realized he has room to stretch them out now, and his face is pinched in a moue of absolute distaste for the world in general.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says. He leans against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, smoothing a finger against the soft mop of dark hair on Jin Ling’s head, and the tiny seashell curl of his ear, impossibly gentle. “What a weird-looking baby.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Jiang Cheng snaps. Now he’s crying, too. “He’s perfect.”

Yanli is beaming at them, leaning into the arm that Jin Zixuan wraps around her shoulders, and asks about California. Wei Ying launches into animated chatter about all their projects and all their progress. Surrounded by them, some jangling, dislocated thing in Jiang Cheng’s chest finally begins to settle.

#

The day that A-Li and Ling-er are discharged from the hospital, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are skulking around the overpriced gift shop on the first floor. Lan Huan is with them, and Jiang Cheng is trying to talk him down from spending eighty dollars on a giant teddy bear, when he sees her.

His mother, making her way through the lobby toward them. Something cold and sharp replaces the warm golden core of him in an instant. He puts a hand on Lan Huan’s shoulder and says, “Keep my brother here.”

Lan Huan blinks. His eyes follow Jiang Cheng’s gaze, and his pleasant expression sours.

“Of course,” he says. “He can help me pick out a bear.”

“Jesus christ, with the bears,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and shoulders past him to get out of the gift shop, cutting his mother off outside the door.

“So you’re finally home,” she says by way of greeting. “Did you enjoy your vacation?”

“We’re not doing this here,” he mutters, hyper-aware of Wei Ying puttering around somewhere not even ten feet away. Turning on his heel, Jiang Cheng leads the way past the gift shop, away from the busy atrium and the receptionist’s desk, trusting his mother’s need to have the last word will compel her to follow.

He stops abruptly in an empty hallway somewhere between the billing and record departments and turns to face her.

“I didn’t come here today to play childish games,” mother says, sounding weary of him, of all things.

And it hurts, how much Jiang Cheng still loves her. How much he still wants to love her. His entire life is a series of attempts to trick her into feeling something for him, feeling anything for him. Trying to win her affection. Attempting the impossible.

“You didn’t call,” he says.

Yu Ziyuan scoffs. “You made it fairly clear that you weren’t interested in anything I had to say to you.”

“A-Li wanted you to call,” Jiang Cheng insists, the temper he inherited cresting inside him like a wave, or a wall of fire. “She could have—do you even care that she could have died? That she was scared? She wanted you to call us. And you just decided not to, to get back at us for disobeying you? I’m twenty-three years old! If I want to go to California to help my friends, I’ll go to fucking California!”

He’s never in his life raised his voice at her like this. A small, childish corner of his heart quails from the stunned anger on her face.

He clenches his fists to keep his hands from shaking.

“You stay the fuck away from us,” Jiang Cheng snarls. “All of us. I mean it. We’re done.”

Family, he thinks, isn’t supposed to hurt.

When he starts to step past her, mother grabs his arm hard enough that her long nails manage to pinch even through the sleeve of his denim jacket.

Knee-jerk, he rips himself away from her. He never forgets to flinch.

His mother stares at him like she’s never seen anything like him before, her hand hovering in the air between them. Jiang Cheng takes a step back, and then another.

He thinks of his sister’s precious life, his nephew’s, used as some sort of bargaining chip.

“We’re done,” he says. It comes out quieter than he meant for it to. It comes out sounding like he really, actually means it.

If something flickers in his mother’s expression, if her hand trembles, if she shifts towards him, he doesn’t see it. He’s already spinning around and heading back the way he came, not quite fast enough to call it fleeing. When Jiang Cheng rounds the corner, he runs headlong into someone who catches him by the shoulder before he can stumble.

Wei Ying’s gray eyes are wide and full of pain. Jiang Cheng doesn’t need to know how much he overheard to know that all that hurt is for Jiang Cheng’s sake, and A-Li’s, with hardly any left over for himself. Wei Ying never had to wonder if Yu Ziyuan loved him—he always knew she didn’t, no matter how much his siblings tried to convince him she did.

Jiang Cheng sinks forward against him, head falling against Wei Ying’s shoulder. He’s still trembling with anger, but now it feels more like grief.

Wei Ying hugs him, cheek pressed to Jiang Cheng’s hair, and after a moment he rocks them both from side-to-side.

“Come on, A-Cheng,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better once you see how much Lan Huan spent on Ling-er’s teddy bear.”

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng mutters. He already feels a little bit better.

#

They end up leaving a week later. A-Li promises to come visit the second the baby is cleared for travel, and kisses Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both on the cheek. Jin Zixuan waves goodbye at them with Ling-er’s tiny hand.

Flying stand-by gets them home whole hours ahead of schedule, and they land in California at something like two in the morning. Neither of them want to wake up their friends, so they spend a small fortune on an Uber instead.

Predictably, Wei Ying’s eyelids start to droop the second the car pulls onto the highway. Jiang Cheng only nudges him awake when they enter city limits. As they pass the township sign, Jiang Cheng’s heart twists in his chest, like a dog perking up at the sound of a key in the front door. The Uber driver squints in confusion at the GPS screen, so Wei Ying leans up over the middle console to direct him down the proper county road.

They pull up in front of the villa and Jiang Cheng’s whole body sort of sighs in relief.

Wei Ying is beelining towards the front door before Jiang Cheng is even entirely out of the car, juggling bags to dig his keys out of his pocket. He’s got that look on his face of single-minded focus, a look that says he is going to get to his fiance in the next two minutes even if he has to break a window to do it.

“You’re so dumb,” Jiang Cheng says, and shoulders him aside to unlock the door.

“Your face is dumb,” Wei Ying retorts maturely. He kicks off his boots and drops his bags by the door, and then races for the stairs like it’s been thirteen years since he’s seen Lan Zhan instead of like thirteen days. “Night!” he whisper-shouts over his shoulder.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and locks the door behind him. He leans against the wall to tug the laces of his sneakers loose and tosses them toward the shoe rack. Shouldering Wei Ying’s bags with his own he deposits all of them inside the big French armoire that functions as an entry-way closet.

Reflexively, he checks in on the rabbits on his way through the living room. They’re fast asleep in their expansive two-story hutch that sprawls half the length of the wall. Muttering derisively about his brother’s taste in men, Jiang Cheng snags a blanket off the back of the sofa and steps through the narrow doorway into the den.

Wen Qing is fast asleep at her desk, face buried in her folded arms. She’s been doing this ever since she resumed her classes.

Shaking his head, Jiang Cheng leans over her laptop to save all her work, then closes it so it’ll have some battery life left in the morning. He drapes the blanket over her slumped shoulders carefully.

