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[Translation] Kratos of the Expiation: Prologue-Chapter 1 part 1

This begins my efforts to translate the Tales of Symphonia novel, Shokuzai no Kratos, written by the game's scenario writer, Takumi Miyajima.

Some disclaimers:

I have other projects I'm working on alongside this, so I won't make any promise to get this translated in a timely manner, or that I'll finish it at all (though in a perfect world, I would love to; I had a lot of fun translating this first part!). If I do the whole thing, I'll share my original document, which will have an edited version of the text you'll read below. Think of this as a first draft.

I've never translated a novel before nor am I much of a creative writer, so I apologize in advance if it's an awkward read. I focused heavily on making sure Miyajima's words got across as intended, but given Japanese novels are written differently from English ones, I don't want to put too many words in her mouth here.

The book has 7 chapters and a prologue and epilogue, but as each chapter is really long (about 40 pages each), I'll be sharing the book in its smaller, also numbered parts. So, this is the prologue and part 1/37. My word processor says this alone is around 3300 words.

I want to give a huge thank you to Kevan33 for providing me with scans for this, which allowed me to translate it so much easier.

Without further ado, here's the summary and character introductions, and then the story itself!

Summary

Long ago, Mithos, the hero, brought about the end of the Ancient War in the Holy Ground of Kharlan. As a result, the world was split in two―as Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. However, the worlds exist akin to a waning hourglass, with one of them prospering and the other in decline. It has been 4,000 years since the end of the Ancient War, and now Sylvarant is on the path to ruin, as it has run low on its life-sustaining mana. It is in these circumstances that Kratos will descend unto Sylvarant and have a fateful, unexpected reunion! This is a side story which tells Kratos’ side of the story, who was a key character in the original game. The feelings he’s hidden in his heart will finally be revealed to all!

Cast

Kratos Aurion: This story’s protagonist. A traveling mercenary and remarkable swordsman who was hired to protect Colette on her journey. His true identity is one of the Four Heroes who ended the Ancient War 4,000 years ago, as well as an angel of Cruxis―one of the Four Seraphim.

Lloyd Irving: A young man from the village of Iselia. His grades in school are poor, but he’s quick-witted and good at making the right decision on the fly. Due to certain circumstances, he accompanies Colette on her Journey of World Regeneration.

Yggdrasill: The leader of Cruxis and one of the members of the Four Seraphim. He is Mithos the Hero who brought about the end of the Ancient War, as well as the person who split the world in two, orchestrating this system the world currently runs by.

Yuan Ka-Fai: Leader of the Renegades, which opposes Cruxis. He was one of the Four Heroes and is one of the Four Seraphim.

Martel Yggdrasill: Yggdrasill’s sister. She died 4,000 years ago when humans betrayed and killed her.

Genis Sage: A best friend of Lloyd and Colette. One of the smartest people in his village. He uses magic.

Raine Sage: Genis’ sister. She’s the only teacher in Iselia, so everyone calls her Professor.

Colette Brunel: Sylvarant’s Chosen. She leaves her hometown to go on the Journey of World Regeneration.

Zelos Wilder: Tethe’alla’s Chosen. He hangs around with Lloyd’s group as a spy for Cruxis.

Prologue

The boy introduced himself as Lloyd Irving.

We met in the small, remote village of Iselia. Back when the Sylvarant Dynasty held its rule, it was a prospering village deemed as the headquarters of the Church of Martel. Now it’s but a desolate village, with such a tale only to be seen as an attraction at best.

There were a number of things that led to this state. What brought about the fall of the Sylvarant Dynasty was a decrease in the world’s life-sustaining mana. This led to environmental changes, poor crops, and eventually poverty to the people. Iselia was not the only place that was affected by these changes. The land of Sylvarant―once famed as a kingdom of its own right―slowly slipped down the path of desolation.

What spurred this series of events was a group known as the Desians. The organization, rumored to consist primarily of half-elves, is known to kidnap people from all over the world and place them in institutions known as human ranches. While it’s unknown to the common folk what takes place in these institutions, fear is struck in the hearts of those who see the Desians, as it is fabled by the Church of Martel that the end of the world is coming should they lurk around.

Yes; Sylvarant is on the path of desolation. Within these circumstances, there exists the promised land of Iselia, which is the only place in which salvation may be brought about. The hope for this world is being fostered within Iselia’s land.

The sound of grass being trampled from far away could be heard. It was such a quiet sound, unable to be picked up by human ears.

Kratos Aurion slowly opened his eyes. Deep within the forest, the distant shadows of the leaves shook.

Are you coming, Lloyd?

Thinking of him, Kratos found himself oddly content. A sense of relief washed over him, that finally, the end was approaching. He felt elated, though could not place a finger on why. He had regained his sense of hope, which he had been convinced was long gone. However, the important step in achieving said hope was yet to come.

The footsteps grew louder. At this, all of the forest dwellers collectively fled in response. They could tell that within this tranquil forest, something big was about to happen.

The air seemed to turn tense as a mass of figures approached. A group of eight―all being different ages and genders―approached with stern looks on their faces. The one leading the pact was Lloyd.

The boy’s name seemed ordinary enough, but to Kratos it held deeper meaning. “Irving” was the surname of his late wife. “Lloyd” was the name of the child Kratos thought to have lost.

Lloyd and his friends were on a journey to carry out what they believed to be world salvation.

I wonder if they've brought about salvation yet?

No. The end hasn’t even begun yet.

Kratos rose and approached Lloyd and his friends, in order to see their “salvation” through to the end.

Chapter 1

Part 1 of 6

It’s a wonder just how many people would believe it if they were told the world had been split into two. Many would likely laugh it off, claiming it to be a fairy tale. The land seems unsifted, and there’s no crevices to be seen after all. Nobody would dare suggest the moon in the sky is actually another planet, would they?

Even a fairy tale would require an allegory to hold its basis.