“I’m home,” he tells her quietly. She doesn’t wake up, but he didn’t mean for her to.

#

Wei Ying is greeted the next morning by a screech. A-Yuan flings himself away from the breakfast table to attach himself to Wei Ying’s leg.

“You’re back!”

“I’m back!” Wei Ying says, hauling the kid up into his arms. “And I brought you so many souvenirs from New York!”

There are mouth-shaped bruises on Wei Ying’s neck, because of course there are. Jiang Cheng prays to god for any shred of fucking patience and pointedly doesn’t look at him or Lan Zhan. How fucking dare they be like that right in front of his eggs.

When they’ve eaten, Granny says, “Everyone has a big surprise for you two.  They hurried to get it done before you got home. A-Ning, go find your sister. Let’s show them.”

They’re shuffled outside, through the conservatory and down the back steps, and Jiang Cheng sees it a half-second before Wei Ying does. He grins, full and wide, and hears his brother gasp.

“You finished the dock!” Wei Ying yells. “It looks amazing!”

He goes running down the hill with Wen Ning and A-Yuan like a summer storm composed of loud, delighted noises and waving limbs. Lan Zhan follows slowly with Granny hanging onto his arm. Jiang Cheng watches after them, reaching into the corners of his chest for the pain that always comes hand-in-hand with moments of impossible joy like this, but he can’t seem to find it.

“The contractor said he would give us an estimate on a pavilion,” Wen Qing’s voice says from behind him.

Jiang Cheng turns to find her standing on the porch, leaning against the door, her hair still messy from sleep. She’s holding the blanket around her shoulders where he left it. Her eyes are reaching for him.

He’s braver than he was when he left.

“That’s a pretty permanent fixture,” Jiang Cheng says, heart beating wildly. “You sure you’re invested in something like that?”

She sighs in that way that means she’s laughing and comes down the steps to join the rest of her family by the water.

#

When the pavilion is finished, they have a wedding there.

It’s a small ceremony. The Lans are invited, of course, along with Jin Zixuan’s half-brother and a scattering of close friends, like Mianmian and Nie Huaisang. A-Yuan is the ring-bearer, and when he’s successfully delivered the rings to the grooms, he lifts his arms in a bid to be held.

Laughingly, Wei Ying scoops him up. His hair is loose and his eyes are bright, and Lan Zhan is looking at him the way he’s always looking at him, like he would follow him absolutely anywhere.

Just this once, Jiang Cheng will allow it.

The daylight is fading fast, and the night is going to be perfect and clear. Yanli and Wen Ning are spinning each other around in time to the music, totally out of step with everyone else and laughing brightly. Granny is taking a fussy A-Ling back up to the villa to put him to bed in the nursery that every single one of them spent way too much time and energy on, leaving Jin Zixuan free to nurse a glass of sparkling grape juice and stare judgmentally at his half-brother for flirting with Lan Huan. Jiang Cheng might join him for some judgmental staring, actually.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are slow-dancing with a giggling A-Yuan held between them. The water rocks gently against the posts, crowded with the lily pads and lotus flowers that Jin Zixuan carefully maintains for A-Li. Wen Qing crosses the dock to Jiang Cheng, and her hand slips easily into his.

And none of it hurts. It isn’t supposed to.

Their house waited empty for a long, long time, but they’re all finally home.

[thiswasinevitableid]

17 chosen and 20 lunar for Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go!

Lieutenants Log, stardate 10015, Joseph Stern recording

We’ve finally arrived at an agreement with the Aquariads, the species who control this moon. They will allow our research team unfettered access to the planet, but at an odd price. They requested one of our crew agree to be married off to a high ranking member of their governing council. 

I suspect, but cannot prove, that this is not a desirable being to be married to. He’s a revered seer, and yet they’re willing to couple him to a human and not one of their own? Suspicious.

Myself and the other single members of the crew were all given extensive questionnaires on everything from our sexual preferences to our daily habits. It took me a good hour and a half to finish it. 

After a full earth day of waiting, we received word that chief astrobotanist Duck Newton was the chosen human. I have no idea how this happened, as Duck has little tolerance for what he views as “woo-woo” things like precognition. But he was chosen all the same. 

Because this is Duck, he grumbled a bit, but cheered up when he learned he would only be required to stay with his new husband for three weeks before joining us on our field word, and that we can send him specimens for identification and research. If we decide Aquaria is the planet we’ve been looking for and establish more permanent research stations here, Duck will be expected to spend at least a few days a month with the seer. Mama made it clear that if the idea was truly not something he could agree to, she would call the deal off and we could try another approach. Duck said that wouldn’t be necessary, and that he could think of far worse things they could have asked of us. 

We deposit him at the seers home tomorrow. After that, we begin our exploration of Aquaria, fourth moon of the plant Oceana and (hopefully) the home of the antidote we’ve been searching for. 

Joseph Stern, Lieutenant on the spaceship Amnesty, signing off.

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

Duck waves to the skiff as it pulls away, his planetside bag slung over his shoulder. There’s only one way to go; down the single stone levee, decorated with beautiful tiles, to the massive mansion at the end. 

It reminds him of the photos of Venice he’s seen in old National Geographics, beautiful buildings floating atop a planet of water. He knows Aquaria has islands, but the majority of it’s cities are on or near the water because most of its residents live beneath the waves. They remind Duck of mermaids, with scaled tails and fins giving way to humanoid upper bodies and faces. As far as creatures to get politically married off to, he could be staring down worse. 

There’s still the problem of not knowing why this mer is off by himself and without a partner. Or, as becomes obvious once Duck is inside, any company at all. The other high-ranking aquariads they’ve met come with miles of attendants; here there’s only the high, curved ceilings and rippling water. Maybe the guy is shy? Or maybe he’s a dick? Or just real fucking scary to look at?

As he walks further into the house, he notices the tiled walls are covered in striking murals that, when coupled with the odd half-light allowed in by the green glass windows, makes him feel as though he’s wandering through a dream. The pools and canals criss-cross the floor, and really the ground is more water than concrete, the fact he’s able to walk at all is a concession to the fact some aquariads evolved to be land dwelling. 

A splash makes him turn, and in the pool to his right a black fin cuts the water. He steels himself to not insult the alien he’s now legally attached to. The figure rises from the water, setting his arms on the edge of the stony floor and Duck steps back as a wide, toothy smile appears in an angular face. 

“Hello, Duck Newton.” His tail is the same black as his fin, and his silver hair is tucked behind ears of the same color, which Duck has learned can fan out as a way of communicating. 

“Uh, hi. You must be-”

“Indrid Cold, yes. Apologies, a peril of my profession is that I will always be a little bit ahead.”