The truth of the matter is that the world had been split in two. The dimensional rift had been cut through, pushing the planets into an orbit. The two worlds exist on a plane together, never to see or touch the other. Despite this, the two worlds do in fact coexist alongside each other. One of these worlds is, for convenience, known as Sylvarant. This world was ruled by the old Sylvarant Kingdom and its allied nations. The other is Tethe’alla. Like with Sylvarant, this world too was ruled by the kingdom of Tethe’alla, and got its name as such.

“These two worlds, as well as our planet of Derris-Kharlan, are ruled by Lord Yggdrasill.”

The angel known as Adol was explaining the structure of Cruxis to a group of newly awakened angels. Kratos was watching them through a monitor, and shook his head exhaustedly.

This was a ritual he had seen far too many times at this point. Over the course of 4,000 years, here on Derris-Kharlan, he had watched as a number of living beings known as angels were born. No, perhaps that’s not the right way to describe it―he had watched as many people had undergone a transformation to turn into the lifeless beings known as angels.

Thankfully, the number wasn’t too high. A tool known as the Cruxis Crystal was required to turn people into angels, of which there weren’t many to spare. With them being so scarce and precious, only selected individuals were allowed to become angels. From there, the angels would undergo special training and become soldiers, fighting to support Cruxis.

Kratos was one of those angels himself. He had a different position than the other angels, however. He was famed as one of the Four Seraphim, the highest rank within Cruxis, and operated directly under the world’s leader―Mithos Yggdrasill.

“Through the Church of Martel, our job is to guide the people of both Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. This does not only apply to half-elves, but extends to elves and humans alike. We will guide them down the proper path, to one day make our Age of Lifeless Beings a reality. A great weight lies upon all of your shoulders.”

Not a single person was moved by Adol’s words. At first, lifeless beings―rather, angels―have their emotions almost entirely suppressed. It takes great strength and time to gain control over those emotions once more. There are some who go the rest of their lives never regaining theirs.

“Lord Kratos.”

An angel appeared on his projector―one with white wings. Kratos instantly identified him as an inexperienced angel. When a person turns into an angel, numerous functions of their body undergo a change. One of these is adjusting the distribution of mana in the body to produce wings, allowing them to pull them out as needed in order to fly. However, if one uses their wings too much, their bodily mana materializes the wings and makes it a permanent part of the body. One of the key functions of turning into an angel is being able to control various bodily functions, though the reality of it is that many are unable to control them properly. A large number of the angels within Cruxis have wings like the man Kratos sees here.

“What is it?”

“Lord Yggdrasill has summoned you.”

“...Understood.”

The messenger angel bowed and disappeared. Kratos turned off the video on his monitor and left his office.

A throne of darkness, suspended in the empty sky. What you’ll find in the deepest part of Derris-Kharlan―far beyond Welgaia, where Cruxis’ angels live―is Vinheim. This was where the castle of Yggdrasill, the man who split the worlds into two and ruler of both, resided.

As Kratos stepped towards the throne, Yggdrasill leaned on the armrest as a calm smile crawled onto his face.

“You’ve come, Kratos.”

That languid voice of his was the same as ever. It was the same as it was when Kratos defected 70 years ago. Though the light in his green eyes shone differently than normal.

“Kratos Aurion, reporting for duty.”

Kratos stepped closer to the throne and kneeled in front of it. This exchange of formalities was something he had done in submission to the man over the course of the past 15 years.

“There’s no need for such formalities. I called you here today to talk about our past.”

At this, Kratos’ leader―rather, the leader of the entire world―Yggdrasill suddenly rose to his feet.

“Do you remember the day we first met, Kratos?”

As Kratos nodded, the man famed as a ruler effortlessly changed his form. His once tall figure shrunk in the blink of an eye, and his limbs shrunk with it.

“It was in the imperial capital of Tethe’alla. I was still a child, who knew no fear and who truly believed in the goodness of humanity. Since the worlds had yet to be split, the two countries ravaged in a revolting, long-lasting war.”

What stood before Kratos wasn’t the beautiful young man who was a ruler. It was a petite 14-year-old boy.

Seeing this transformation always horrified Kratos. What he feared wasn’t Yggdrasill, but instead the lifeless beings known as Cruxis Crystals, which allowed the body to transform in such a way.

When the elves in ancient times moved from Derris-Kharlan to the earth, they first planted the Giant Kharlan Tree―the source of mana―and then brought along many crafts and techniques. One of those was the material known as Exspheres. However, over the course of 5,000 years, the knowledge of their intended use and what they were originally made for became lost to time. All that was left was the knowledge that they were advanced beings. They became known as a thing that could protect its user and elevate their abilities to the maximum. Such a thing was then turned into weapons of combat during the Kharlan Wars, which occurred 5,000 years ago.

What brewed was an intermittent yet vicious conflict between Sylvarant and Tethe’alla. In order to get the upper hand, both sides developed magitechnology based weapons, and research developments led to Exspheres finding new use cases. Cruxis Crystals were developed in order to allow soldiers who equipped them to become even stronger and turn into angels. Those who equipped Cruxis Crystals would undergo a physical, battle-ready transformation into an angel, allowing them to also manipulate their hearing, vision, and sense of pain at will. On top of this, those with a strong compatibility with the crystals would be able to control their internal clock at will.

The ability to change one’s internal clock―what a terrifying thing that was. It almost felt as if people had reached into god’s domain. Yes, the boy with the innocent-looking smile on his face that currently stood in front of him had violated god’s domain.

“What’s wrong, Kratos?”

Yggdrasill tilted his head at Kratos, whose face was warped with agony.

“Watching me change form surely isn’t that surprising. Or does it hurt to see me in this form?”

Kratos cast his eyes downward.

It’d be a lie to deny such a thing. The young boy in front of him now looked exactly like the Mithos Yggdrasill he had traveled with so long ago. Some part of Kratos tried hard to separate the two in his head―Mithos, the young boy who worked tirelessly to save the world and was famed as a hero, and Mithos, the young man who fell into despair and cast away his humanity in favor of playing a poor imitation at god.