“Right. So, uh, guess we’re gonna be seein a lot of each other the next couple of weeks.” He aims for a joking, nonchalant tone. 

“Yes, as we’re married.” He cocks his head, confused, then grins brighter, “Oh, oh I see, you are attempting levity because this is all very awkward. I, ah, I appreciate that. Here, let me show you where you’ll be staying” Indrid pushes off the wall, swimming gracefully on his back as Duck follows him down the hall. The center of the house has more skylights, allowing him to see that his host’s fins aren’t pure black; small silver and white dots are scattered across it. He wonders if he could find constellations in them.

“Here we are.” Indrid gestures to a room, one where the only water is in the form of two deep blue half-circles on the left and right walls. The center of the room is a large bed, linens gleaming whites and pale greens, and the skylight nestles against a chandelier of finely detailed rosey glass. 

“Holy shit.” Duck sets his bag down on a trunk near the door.

“Do you like it?” A flash of yellow up Indrid’s fin, echoed in the dots on his tail.

“I mean, anythin looks ritzy after months on a spaceship but” he turns, smiles, “yeah, I do. Thanks for giving me such nice digs.”

“You are most welcome. Now, this room is designed to give guests privacy. See that red panel on the wall? If you press it, it opens the pool on that side up to the rest of the house, allowing myself or servants to come in and help you.”

“So you do have staff.”

“They’re, ah, more like errand folk. None live here.” Indrid clears his throat, “I can show you the rest of the house, although if you need to sleep I can let you be. I am, ah, not entirely clear on where your internal clock sits now.”

“Aquaria’s days are about four days longer than earth’s, so I ain’t too thrown off. Happy to see more of the place.”

Indrid nods, and Duck follows him out of the bedroom. Most of the other rooms they pass are sparse squares of walkways and still water, under which lies the parts of the house Indrid uses. When they reach Indrid’s quarters, he spots what looks to be an artists’ studio under the clear blue water. 

“You paint?” He kneels and peers down for a better look, Indrid bobbing nearby. 

“Indeed. Art helps me make sense of my visions, and I enjoy it besides. In fact, all the murals you see in this house are my doing. There are even more under water.”

“Damn, that’s fuckin incredible. If I get my SCUBA gear rigged up, maybe I can get a tour?”

“Scu--oh, yes, an underwater breathing apparatus. We have a much smaller device that can help you breathe and sea down here” he dips his head at the pool, “unfortunately, the one I commissioned for you will not arrive until close to the end of your stay. They, ah, did not give me much time to prepare. Hence the lack of many comforts I might otherwise give, as well as places for you to and I to talk, eat or do, ah, other activities together.” The yellow intermittently flashing up his fin gives way to a burst of pink. 

Oh, right. Duck pulls up his infopad (given a generous waterproofing treatment prior to his leaving Amnesty) and opens the contract he signed. 

“Yeah. About that. Says here they expect us to, uh, ‘consummate’ the marriage.”

“I’m aware” Indrid’s voice creeps up.

“Do you...wanna do that now?” He spins a finger in the water.

“I, ah, I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, seems like we could just get it outta the way, rather than have the fact we gotta fuck someone we didn’t pick hangin over our heads?” 

“This...this is not at all how I wanted this to go.” 

Duck looks up and immediately wishes he could reverse time; Indrid looks genuinely hurt, ears flicked back like a scolded dog. 

“Duck I, ah, well, you did not choose me, that is true. But I chose you.”

“Well, fuck.” He sits down with a heavy sigh, “figured some big wigs used those surveys to pick me out. Guess what they say about assumin things is true.”

“.....”

“It makes an ass outta you and me?”

Indrid blinks, then snickers, “Your humor is part of why I chose you. It is very bad, but also extremely good.”

“Glad you think so. Pretty sure Mama was ready to blow me out the airlock for some of the ones I made on the way here.” He knows he’s dodging the conversation they should be having, but how the fuck is he supposed to respond when an alien mermaid tells him he picked him to be his husband?

Indrid swims over so he can rest his arms and chin on the stone, glancing shyly up at Duck as he says, “I suppose I also made an ass of myself, as you would say, by assuming you would not see this as an obligation.”

“I mean, even if you chose me, don’t this feel like an obligation to you?”

“No. For me, it is a reminder that most of my kind are too afraid of me to even give me a chance to court them. And that the council thinks I will get into too much trouble without someone to distract me now and then, and decides the company I am worthy of is an alien explorer with no interest in me.”

“I mean, the only reason we agreed to this is because there might be a plant on Aquaria that can treat the illness runnin rampant back home. So at least it’s for a good cause?”

Indrid flicks his ears, red running up his fin, “What you are doing is noble. What I am doing is being used as a way to keep your exploration team in line.”

Duck winces, “Fuck, I’m, uh, I’m just gonna stop talkin now.”

For an agonizing five minutes they sit there in silence, contemplating their situation and stealing glances at each other. Duck always tried to do the right thing, tried to live an honest life and treat the people in it with respect. He’s been kind and polite to beings up and down the galaxy. He can extend some of that to his own husband, can’t he?

“Indrid?”

The alien raises his head.

“Can we start over?”

“Yes. But I do not see how-”

Duck holds out his hand, “Name’s Duck. Thanks for invitin me in and lookin after me the few weeks.”

Indrid’s smile widens as he understands the game, and he takes the human’s hand, “A pleasure to meet you. I am Indrid, seer to the court of Aquaria, and your anxious husband in spite of the now-changing, much more pleasant futures.”

They finish their tour, the humid air less stifling in the wake of their confessions. Indrid shows him the kitchen, the sitting room, and the gardens which, to Duck’s delight, are as much above the water as below. 

After that, Indrid excuses himself to attend to seer duties and Duck goes back to his room to unpack. As he’s putting away his toothbrush and razor near a large, elaborate tub carved from golden stone, one of Indrid’s admissions from earlier floats through his mind, bobbing there like a buoy until he gets a chance to ask it.

When they’re in the gardens, Duck taking notes as Indrid dives and surfaces with new things to show him, the human slips his feet into the water and says, “Indrid? You said my offerin to fuck you wasn’t what you wanted. What, uh, what did you want?” 

The alien blinks, slowly, pink and teal flashing in his tail, “It is a bit silly in retrospect, but since I knew we would not have time for a proper human marriage courtship, I thought I could mimic the process leading to a one night stand; that way you would be romanced in a manner that made you both comfortable with me and the concept of sex with a relative stranger.” 

Duck chuckles, “Always wild to find out how human stuff gets interpreted by the rest of the galaxy. How’d you even come up with what you were gonna do?”