This was pure sophistry. Kratos knew this. However, it’s all he could manage to give himself even a little peace of mind. He didn’t need to slip further and make any more mistakes.

“I see. So it does hurt you. If you really feel that way, you surely won’t betray me again, right?”

He said this in a fondly-remembered tone of voice, and it felt like something was stabbing Kratos’ heart.

“Back then, you resigned as a knight for the Tethe’alla Kingdom and joined up with us. It was you who said you’d make a place where all of us half-elves could live in peace, and that to that end, your power was ours to use however fit.”

“...Indeed I did say that.”

“Then surely you know where I’m going with this. The Age of Lifeless Beings I’m creating will rid all of the discrimination half-elves face. It’ll be a utopia where everyone can live in peace.”

Facing the ground, Kratos debated on whether or not to voice the words that were forming deep in his throat. Mithos paid it no heed and continued on.

“Soon, Sylvarant’s Chosen will receive the oracle.”

At this, Kratos snapped his head up. Yggdrasill smiled at him like an angel. Well, he was an angel, in a literal sense.

“This Chosen of Regeneration is a 99.999999999% match. This is even closer than the Chosen Spiritua was. This time, we’ll succeed. My sister will finally be revived.”

The revival of Yggdrasill’s sister―Martel Yggdrasill―held a lot of meaning. The reason the world was still split into two was all for Martel’s sake. One huge mistake made 4,000 years ago changed everything.

When the elves planted the Giant Kharlan Tree on this world, mana brought forth lifeforms and completely changed the nature of the planet. Mana was used to power magic and magitechnology, and before long, mana itself had been overused. This overuse led to the fountain of all life, the Giant Kharlan Tree, withering.

“We were only ever fighting to save the Giant Kharlan Tree. We got our hands on the Great Seed, and were going to plant it to bring forth a new tree. But of course, humans wanted to hog the mana all for themselves, and they killed my sister, who was protecting the seed...”

Mithos’ tranquil face warped with hatred and disgust.

“But I’m so nice that I’m allowing those vermin to live. In fact, I’m such a nice guy, I’m even inviting them into my Age of Lifeless Beings. I’ve given them the compromise of a lifetime, Kratos. Martel exists as part of the Great Seed. The Great Seed is Martel herself. If I was any meaner, I would never share the mana from the Great Seed with those disgusting humans. But I’ve gone ahead and split the world into two, so that they can share the mana that comes from it.”

“Thanks to your system, one world is always suffering, while the other is prospering.”

“That’s what the Chosen is for. The Journey of Regeneration is one that reverses the flow of mana. When one world weakens, the mana from that world flows to the other. It’s like an hourglass. This is all we can do to keep our precious supply of mana from running out completely. You said you were on board with this, did you not?”

“Yes, as a temporary solution―”

“Oh, and it is temporary, I assure you. I already promised you―when my sister is revived, I’ll return the world back to normal. When she has a new body, there will be no need to protect the Great Seed as I am now. I’ll reunite the worlds into one and germinate the seed, allowing the Giant Kharlan Tree to grow. Then, my discrimination-free Age of Lifeless Beings will be born on earth...”

Mithos sat down on his throne, still in his child form. The throne was far too large for such a tiny body. Realizing this filled Kratos with a strange sense of sorrow.

“This Journey of Regeneration is not allowed to fail. If it does, we’ll lose the vessel for Martel’s soul, and this will spring us into another indefinite time frame of trying to make another. If that happens, the joined world you wish for so badly will be a long, long way off. So nobody is allowed to get in our way. Not even those rats.”

“You refer to the Renegades, I presume?”

“Yes. They camouflage themselves as Desians and do all sorts of things. You know of them?”

“I’ve received reports of them infiltrating all of the human ranches and stealing Exspheres.”

“Such a slacker, aren’t you, Kratos? Rats are to be exterminated.”

“I am sorry.”

“It’s fine. What they do matters little to me. Their tendency to kill Chosens is pesky, though. Therefore, I want you to escort this next Chosen for me. Protect her, guide her, and help her through the angel transformation as smoothly as possible.”

“I’m the overseer of Sylvarant, though. If I were to go on the Journey of Regeneration, I wouldn’t be around to have Pronyma put the Desians into motion.”

“I will handle that myself. Protecting the Chosen is our top priority. Surely you know this. Following my orders is what will allow you to see your dreams come true.”

To return the world to its proper state―this required fulfilling Mithos’ wish of reviving Martel, and it was the correct path to take. No; perhaps he had just lost the will to choose another path. Kratos had no means of defying such a path.

[skylarstark4826]

Attuma was exhausted. Exhausted from how long the day had been, exhausted from Namora's antics, and exhausted from spending the majority of his evening fucking into his hand at the thought of Okoye whimpering his name.

He inhaled deeply, decided that the right thing to do would be to at least go check on her, look inside where Namora had her held and make sure she was alive and sober. He'd just take a look and turn around, get in and get out unless she was any kind of real danger.

As he approached the quarters, he found himself relieved that he could no longer hear her breathy moans of his name. That would make it a lot easier for him to go back after he ensured her safety. What he wasn't relieved about, however, was that he couldn't see her. He wasn't sure if the panic that was setting in was because she'd been taken or because it wouldn't be entirely implausible if she'd escaped and taken down some of his men in the process.

Attuma cautiously stepped further into the cold room, finding that it would be easy to forgive her deciding to escape such a dark and cold holding place.

"Warrior."

His head snapped at the sound of her beads translating and saw her in the corner of the room. So she hadn't fled.

"You are still here?"

He watched as she took a moment to listen to the translation and nodded.

"I do not know where to go and I am sure I would drown this far down."

Despite the beads' nearly monotone translation, Attuma felt a tugging at his heart at the playful tone she'd used.

"Are you well?" he questioned, taking a step backwards as she moved out of the corner. He needed to keep his distance from this woman.

If he let her get any closer, he was sure he would act on every selfish vision he'd ever had featuring her. He would pull her into the bed that stood across the room and take her. He wanted to. More than anything. He wanted to wrap his hand around her throat and see the fire burn in her eyes.