Indrid crosses his arms, mock affronted, “I will have you know I have seen a great deal of human media, courtesy of our minister of defense.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck shifts onto his stomach, sends a small splash Indrid’s way, “what was this night gonna involve, then?”

“Food, dim and therefore, apparently, romantic lighting, dancing to sensual music, and then hopefully some kissing.” The pink in his tail intensifies, “and then working out exactly how to have sex human.”

The mixture of enthusiasm and being utterly out of his element charms Duck to no end; not to mention it’s the most thought someone’s put into a hook-up with him in the last three years. 

“Seems to me you got the gist of it. Though I really wanna know what you picked out for ‘sensual music.’”

A playful glint enters Indrid’s glowing eyes, “I will show you, but we must go through the whole evening, otherwise it will seem like a disjointed choice. With, ah, with the understanding that you are not obligated to kiss me at the end.

“You got a deal.”

“Wonderful” Indrid claps his hands together, “wait right here.”

Indrid disappears in a whoosh of black and silver. When he returns, he hoists six opaque domes onto the floor in front of Duck, “I initially planned to eat in the sitting room, but you like this room much better, so we can have dinner here.” With that, he double-taps the top of each dome, revealing a confusing buffet. 

“Uh, are those french fries?”

“Yes. You are from the United States of America, and so I chose foods that would make you feel at home.” Indrid points to each plate in turn, “french fries, steak, a turkey with cranberries, lobster, macaroni with cheese, and an apple pie.”

The pie is covered with an odd, yellow meringue, the turkey is the size of a quail, and the black shell suggests this is not a kind of lobster he’s eaten before, but Duck can’t stop smiling.

“Also I took care to be sure none of the necessary substitutions were poisonous to you.”

“Thanks, Indrid.” He means it; in their travels they’ve learned it’s not only humans who think everyone lives and eats exactly the way they do.

Everything except the french fries tastes strange but he finds the meal, like it’s orchestrator, intriguing in it’s oddity. Indrid brings two cool, white bottles from below, offers Duck tastes of each. One is like the celery soda he drank on a dare, the other like root beer if it wasn’t gross. He keeps the second one next to him as the meal progresses, Indrid asking him all kinds of questions about botany and himself. When dinner is over, Indrid guides him two rooms over, grinning excitedly. 

“I will start the music; one moment.” 

A few seconds after he dives, a chrome cylinder descends from the ceiling and music fills the air.

Ninety-nine red balloons

Floating in the summer sky

Panic bells, it's red alert!

There's something here from somewhere else!

He giggles, sits down so it’s easier to call, “Indrid? Not sure you got the right song bud.”

A silver-haired head pops up, “Not romantic?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmmm” He lifts a small, white rectangle and the song changes. 

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

He's in the army now, a blowin' reveille

He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

“N-not quite” The laugh is stronger now.

“Drat. How about….”

I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me, I'll never tell

I looked to you as it fell and now you're in my way 

Indrid looks hopefully at him.

“Ain’t what I’d call sensual, but you’d hear it at the kind of place you’d pick up a date.”

The alien beams, starts shifting back and forth to the beat, “shall we dance?”

Duck blushes, pretends he doesn’t know why, “Uh, probably should have said this earlier, but I ain’t much of a dancer.”

Indrid swims to him, stopping close enough that Duck can see the lines on his face that reveal they’re close in age, “That’s alright. Sometimes conversing while having a drink is acceptable behavior, correct?”

“Yeah.” Duck doesn’t bother to hide how intently he’s watching as Indrid dives, his form elegant and ethereal beneath the water. 

They sit sipping a hard cider that tastes of papaya and flowers instead of apples until the three other moons glow bright in the skylight. Duck yawns, and excuses himself for the night. 

“Thanks for a great evenin, Indrid.”

“You are most welcome. A pity I could not make the music work.”

He’s here for another three weeks at least. And Indrid is floating through the darkening water like a dream he’s tempted to chase.

“Guess you’ll just have to try again.” Duck winks. 

Indrid’s ears frill slightly and he flashes bright purple, “Yes, my dear husband, I suppose I will.” 

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

Duck’s routine is not the one he usually has while docked on a planet. Every day for the last week, he wakes up, joins Indrid for a leisurely swim, works on his research, and then spends his evening with a weirdly cute alien trying to accurately recreate the earth dating experience for him. 

The second night, he asked if Indrid would bring him some of his favorites for their next meal. The steamed coconut crab was a hit. The mantis-squid served still swimming, less so. From then on, when Indrid put in his food orders to the cooks at the main court, it was for a mixture of earth and Aquariad dishes, each one leading him or Indrid to share an anecdote from their time on their home planet. 

For the last two nights, he’s lifted the partitions on the pools in his room so Indrid can talk with him until neither of them can keep their eyes open. He wonders if it would be rude to ask him to stay, to sleep in such a small space just so he could be the first thing Duck sees when he wakes up.

There must be floating beds he could put in Indrid’s room, or maybe a hammock he could hang in the garden. 

Duck now understands that Indrid’s powers make him politically valuable, but also mean his fellow residents of the lunar city see him as dangerous, as knowing things they’d rather keep secret. Duck understands, especially if their only time encountering the seer is when he glides his formidable, dark body from the depths of his inner sanctum. But all he can see is his Indrid, awkward and well-meaning, whose fear of Duck disliking him has given way to genuine affection. His Indrid, who now pulls himself up onto the stones so they can sit shoulder to shoulder after breakfast or before dinner, whose tail Duck’s fingers beg to caress. 

His Indrid who is, at this moment, continuing his losing battle with earth music. 

“How about this?”

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen

Thank you for all the joy and pain

“Oh fuck no” Duck guffaws, “anything but him, ‘Drid, he’s a boner killer if there ever was one.”

“I don’t think he’s that bad,  but I will be speaking to Vincent about his human music suggestions.”

“For the love of god, turn it off.” Duck flails for the remote.

Indrid sticks out his tongue, “Very well, but I am this close to pulling you down here and seeing if you can do any better.”

“You wouldn’t dare” Duck is still laughing, eyes closing as he does, which means he gets only a splash of warning before he’s yanked into the pool. He comes up giggling and spluttering, “now, is that any way to treat your husband?”

Indrid’s laugh is a siren song, “No, I suppose not.” The music clicks off as Indrid steadies him by curving his tail behind his legs, “how should I treat you instead?”

Duck drapes his arms over Indrid’s shoulders, “You been treatin me pretty damn well, dunkin me aside.”

A flicker of pink and yellow as Indrid rubs their cheeks together, “And if I wanted to be even better?”

“I, uh, I mean if you wanted to we could tryYYYYohfuck” he hunches forward as Indrid’s tail drags across his dick. The clothing on Aquaria is thin, so he can feel the cool scales tease his skin. 

“Oh, oh dear, apologies, I was only trying to embrace you further, I forgot yours do not stay concealed until they’re needed.”

“You, you keep doin that and it’s gonna be needed real quick.”

“Oh?” red eyes narrow wickedly, “does my sweet husband need attending to?” Another drag of his tail, much more deliberate, and Duck grinds his hips in reply. 

“Only if you want to.”

“I do, so very badly.” Indrid nuzzles his nose, “may I take a little while to acquaint myself with your wonderful body?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tugs his shirt off, throwing it onto the land and then giving his shorts the same treatment. 

“Ohhhhhhyes.” Indrid purrs, fins and tails shimmering purple and gold. Then he sinks down, swimming in a slow, tight circle around the human. Pleased chirps and trills bubble up to Duck’s ears. Cool fingers play along his legs and belly, eventually finding his dick and offering an experimental stroke.

“Fuck” he groans, and Indrid does it again, kissing his navel as both hands rub and tease his dick and folds. Indrid is clearly experimenting, maybe even using his visions to guide him, and Duck eagerness to get off succumbs to just how fucking hot it is to have a partner this enrapt by his body, to have them explore it like some awe-inspiring landscape. 

He spreads his hands out and runs them along Indrid’s torso and tail; the scales are just as wonderful under his fingers as he hoped, and he can feel Indrid sigh happily as he pets him. 

Then lips close around his dick and he makes a series of undignified noises, digging one hand into Indrid’s hair to encourage him. 

“Ohmyfuckinchrist, Indrid, yes, fuck please keep suckin like that.”

Indrid wiggles his whole body in response, happy trill underscored by a firmer suck. Duck can’t get enough of his body beneath his hands, of his mouth on Duck’s skin, and he wonders if someone can black out from how good a blowjob feels. 

Indrid’s fin breaks the water and Duck runs an appreciative thumb along the top. Funny, there’s a little depression between it and the membrane of the fin. Curious, he drags his pinky along it. 

The alien bursts upwards with a loud chirp of joy, “Ohgoodness, yes, oh that feels nice please do it again.”

“Yeah? My cute, needy husband need me to play with his fins to get off.”

“Not, not technically by my gods does he want you to.”

“Don’t worry darlin, I will--uh, ‘Drid? Is, is that your dick?”

Indrid follows his gaze to the thick, bumpy shaft emerging from his tail, it’s tip crowned with short, searching tendrils.

“Yes. Also an ovipositor, hence those lumps.”

“Holyfuck. Uh, I, I ain’t sure I’m ready for that yet.” 

“That’s perfectly alright. Though it does mean my cock is not going into you tonight; I’m not sure I can control my bodily responses enough to avoid ovipositing accidentally.”

“Lots of others things we can do.” Duck bites the tip of one ear, making the other flare out.

“Indeed. I say we start with this.” Indrid’s tail encircles his waist just as Indrid shoves his cock between his thighs.

“Like, like the way you think sugar. Fuuuck, fuck that’s good.” The bumps from the eggs have just the right amount of give as he humps them, Indrid matching his tempo with his thrusts. He keeps his arms around his husbands neck, kissing him furiously. Indrid kisses back with a chirp, gold flashing in his scales, and Duck knows he won’t want to kiss anyone else for a long, long time. 

The tip of Indrid’s cock bumps his ass and he groans at what that suggests about it’s size. 

“I’m, I’m takin this fuckin perfect thing all the way before I go.” He bucks his hips harder to make his point, “gonna let you fuck me open on it, fill me up, wanna know what it’s like to cum with you inside me.”

“Oh gods” Indrid whimpers, hiding his face in Ducks neck as he squeezes his thighs together. 

“And, and you’re gonna be a dutiful fuckin husband and fill me however I say, ain’t you?”

“Yes, yesofcourse, goodness Duck I, I’m-”

“Heh, you like that, mr high and mighty seer likes bein bossed around. Well, lucky you, because now that I know just how fuckin good you are at fuckin me, gonna have you doin it ever, fuckin, day.” He jerks his hips hard, three times, and Indric cums with a cry, cock pulsing as he sinks his teeth into Ducks shoulder. Duck doesn’t let up, chases his orgasm over the bumps and ridges until he nearly whites out with pleasure, clinging to Indrid tighter as his body gives up on supporting him. 

After his cock retracts Indrid, still holding Duck up with ease, swims to the button that orders a cleaning cycle on the pool and deposits the human back on the stone. 

“I dearly hope your team finds what you need on this planet so that I may see you beyond these few weeks.”

“Sex was that good?” Duck teases, petting Indrid’s hair as he lays his head in his lap.

“No. Or, well, yes, but more than that you are so, so very wonderful. I wish to get to know you more, to show you even more of my world and my skill in bed.”

Duck kisses the top of his head, “I hope so too.”

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

Communication log between leader of Amnesty Mission at Astrobotanist Duck Newton. 

Mama: Got some promising leads. Will be back to pick you up in three days. 

Duck: Glad to hear it. But take your time, no need to rush only my account. 

[scarlettaagni]

Kandore (Lancer)

Kandore is the current clan leader of the Half-Heart Clan. He was named for his proficiency with the combistick as his signature weapon, as well as general skill with pole-like weapons.

As a child in the Agoge, he failed many times at stealing under his teachers’ watch and thus was given lashes as punishments for his failures. However, he never cried, no matter how hard the teachers tried to get a plea for mercy out of him. He was rarely given special treatment despite being a son of the clan leader, rather, because he must prepare for a higher position in life, he must work to fulfill the higher expectations. Kandore was only spoiled with the privilege of affording Elites to be his personal tutors and teachers.

His father Kachare had many children before and after Kandore, but noticing the boy’s pragmatism, charisma, confidence, and ability to take command of situations, named Kandore his heir.

In his youth, a local Hunter dominated the local arena through multiple victorious deathmatches in a row. Up to task, Kandore challenged him after observing him from afar. Right before their match, he and Kandore had a traditional good-natured exchange. The undefeated champion put his fist against Kandore’s chest, a common pre-fight goodwill gesture, but proceeded to expand the combistick hidden in his hand, intending on skewering Kandore’s head at the very start of the match. Though this is how he had managed to become the undefeated champion, Kandore had enough foresight to dodge the blow, receiving only a gash up the left side of his head. Half-blinded from the blood gushing out of his wound, Kandore killed the champion, and decided to take the move for himself.

Though named heir, meaning he will inherit the position once Kachare dies, Kandore took it upon himself to speed up the process and challenged his aging father for it instead. He believed he was ready for the job as he was, that Kachare had already grown old and unfit for it, and he did not want to “waste time”. Engaging in a public deathmatch, Kandore fairly slew his own father with a stab through the chest and a cut across the belly, decapitating Kachare as is tradition and received the leadership at an unconventionally young age.