She raised an eyebrow at the question. She'd been kidnapped and drugged and he was asking if she was well? He figured by the look on her face that it wasn't the smartest question in the world and apologized, earning a reluctant nod from her.

Attuma's eyes scanned her face, looking for any trace of remembrance on her features, secretly hoping she would remember that she called out his name. She'd wanted him, not the traitorous husband that he'd heard so much of. He found nothing, though. Her eyes were laser focused. She momentarily met his gaze and Attuma thought he might have a heart attack when her head cocked to the side and her eyes narrowed in a way that made him feel like she knew about his late night activities.

He was struggling to keep his composure as she stood across from him and made eye contact. Her eyes were siren-like in their own right and she was running him up a wall. He felt possessed by her despite her being the captive. The last bit of his sanity was hanging on by the thinnest thread and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to remain stable when he couldn't look her in the eyes without hearing her gasping for him or the way her scent had flooded his senses.

"Do you need food? Water? Warmer clothing?"

She shook her head. She was hungrier than she'd like to admit, but she would refuse to take anything he had to offer.

Okoye knew he wasn't going to kill her. If he wanted to do that, he would have long done it by now.

"Why am I here?" she asked him, less authority in her voice than when she'd so confidently threatened to kill him and his soldiers on the bridge.

She watched Attuma calculate an answer for her. He inhaled deeply, making his large chest puff out, which drew her attention to the area even more.

"Namora meant for you to be a gift to our king. No harm was ever to come to you," he explained, praying that the explanation would be enough to keep the warrior calm.

Okoye nodded and the two of them stood silently before Attuma cleared his throat and turned on his heels, satisfied in knowing that she was unharmed, but he knew she hadn't eaten since she'd left Wakanda.

"Where are you going?" she called to him and he stopped in his tracks, heart fluttering at the thought of her being concerned with his absence.

"You must eat," he replied, not giving her a chance to retort before he walked out.

She stood stunned as he left her alone and she also found herself a bit fearful. Namora didn't want to hurt her, but how was she to know that the other Talokanil did not wish her ill? Attuma had left her alone and she was in their home. If they wanted to harm her, she was left without protection.

Okoye was not alone for long. She'd spent the short time talking down her fears and mentally boosting her confidence in skills just in case it was necessary. When Attuma returned shortly after leaving, she jumped slightly at the sound of his heavy footsteps.

Her eyes met his and he was looking at her expectantly. She let her gaze fall to his shoulder, where a dark blue blanket was folded over it and then to his hands, which were holding a large tray of food for her.

He held out the tray and she stepped forward hesitantly before taking it and nodding in appreciation.

As she set the tray down on the table in front of her, she felt a light weight fall on her shoulders. Her body jolted but Attuma's gentle touch was comforting her, placing the blanket across her arms. She wasn't sure what was more surprising, the fact that he hadn't killed her yet or the fact that he was being so soft with her.

Her body relaxed and she cleared her throat, shrugging his hands off of her before pulling the blanket around the rest of her upper body.

Attuma took a step back before gesturing with his hand to the table.

"Corn, potatoes, beans, squash..."

Griot listed the extensive list of food that Attuma had brought and was naming for her and she found herself flattered.

"Thank you. It is...Thank you."

He nodded when she finally reached a hand out and grabbed a sweet potato from the tray and ate it. His eyes stayed focus on her lips the entire time.

Attuma turned his head to the side when she let out a curse in Xhosa.

"What is wrong?" he questioned, eyes watching her as she began to sit on side of the bed, knees coming ip to her chest as she sat.

"It is freezing," she told him.

She shivered under the blanket and neglected the food on the table. Attuma wasted no time, sitting beside her and scooping her into his arms and letting his body heat transfer to her. She momentarily tried to pull away from him, but she found herself preferring the warmth over the iciness of being without his strong arms encasing her.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her body stiff against his.

Attuma did not respond. He simply reached over to the table and grabbed a piece of potato off of the tray, pressing the slice to her lip, and her eyes widened in response.

"Eat," he commanded gently before she could have the chance to dispute his silent request.

Okoye hesitated before doing as told. She tried to convince herself that she obliged because she would rather keep her hands wrapped under the heat of the blanket than expose her fingers to the cool air, but the wetness that was beginning to pool between her legs when her lips wrapped around his fingertips was telling her otherwise.

Attuma stared at her lips as she ate, pulling his hand back from her mouth. He wasn't even sure she realized what she was doing to him.

The man reached for more food, placing the slices on by one into her mouth and feeling himself harden as her lips wrapped around his fingers. She may not have known what she was doing him, but he could tell exactly what was happening with her. When the unmistakable scent hit his nose, his eyes almost rolled back involuntarily.

He did his best to ignore her scent but it was beginning to fog his mind. He couldn't think of anything else. Forget war with Wakanda, all he wanted at this rate was whatever would let him keep her.

Attuma pushed another potato slice into her mouth but this time didn't retreat when her lips wrapped around. Instead, he let his fingers sink past her plump lips and further into her mouth. His flingers slid back until he was damn near touching the back of her throat.

Okoye's breath hitched, eyes looking up at him curiously to find his lost expression. He was usually hard to read, but this look was something different.

She didn't know that he was contemplating his duties, that he was wondering how he could sneak her into his quarters and keep her as his personal toy.

As spit gathered around his thick fingers, he had to pull himself back from the edge before he fell over.

His fingers withdrew from her mouth and she released them with a quiet groan.

Attuma's head shook as he abruptly released her and stood, needing to get away from this surface woman as quickly as possible. She would be the end of him if he stayed around her.

He left her quarters quickly and bent over, inhaling deeply. There were times when he thanked the gods above for the discipline that was instilled in him so deeply that it got him out of most situations that tempted to test his will. This was one of them.

Attuma swallowed deeply before standing up to his full height again. He is strong, resilient. He'd escaped her siren trap and she would be gone morning. He would not have to see her again until they battled. He was wrong. He didn't hear her fast enough, and when he finally heard her soft footsteps and felt the feathery touch of her hand against his back, fingers tracing a few of the battle scars that didn't heal as well, it was too late.