Kandore’s taking of the position was controversial among the Half-Heart Clan, due to the fight being completely fair, honorable, and with legal precedent, but also seen as wholly unnecessary because he was already publicly declared the heir. While it’s happened before, an heir wishing to claim the leadership from their parent is often seen as a sign of impulsivity or impatience, qualities not looked upon favorably. Aware it may not be a popular move or start to his command over the clan, he worked on relations and built a reputation on being a personable and forgiving, but strict when he must be, leader.

Most of the clan have never met him personally, or held more than five conversations with him. As a result, they don’t know that while polite, his niceties are for show, and his forgiveness comes with strings attached. Kandore shows mercy and gives privileges in order to both endear himself to people, but also to hold these favors hostage and threaten taking them away should the other party not play along, or do something he doesn’t like. Though, sometimes, on a whim, he’ll do a nice thing for someone without expecting anything back, usually when it’s at no cost to himself or the clan at large. This is rare as he considers wasting his time and resources as a cost to himself/the clan, but he occasionally thinks better on it.

Kandore is a skilled manipulator, and excellent at reading people. During interactions, Kandore is constantly multitasking by carrying the conversation, observing the other person’s reactions to what he says, and recalling previous knowledge about them. By experimenting with topics during conversation, he easily gleans their berserk buttons and soft spots to take advantage of and use should he feel the need to. He even conducts personal or ordered research on Half-Heart clan members to learn more about them, and even on Yautja from other clans should they be relevant. In all situations, Kandore continually formulates plans to find a way he will benefit from the outcome in some form, no matter what.

He traps his subjects within societal conventions, where he will code his polite words with underlying messages and implications. While he continues to either deliberately passive-aggressively dig at them, or simply say things with a tone that implies something, he will not make an obvious attack or insult. The other person is allowed to make dirty looks all they like, or respond with a tone of hatred, but the instant they voice their disdain for him aloud, no subtext, he will instantly counter with a scathing retort. Kandore has reduced grown men to tears with his sharp tongue in this way.

No one knows what makes Kandore tick, and no one has ever managed to hurt his feelings the way he hurts others’, or scrape his ego in a way he could not recover instantly from. He is seemingly untouchable and almost seems devoid of emotion in a way, only capable of smug amusement. Many conclude you can’t hurt his feelings because he doesn’t have any. In truth, he is just very in control of his emotions.

Often challenged for his position by strangers, as he had challenged Kachare, he uses that hidden combistick move to end the matches quickly. This too, is a controversial action among the clan. Kandore insists it is a valid strategy, as he considers the start of a fight to be when the challenge is issued, not when the first blow is dealt. Even if his opponents know of the infamous move and dodge it, Kandore’s skill and strength as his bite is enough to substantiate his bark, and he is consequently undefeated. Basically, he talks a lot of shit, thinks he’s hot shit, but he fights like it, too.

He inherited his father’s Ancient advisor, Zazin, who he came to understand as a bleeding heart. Respecting his wisdom, Kandore takes his advice seriously, though dismisses his more “soft” suggestions. Though they can both sense hostility or unspoken disagreement between themselves, they do work as a team to govern the Half-Heart Clan, and often stick by one another when questioned.

Kandore keeps his father’s skull in his quarters, to “keep himself humble”, but jokes that it doesn’t work. He talks to the skull, but no one knows what he says to it, or if he’s expecting anything to be said back. When criticized for killing his father, Kandore will coldly state Kachare died because he was already unworthy of the title, thus he had to give it up right then, a sentiment shared by most Yautja. But otherwise, people such as Zazin or Lo’bane note he seems subdued, crestfallen, unusually quiet and lacking a sharp tongue when his father or his father’s death is brought up. Despite this, any attempts to weaponize his father’s death against him fails.

When in situations he cannot control, Kandore tends to spiral via uncontrollable humor as a coping mechanism. Humor normally keeps him in charge by keeping others enraged or distracted, making them easier to manipulate and shows his ease and confidence. It shows that he has so much control of the situation/conversation, he can mess around and still stay on top of things.

When in a pleasant mood, he fidgets with his quills, rubbing a single lock between his fingers or twirling it around his pointer finger.

He does not hate the Odd Crests, only appearing so because he can be much more transparent with them. As a social pariah, the Odd Crests are openly treated with ridicule, contempt, and scrutiny, and as such, he can tease them how he likes. The Odd Crests have glaring sore points and insecurities, thus theoretically malleable, though wise to Kandore’s true nature, they often resist. However, he has shown them more mercy than any other clan leader would. Any other leader would have exiled them, or declared the entire family Bad Blood, but Kandore allows them to stay as they are and does not go out of his way to mess with them. As such, while they are privy to his true nature, they cannot afford to call him out or openly voice their disdain for him. He just likes to get a rise out of them whenever he talks to them.

When Halkrath’s sons died, Kandore and Zazin delivered the news to the Odd Crest household, as well as transporting him back home, and ordering further excavation to recover the sons’ bodies and belongings. The incident landed the Half-Hearts in trouble with some of the other clans, as the Half-Heart’s mistake could have cost the lives of Yautja from other clans that were nearby. Kandore and Zazin defended Halkrath, stating that while he will be named legally responsible for the Xenomorph infestation, it was acknowledged as a freak accident and was quickly dealt with by Half-Heart enforcers. Kandore allowed a personal several-decade embargo on using the incident to his advantage, though did not hide his disdain for/disappointment with Halkrath’s recklessness, besmirching his own family and embarrassing the clan once again.

Kandore is off-put by Luar-ke and Lo’bane, specifically Lo’bane, so he asked that whenever the Odd Crests see him, that only M’hsi or Vosandi attend, with Halkrath’s presence a must. It’s just a preference, and a soft suggestion, not an order. The only one better than Kandore at figuring out people’s deals is Lo’bane, who figures it out via observation and eavesdropping, not conversation. Lo’bane has Kandore’s number, and he deliberately avoids him. When once left alone with the 50 year old, Kandore ran out of the room in tears.

When M’hsi approached him and demanded an opportunity to restore her family’s honor, Kandore thought she intended on just restoring her father’s name on his behalf and planned on allowing her to do so. When she corrected him and stated she wanted to absolve the dishonor of every dishonored member of her family, and not just her father, Kandore was taken aback and found the idea completely ridiculous. Jokingly, he suggested, in a bad faith interpretation of her request, that she go on a Hunt for each disgraced member, do better than they had, complete her Blooding ritual, and then her family’s honor debt will be forgiven.