He turned abruptly to face her and she drew her hand back. He looked down at her pretty face and he contemplated grabbing her jaw and kissing the air out of her lungs.

"Go to your quarters, General," he commanded lowly, the translation sounding back in her ears.

Oh, how she wished Griot was able to capture the rough tone he used when he spoke to her, the tone he used when trying to intimidate her that really only ended up turning her on more than she wished for it to.

"Go."

He might as well have been begging her because the longer she stayed in his sight, the closer he was to risking everything he'd spent his life building, losing it all for her.

She turned her head to the side, a mannerism that she seemed to have picked up from him with how often he did it when he got curious. Okoye wasn't blind, his discomfort was obvious. The way his body stiffened when she walked up to him, how he was avoiding his usually unwavering eye contact. He was nervous by her presence, and she enjoyed it much more than she'd ever publicly admit.

"You should leave. Namora is to return you to the Wakandan shore in the morning," he suggested, grabbing her wrist and stopping the hand that had been inching toward the scars on his abdomen.

Part of him wanted to let her go ahead, but he didn't know if he would be able to stop himself if she were to run her hands along his upper body.

Okoye brought her free hand up to his face and ignored Griot's translation of the warrior's words, gentle fingers moving to trace along his jaw and around his rebreather, and against his better judgement, he allowed this. As the scent he'd found himself consumed by flooded every one of his senses, he realized that he wouldn't be able to walk away from her or even let her walk away from him because it would be too hard. Because it was too easy to give in to the desire to have her instead of a piece of cloth that was slowly starting to lose the smell of her perfume, too easy to let her run her fingers along his skin, and too easy to lean into her touch.

"This would be a mistake," he mumbled just loud enough for her to hear.

He watched her expression switch from curiosity to deviousness as the translation sounded back.

Oh, she was something dangerous.

He didn't wait for her response as he turned himself back toward her quarter, pulling her arm and causing her to stumble behind him.

Attuma pulled her in, releasing her only to remove his rebreather and place it carelessly on the table next to the long forgotten tray of food. He grabbed her again with more aggression this time, one hand in the middle of her back pressing her close while the other wrapped around her neck.

She stared up at him in waiting, excitement coursing through her veins as she watched him contemplate just what he was going to do with her. His breath was ghosting over her lips and she shuddered as he finally dipped his head and connected their lips.

He was all over her, his tongue dipping into mouth as their hands explored each other. He backed her until her knees hit the edge of the bed. Before Okoye could sit, he pushed against her shoulders and sent her down, following immediately behind her and putting his weight above her.

Okoye thought she might die. The weight of him on top of her mixed with his knee pressing against her core was going to send her brain into overdrive.

Attuma pressed hot kisses to her neck, gliding his tongue across her skin as he worked his way down to her chest, not giving her time to aid in taking her shirt off as he pulled it off of her hastily and threw it somewhere across the room.

He kissed along her collar bone before kissing the tops of her breasts through her bra. Attuma reached his hands around her and popped open the clasps of the inconvenient undergarment before giving it the same treatment as her blouse.

If he weren't lighting her entire body up like fireworks, she'd probably curse him for being so careless with her items, but when he caught her jaw in a tight grip and let a string of spit fall into her mouth, any thoughts of chewing him out flew from her mind.

Attuma took her left breast in his mouth, massaging the other with his hand and basking in the moans that were escaping her. In that moment, he decided to give himself a new purpose in life: Drawing as many noises from her sweet lips as possible.

Her hands found his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp as he kissed her. The sensation sent vibrations through his body as he sank down to her ankles, tugging her pants down and discarding of them quickly. He left a trail of kisses up her leg and inner thigh until he reached his target.

He needed to taste her, needed to dive into her completely. Attuma inhaled deeply, the scent of her wetness rewiring his every thought. He pressed a gentle kiss to her clit through her panties before looping his fingers in the underwear, slipping them down her sleek legs.

Attuma looked up at her to catch any sign of regret, and when he found none in those dark eyes of hers, he dove in. His tongue swiped up her slit earning an instant reaction from her. It had been too long. W'Kabi had never been an excitement and she couldn't think of anyone else notable in her previous relationships.

Her hands found his hair again and she pulled, gaining a low groan from him that vibrated through her core as his tongue licked circles into her clit.

She let out a sharp gasp as he wrapped his lips around the nub, sucking it gently before going in with more aggression. Attuma's hand traveled up her stomach and to her throat, squeezing it tightly as his free hand held her legs apart for unobstructed access to her pussy.

It was all better than he thought it could be. She was perfect in ever way. The way she tasted, the way her body responded to him, the sound of her breathy moans and whimpers. It was more than he'd even imagined.

Attuma wondered what would happen if he didn't give her back, kept her in Talokan and used her whenever he needed a stress relief. How much would Wakanda miss their general?

Okoye's hips began grinding against him on their own accord. When they lifted from the bed, Attuma pushed them back down before landing a sharp strike. The grip on his hair tightened and Attuma chuckled lowly before spitting on her cunt and licking the area clean again. Yes, he would definitely be keeping her for his own.

As Attuma's tongue pushed her closer and closer to climax, Okoye's head raced with pleasure. Her cheeks flushed and she felt her stomach beginning to coil. She began to wonder if Bast was playing a sick joke on her by presenting her with a man out of a wet dream and having him be from an enemy nation.

Okoye came with a loud moan and an iron grip on his hair. Attuma's hands never released her neck, keeping a tight squeeze around her throat as her body shivered. He was going to kill her one day, she was sure of it.

Okoye's chest heaved as she came down from her high, eyes screwed shut from pleasure. She felt him press a kiss to her sensitive clit and felt goosebumps rise again.

Attuma flattened his tongue against her once more and licked up her slit to clean her up, causing her to push his head away. She wasn't sure if she could take anymore with how strong that orgasm alone had been, but he was far from finished with her. The man was insatiable and she was a deadly drug. And now that he'd he'd finally had his fix, he was sure that he could never go back to a life without her.