Shocked she actually accepted this challenge, he examined the outcomes of the situation and decided that if she died, then it’s one less Odd Crest to further disgrace the family (and thus his clan) and one less unworthy Hunter. If she was to succeed, then he can welcome back a courageous Hunter he is responsible for creating.

Despite her parents and Zazin’s pleas to reconsider, Kandore refused as M’hsi had already accepted, and she similarly refused to back down. Kandore went to work arranging the trip, hiring craftsmen to fashion M’hsi her custom armor and approving weapons for her to choose from. As is tradition, only those related to M’hsi were allowed to attend, thus Lo’bane was able to attend but kept home as per Kandore’s request (and as his parents decided it might be too upsetting to see her off). A guard was issued to supervise them as they normally do, but specifically to keep an eye on Halkrath.

Acting as if nothing was off, or upsetting, Kandore escorted M’hsi through rooms where he and Zazin assisted in suiting her up in her commissioned armor, watching her try out the preapproved weapons (to which Kandore expressed amusement at her choice), and bringing her before the scout ship. He managed to fit one more jab in by wishing her luck before she boarded the ship.

As clan leader, Kandore stayed on Yautja Prime to govern the clan and remotely observe M’hsi’s Hunts, while Zazin monitors M’hsi in the scout ship on Earth.

[calitraditionalism]

Arc Three: Chapter Thirteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The five witnesses glanced at each other, unsure. Darkpelt, Redheart and Mistface stood together, with Darkpelt taking the lead. Her tail danced about merrily and her ears were perked. It looked a little like she had spotted particularly fat prey and was preparing to catch it.

“So,” she said, “this whole StarClan thing, right? Real puzzle, isn’t it?”

Mistface gave her a very dry look (though he wasn’t bothering to hide his smile). Redheart’s eyes rolled skyward for just a heartbeat.

“Seems a difficult thing,” Darkpelt went on. “We’ll have to consider our options carefully when we approach this topic.”

“What options?” Beetlefoot said. “All we can do is run.”

“Incorrect!” Darkpelt’s grin broadened. “As you all may have guessed, I’ve been doing some real hard thinking on this particular topic, and just now broached my newest theory to our deputy and…” She turned towards Mistface. “I’m trying to find a nice way to call you ‘smarter than your assumed looks would imply’.”

“Get to the point, Darkpelt,” Mistface said. “Now ain’t the time for jokes.”

“That is true, at least.” Darkpelt shook her head in self-admonishment and returned her attention to her audience. “Anyway, my theory posits as such: the false StarClan eats souls, as we all know. This would imply it needs a way to sustain itself. Which-“ She leaned a little forward. “-implies further that it is, in some form, alive. And if it’s alive, it can be killed.”

Greyleaf stared at her. For perhaps the first time since meeting Redheart in the waking world, his heart leapt with a sudden excitement. His mind immediately was working furiously away at this idea, many thoughts shouting over each other with plans and what information he’d collected over the years.

"You think that's possible?" Flyfang's eyes were wide.

"I'm quite certain it is," Darkpelt said. "Anything can die. What makes this so different?"

“I-“ Laurelclaw shuffled his feet, halfway between nervous and eager. “Well, I would like to think so, but how does something like that die?"

“That’s the puzzle part,” Darkpelt said. “It’s not going to die like a cat. It’s not built like us. It relies on souls and belief to get anything done.”

Littlepaw’s ears perked. “Belief?”

“Belief,” Darkpelt repeated. “That’s the key. It’s a mental game. This thing’s power is all in the mind.”

A realization hit Greyleaf in a full-force tackle. He stood up, tail straight out and bushy. “It’s a psychic monster. It relies on your thoughts and beliefs to be effective.”

“Therefore-“ Darkpelt almost wiggled in excitement. “Therefore, if there’s a way to take it on, it’ll be all in our heads.”

“Take it on?” Beetlefoot repeated, looking bewildered.

“We don’t need to flee from it.” Darkpelt’s paws kneaded at the ground. “We need to figure out how to attack it within itself – within our minds, in our sleep, perhaps.”

Greyleaf couldn’t help a rush of adrenaline in his blood himself that made him want to jump up and down. “It can take a dead soul and it can lie to us, but that’s all it can do. There’s a weakness somewhere that we can find just in a dream.”

“Yes!” Darkpelt nodded fervently at him. “Precisely!”

Mistface spoke now. “Thing is that we ain’t seers, and even seers don’t got the power to force StarClan to meet them wherever or whenever they like. So we gotta march up to its den and make it acknowledge us.” He looked at Redheart. “Which is how we’ve made a new plan.”

“The plan so far – young as it is – is this.” Redheart’s voice was level, but there was an intensity behind it that belied her excitement. “We want to head north and get to the Lighthouse. That place is the most direct link to StarClan – it will have to respond to us there. Once there, if everyone who comes with us dreams at once, we stand much more of a chance of defeating it through what means are possible.”

Darkpelt flicked a paw in Mistface’s general direction. “Your theory so far, my lad?”

Mistface, of the three, was the only one talking like he was conversing the weather. He tilted his head, eyes contemplative. “Just a theory, mind, but Redheart explained to me a little of what this thing is like. Nightmarish.” He looked almost sadly at Greyleaf. “Can’t even imagine it in my head without a little panic.”

Greyleaf offered a weak smile in return.

Mistface breathed in slowly and continued. “But what I gathered is that this thing’s just as much land as it is a monster. It shows seers landscapes same as it does ghosts. That can’t all be simple illusions – it ain’t that original. My guess is that, if we are to destroy it, we gotta approach it like we’re destroying a forest or a field.”

“How do we do that?” Flyfang asked. She was halfway to eagerness, but she still sounded hesitant. “We can’t just claw it to death.”

Mistface smiled lazily at her. “We’ll just have to get creative, won’t we?”

“That ‘we’, by the way,” Darkpelt added, “refers to whoever wants to come with us. I’m putting my paw in on this plan, and so are Redheart and Mistface. You all are free to leave, and maybe you should. I won’t lie and say we’re guaranteed to stay sane and in good health on this quest, but-“

“I’m in,” Greyleaf said.

Mistface beamed.

“Don’t know why I even pretended to ask you.” Darkpelt’s laugh was like her elation had filled her and had nowhere to go but forcibly out. “That’s four. Warriors, your thoughts?”

“Think carefully,” Redheart said. “You’ll be traveling with me and Greyleaf, and we’re both wanted. Even besides StarClan and whatever risks we face with it, you could be arrested for assisting us and trying to escape the Territory.”

“Doesn’t matter to me,” Flyfang said. “I’m coming with. As if there’s another option.”