[mconsent]

10 Advantages of a Self Check-In Kiosk for Dental Practices | mConsent

The patient check-in process sets the tone for the entire dental visit experience. Yet many practices still rely on outdated, cumbersome paper forms that bottleneck reception and create negative first impressions. By implementing a digital check-in system, your office can transform this crucial moment to boost efficiency, accessibility, and satisfaction.

Transitioning to an automated and paperless check-in is one of the smartest investments your dental practice can make. Your patients will appreciate the modern, convenient experience while your team benefits from optimized workflows.

In this blog, we’ll explore the top 10 advantages of upgrading to digital check-in. From self-service kiosks to mobile apps, read on to learn how modern intake can revolutionize your practice!

1. Faster Check-In Times

Digital check-in systems allow patients to verify their personal information and appointment details in seconds right from the lobby. This creates a seamless experience without lengthy paper forms, reducing wait times significantly.

2. Streamlined Patient Identification

Options like QR code check-in, ID barcode scans, or integration with practice apps identify patients instantly upon arrival. This boosts convenience, security, and efficiency.

3. Automated Workflow Integration

The patient's digital check-in data integrates directly into popular practice management software, auto-populating forms, charts, and documents to eliminate manual data entry. This saves massive administrative time.

4. Enhanced Front Desk Experience 

With a tablet-based check-in system, front desk staff deliver five-star hospitality and focus completely on patient service rather than paperwork.

5. Real-Time Updates

Digital systems provide real-time check-in confirmations via text, appointment reminders, and even wait time updates to keep patients informed.

6. Customizable Platform Options

Based on your preferences, digital check-in can be implemented via self-service kiosks, wall-mounted tablets, mobile apps, web portals, and more.

7. Improved Data Collection

The digital process allows easy collection of patient information like demographics, insurance, health history, contact details, and more during check-in.

8. Analytics for Insights

Robust reporting provides reception traffic analysis, check-in volume patterns, peak times, and other data to optimize efficiency.

9. Seamless Mobile Integration

Checking in via smartphone allows patients more convenience and flexibility through QR code scans or GPS location-based sign-in.

10. Enhanced Accessibility

Digital options improve accessibility with features like screen readers, magnifiers, translations, and integrations with accessibility apps.

As today's patients demand faster, smoother, and more automated dental visits, digital check-in systems are becoming necessities rather than luxuries for practices. The benefits ranging from reduced wait times to robust analytics demonstrate why old-fashioned clipboards can't compete.

By providing patients with a cutting-edge experience, like the Self Check-In Kiosk by your office makes memorable first impressions. Meanwhile, your team is freed up to focus on excellent clinical care. Prioritizing your check-in process with digital capabilities ensures your dental practice is positioned for lasting success.

[calif0rnia-lovers]

#1: the proposal | plan b.

pairing: angel reyes x black!reader | chapter rating: 💙

total # of parts in series: 10

join my gc for updates since tags are acting weird

I keep falling for boys and mistaking them for men

series sum: After several failed relationships, you decide that you’re over waiting for Mr. Right to come around and help start a family. In a drunken ramble, you ask your best friend if he’ll be your donor. You didn’t expect him to say yes. As you and Angel enter uncharted waters, you both realize neither of you fully thought the initial proposal through.

words: 1.8 K

What is it they say…hope breeds eternal misery.

Or, as Angel Reyes likes to say, “I don’t know why you’re wasting time on that asshole.”

Asshole is the nicest term you can dub your boyfriend--correction, your ex-boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

It’s strange how quickly two letters--a simple prefix--can change your life.

One minute, you’re joining your boyfriend and his family on a getaway to the beach. The next, you’re being kindly escorted out of a restaurant for tossing a drink in his face.

When you’d left Santo Padre Friday afternoon, you had a single thought in your mind. He’s finally going to propose. The nervous behavior, the talks about moving to a bigger apartment, him inviting you to a weekend getaway with his family.

How else would a rational person explain this behavior?

Well, according to Michael, all of those things do not add up to a proposal. They add up to “softening the blow."

As you sit on the curb waiting for your uber, with Michael's big splurge of the evening in hand--a bottle of Cabernet, you realize his explanation was complete bullshit. How is dragging you to Santa Monica for the weekend "softening the blow?" If he was going to break up with you, he could have done it in Santo Padre.

As you double-check the ETA on your uber, you remember.

Michael didn't drag you to Santa Monica to break up with you. He dragged you to Santa Monica to ask you to "take a break."

Apparently, there's a difference.

As Michael put it, with his birthday fast approaching, he'd had an epiphany. He needed time to "get out there" and "explore" his options.

"We're in our thirties," he'd explained. "We only have a few years left before we're expected to settle down, have kids. I think we should take this time to get everything out of our system, so by the time we come back together, we're ready to start that family you're always talking about."

The nervousness you'd seen the past two weeks? Had nothing to do with hiding a ring, or trying to find the perfect opportunity to pop the question. The nervousness was Michael trying to find the right time to ask you not to renew the lease of the apartment, you share, at the end of the month.

The talk about upgrading to a bigger apartment? Had nothing to do with having an extra room for the kid you've both talked about having. It was so that he could move in with his two best friends.

Michael’s epiphany left you in shock. You were caught between realizing the entire revelation wasn’t a complete joke and realizing you were expected to ride home with his family in the morning. The drink tossing didn’t come until Michael rubbed his hands together, a knowing smile sliding onto his face.

Taking your shocked silence as a lack of protest to his idea, Michael nodded over his shoulder. “You wanna head back up to the room...have some fun our last night together?”

The weight of Samantha--wait. No. Savanna...Sabrina? No, Salena.

The weight of Salena’s body presses Angel into the mattress. Her body is nearly directly on top of his, her face nuzzled into the warmth of his neck.

He’s not used to women sleeping over. Angel has one rule. He wants to sleep alone. Translation, be gone when he wakes in the morning.