Laurelclaw nodded at Flyfang. “Same for me. You- you might need a little muscle anyway, if someone tries to stop us.”

“Look at you actually offering to fight,” Beetlefoot said wryly. “We’ll probably need it.”

“Then you’re with us?” Mistface asked him.

Beetlefoot nodded as well - curtly, but with a spark in his eyes. “Any way I can help, I will. This is too important to decline.”

Littlepaw jumped to her feet. “I’m coming too!”

Every adult looked her way. Greyleaf could see on their faces that they’d all completely forgotten the apprentice. He had too, to be fair, but it was still a little funny.

Redheart frowned a little, tone careful. “Littlepaw, I can honor your enthusiasm, but I don’t think we can keep you with us from this point on. It’s been dangerous enough for you just in these past couple of days. The leaders will be looking for us-“

Littlepaw shook her head violently. “Let them. I’m not quitting here.”

“Littlepaw-“ started Flyfang.

“You’re going!” Littlepaw looked at her, outraged. “And the only reason you’re not my mentor is because we didn’t do the ceremony! You can’t just leave me behind!”

Laurelclaw tried next. “It’s dangerous for all of us, nevermind you, you know? We don’t know what StarClan can do to us. I mean, I’m sure it’ll tell everyone to chase us down if it catches wind of what we’re doing. We just don’t want you to get in trouble with us.” He cowed a little when Littlepaw glared at him. “Legal or physical, I mean.”

“He’s not wrong,” Darkpelt said. “Heading straight into the wasp’s nest may have some dire consequences for us, if we get there before the Clan gets us. We have absolutely no idea of how much it can hurt us until and when we get to the Lighthouse.”

Littlepaw stood as tall as her tiny stature would allow, tail lashing and eyes fiery and determined. “You don’t get it. I have just as much stake in this as you do. Not because of my family and my own life.” She paused, swallowed, and continued, a little shakier and angrier at the same time. “I helped propagate the lie of StarClan. I helped this thing deceive everyone. It deceived me! I bought into its crap and I told everyone what it told me, and they bought into its crap too. You can’t just send me home and expect me to forget everything I’ve learned, and everything I’ve helped it do.”

“No one blames you for being fooled,” Redheart said soothingly. “That isn’t your fault.”

“But it’s going to be my fault if I don’t do something about it,” Littlepaw countered. She gave everyone a defiant, fiery stare that was so uncharacteristic on her pretty face that Greyleaf almost wanted to draw back a little in alarm. “So you can take me with you or I can follow you the whole way to the Lighthouse, no matter how hard you try to drive me off. Either way, I’m part of this, and I don’t care what I need to do to help stop StarClan, with or without your approval.”

There was a silence. The adults now looked at each other, silently debating back and forth. Greyleaf regarded Littlepaw with sympathy. He understood her fear of that helpless frustration at being put aside and forced to do nothing with this horrible knowledge in her head.

“Let her come with us,” he said. “It’s only fair.”

“Getting an apprentice in trouble with the leaders, though…” Laurelclaw said anxiously.

“It’s her choice.” Greyleaf nodded to Littlepaw. “And I can’t make her live with what she knows and be unable to do anything about it.”

Mistface hummed. “She is right. We ain’t her mentor. Or her mother, for that matter. Let her do what she wants.”

Redheart had her head down, eyes narrowed in thought. She looked up again after a moment and said to Littlepaw, “My caveat is this: we can make Flyfang your mentor right now, and she will have the final say in what you do. If she says no, then you go home.”

Flyfang and Littlepaw blinked in surprise, looked at each other, and then smiled at the same time.

“Sounds fair to me,” Flyfang said. “Littlepaw?”

“Let’s do it,” Littlepaw said. “And don’t disappoint me.”

Flyfang poorly restrained a chuckle and looked at everyone else for confirmation. Without a word, the rest of the cats stood and moved to allow Flyfang, Littlepaw and Redheart some space. Greyleaf was grateful for how oddly light-feeling the moment was.

Redheart took a step forward, completely clear of Mistface and Darkpelt, and raised her voice a little, enough for it to be heard clearly in the thick woods.

“The apprentice before us has reached a turning point in her life,” she began. “She has chosen to leave behind the path of seerhood and turn to warriorhood. We honor her decision with this ceremony. Littlepaw, as an approved deputy of the Clan, I thank you for your service as a seer-in-training and change your status to warrior-in-training.” She looked warmly at Flyfang. “Flyfang, you have already taken charge of Littlepaw’s education and protection these past months. You will be her official mentor from here to her graduation and naming ceremony. I ask you to pass on your skills as a fighter and hunter to her.”

Flyfang and Littlepaw faced each other and touched noses. Greyleaf could see excitement and nervousness fluffing Littlepaw’s fur. He waited, not sure whether to hope for Flyfang’s approval or Littlepaw’s dismissal. From the tension in the air, everyone else was thinking the same thing.

“And with that…” Redheart’s eyes turned serious again. “Flyfang, it’s your call. Will she come with us?”

Flyfang looked down at Littlepaw, a flurry of emotions passing through her face. Littlepaw’s tail trembled a little.

After what felt like an eternity, Flyfang said to Redheart, “She will.”

Littlepaw bounced twice before catching herself and standing stiff and serious. Greyleaf couldn’t help a sigh of relief, odd thing though it was to be relieved about. The other adults relaxed and exchanged looks again, some worried, some optimistic.

“Then that’s that.” Redheart smiled at Littlepaw. “Your mentor has the final word.”

“Not that it would have made a difference,” Beetlefoot muttered. “She was going to follow us.”

“But now I don’t have to,” Littlepaw said, grinning. “So when do we head north?”

“Preferably as soon as possible,” Darkpelt said. “We’re losing cats daily. We ought to put a stop to this swiftly as we can.”

“We leave as soon as we’ve eaten,” Redheart said.

Everyone brightened at this. Greyleaf could feel the same thrill he had in his heart from the others. Having this plan – even the slimmest spider-silk of hope – it felt like having a reason to live. As the group of renegades started chatting to each other about possible trails and ideas, Greyleaf and Mistface simultaneously got up and met each other halfway.

“We’re savin’ Mama,” Mistface said, quiet enough for only Greyleaf to hear him. “She ain’t goin’ to that thing.”

Greyleaf nodded firmly. “It’ll have to get us first.”

Mistface’s features were calm, but Greyleaf could see, deep in his green eyes, a steadily burning determination. Greyleaf smiled grimly, feeling that determination roaring away in his own heart.

Hang on a little longer, Mama, he thought, hoping it could reach her somehow.

Just a little bit longer.

We’re coming for it.

You’ll be safe soon.