That’s why, when he wakes to the sound of a slamming door, Angel is pissed.

His initial thought is that Salena let the door slam on her way out. The only problem is, Salena is still in bed with him--sleeping soundly. If she wasn’t, he would have been up able to react quicker. Because if it’s not Salena leaving, it means that someone is coming in.

“You need to go,” Angel mumbles as he manages to escape her grip.

Salena responds by rolling over and ignoring his request.

When he leaves his bedroom, Angel finds his entire house in darkness. His hand runs down his face as your voice fills the air.

"Ow--shit!" Your keys and purse fall to the floor as you bump into the coffee table.

"Y/N, what are you doing?"

“What are you doing?” You counter the slurring of your speech causing Angel’s head to shake. “...standing in the dark like a fucking creep.”

“Are you drunk?”

Your head shakes. Even if half-asleep, Angel knows you’re not drunk. You’re hammered, at least by your standards. He’s known you long enough to realize you’re a lightweight. A two and a half-hour ride with a bottle of Cabernet meant you were well past your limit.

“And why are you back early--did you drive here?”

“No,” you scoff. “I took an uber obviously--”

A second trip into the coffee table silences the rest of your response.

“Alright, come on--” Angel takes your hand in his, preventing you from falling forward.

“I don’t need your help.” Yanking your hand free of his grip--with more force than necessary--you stumble backward. Between the late hour and his body still attempting to shake off its grogginess, the action is too fast for Angel to predict. “Or any man’s help for that matter...fucking men--always thinking they need to save me--”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you--and fucking...fucking Michael--that piece of shit...” Despite your previous attempt to escape him, you turn on your heels causing Angel to bump into you. Instinctively, his hands find your waist. An innocent attempt to help maintain your balance. “--I said I don’t need help walking, Angel--”

“Clearly.” The smirk on his lips narrows your eyes.

The pathetic attempt of a shove you apply to his chest is enough to tip your already unsteady balance.

In his defense, Angel isn’t used to “rescuing” you from a drunk faceplant. Usually, the roles are reversed.

It may not be the smartest move, but it’s the quickest way to prevent another one of your escape attempts. Angel tightens his grip on your waist, pulling a small yelp from your lips as he lifts you off the ground throwing you over his shoulder.

The sudden shift in your posture blurs your vision--sending the room spinning. The rush of blood to your head causes your palm to come down hard in frustration against Angel’s back.

“Put me down…” Angel’s head shakes as your slurred speech trails off for a moment. Seizing the break in your resistance, he carries you across the darkened room towards the security of the sofa. “...what the hell are you doing in my house anyway?”

“This is my house.” Angel huffs as he lowers you onto the sofa. “If you get up, I’m not stopping you. I'm serious, I'll let you bust your ass this time.”

But moving from the sofa has already left your mind. Instead, your focus has drifted. Scanning the living room as Angel disappears. Despite his words, you're still not sure why you've ended up at his house and not yours.

“Here drink this,” Angel sighs as he returns. He hopes the glass of water will miraculously sober you up. Between failing to kick Salena out, and you showing up drunk at 3 in the morning, Angel is considering giving up women. At least for a few hours.

Angel’s steps come to a slow halt as he rounds the sofa to find you gone. Somehow, in the time it took him to fill a glass with water, you have slid down to the floor. Your back against the sofa, you’ve given up the impossible task of unfastening your heels. Instead, you’re tugging at them. Groans of frustration fill the air once the heels remain in place.

The shaky breaths and trembling of your fingers widen Angel’s eyes.

“Shit--are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.” The shaking of your head only seems to push the tears out faster. The blurring of your vision makes the task at hand impossible. “I’m not crying.”

“My bad, you’re not crying,” Angel repeats, hopeful it’ll make the crying stop. Handling a crying woman is not his strongest suit. In fact, he tries to avoid crying women at all costs. He focuses on the easier task of removing your heels. He offers you an encouraging smile once he’s done. “See, you’re all good.”

“No, I’m not.” Reaching forward, you grab the nearest heel, launching it as hard as you can. “Michael got me these.”

You manage to grab the second heel before Angel can. You launch it in the same direction as the first.

“I’ve always hated those ugly fucking shoes.”

The second heel doesn’t land in the middle of the floor like its predecessor. Instead, it flies straight into Salena’s arm as she rounds the corner.

“Ow--what the fuck? Angel!”

The overhead light cuts on, temporarily blinding both you and Angel. When you open your eyes, you find a half-dressed Salena standing over you. Your discarded heel in her left hand, her narrowed eyes focused on you.

"So, this is why you wanted me to leave? Your girlfriend is home?"

"Neither of us is his girlfriend, sweetheart." you correct.

“I’m not sleeping in your bed ever again,” you clarify, your voice muffled against your palms. “Not until you wash your sheets.”

In the time it took to get Salena out of the house you’ve found that your body has begun to crash. The idea of laying down the only thought of your mind. That’s why the moment he’s settled alongside you on the floor, Angel’s shoulder becomes your pillow.

“Please don’t say I told you so.”

Passing up the opportunity to be right, is not in Angel’s nature. But one look at you, he’s biting his tongue.

“I never liked him.”

“You've never liked anyone I’ve dated,” you laugh quietly.

“That’s because you only date assholes.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Exactly.”

Angel's arm drapes around you, the gentle squeeze he gives bringing a weak smile to your lips.

“That’s it,” you sigh. “I’m done dating. Forever.”

“Dating is overrated,” Angel notes.

It’s a phrase Angel has told you nearly a million times over the years. Typically, after you’ve watched him ensnare yet another naive woman with his smile. You typically roll your eyes at Angel's mantra, but right now, you don’t even bother.

“I’m serious, if you see me even blinking at the same guy twice grab me.”

“Yeah, okay,” Angel chuckles.

He knows there's no point in taking the promise any further. If Angel is a cynic when it comes to dating, you’re the poster child for hopeless romantics.

When you fall in love, you fall hard. When you get heartbroken, the fallout hits the hardest.

“I can’t wait until my forties to have a kid.”

“What?”

“I’ll be in my sixties when they graduate high school--my sixties!”

“That’s what this is about?”

“...he doesn’t want kids...at least not right now...he wants time to explore other options before being shackled to me forever.”

“I’m going to kick his fucking ass.”

“When you do, can I watch?”

“Fuck that, you’re getting in a few hits.”

“I can’t believe I wasted three years on him, thinking he was going to help me start a family,” you groan. “When I could’ve just asked you.”

Angel laughs, his smile growing as you giggle.

“I’m serious. Definitely would’ve happened faster.”

“If you want to have sex with me, there are much easier ways--”

“Shut up, it is not about sex,” you assure him as your eyes drift shut. “I actually pride myself in being one of the few women in this town you haven’t slept with. Being immune to your charm is a superpower.”

“You still ended up here tonight,” Angel grins.

You softly smile.

“That’s because you’re my best friend, and you always give the best hugs when I feel like shit.”

series taglist: @youlovetkay @mochachocolatteyaya @chaneajoyyy @sesamepancakes

angel + all mayans tags: @turn-thy-paige @finalgirlhales @jadesid @poetically-0riginal @diaryofkali @babaohhhriley @katastrophic04 @partypoison00 @rose-bliss @mayansxlover @joannasteez @headrushxreeta @brwnlikefoxy @nemesis729 @destiny-tsukino @inyourbackpocketisbutterflies @straightestgay-voice

all stories: @rosieposie0624 @amberritonicole @agoldin @est1887@toni9 @chaneajoyyy @relaxing-najee @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @seize-the-droid @glimmerglittergirl @cutiebubbleboo @pearlkitten33 @tian-monique @megapeacelovemusic-blog @sincerelykas @brattyfics @ladyofsoa@browneyes912 @beiroviski @sadeyesgf @mrsmarvelous1995 @everyhowlmarksthedead @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @demonquartz @appropriate-writers-name @ughdontbeboring @cocotheclown @thesandbeneathmytoes @queenbeered @starrynite7114 @wiccanmetallicrose @tomhardydallasstarsgirl

[webzworldwide]

SCANNING…IDENTIFICATION COMPLETE. ENTER [KIERAN MOON], [CHILD] OF [CINDY MOON]. CODENAME: [WEBZ].  A [20]  [FIRST] YEAR ENROLLED IN THE [ENGINEERING SUPPORT] TRACK. INTEL SHOWS THEY ARE [RELIABLE], BUT CAN ALSO BE [SCATTERED]. ABILITIES INCLUDE [SPIDEY SENSE]. FACIAL RECOGNITION MISTAKES THEM FOR [SEAN KAUFMANN].

Demographics

Name: Kieran Albert Moon

Preferred Name: Webz

Gender: Male

Course: Engineer Support            

Year: First

Birthday: September 21

Age: twenty      

Sexual Orientation: bisexual

Moral Alignment: neutral good

Hero Profile

Power/Talent: spider sense, expert hacker, Eidetic memory, expert engineer, basic hand to hand

Power/Talent Description: over all Kiernan is a genius due to his eidetic memory and keen intuition. Since he is only “half spider” the only power he manifested was his mother’s overwhelmingly strong spidey sense.

Weaknesses: human weaknesses as well as being prone to sensory overload

Hero/Villain Name: Webz

Costume Description: he doesn’t have much of one seeing that he doesn’t often do field work. However he does like wearing his mom and uncle miles’ merch.

Weapons: n/a

Gadgets/Tech: super computer, lab, as well as an AI spider robot he named “Spinz”

Bio

Kieran was a smart kid growing up, too smart honestly. By the time he was 13 he had already finished high school. By sixteen he was finished his first degree at MIT in Genetic Engineering. But it was more than smarts that caught the eyes of the admission board. It was also his creative mind. Being raised by a single mother, Webz was no stranger to his mother’s double life as a super hero. From the time he could work a keyboard, he was her guy in the chair. Constantly inventing and building things to help her. To keep her safe. His first invention found a way to help control their spider sense. It was extremely sensitive, constantly sending him into overload growing up. The device helped filter the noise so only actual danger came through. He still uses it to this day in order to remain focused.

His next one, and his favorite, was an AI spider affectionately named Spinz. Spinz stands at about 2 inches and can frequently be found on Kieran’s shoulder. It has a digital face that changes emotes based on what it’s “feeling.” While to everyone else the robot speaks in bops and beeps, Kieran understands him easily from the implant he inserted in his ear. With Spinz he’s able to translate languages, be fed intel, and more.

Unlike many students at LKU, who simply were given a spot due to their super human abilities, Kieran Webz had to audition for his spot. While he also had a semi-famous mother, his abilities weren’t all that flashy. He may not have been able to lift a car over his head, but he was he smartest kid in the eastern shoreline. Though if you asked him, he’d say the world. Kieran has quite an odd personality. Like his mother, while his brain was almost superhuman, his social skills are lacking. I beg you not to use a metaphor with him. He takes them at face value. He is very fond of those who are his close friends and protects with his life.

[cotncandyboifics]

A Lovely Night: Chapter 4

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6

Pairing(s): pre-established roceit & prinxiety, anaroceit, eventual anaroloceit, eventual intruality

Word count: ~2k

Story summary: Roman's boyfriends had had a rivalry since before either of them had actually met Roman. Running a bit late to a date night, Roman accidentally gets them to start dating too.

General CW: non-detailed description of an anxiety attack, non-detailed description of physical pain, food, kissing, potentially triggering descriptions of physical bodies, swearing, caps lock, school settings, s-xual innuendos, slight description of gore(imagery), vague descriptions of anxiety, Implications of an eating disorder, fatigue, dissociation, suppression of stimming, implied heavy restriction (ED), inner monologue-style anxiety description, eating,(will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: Food, School setting, caps lock, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: and so the nerd enters the snake's den... (this chapter is nothing like that, I just think Loceit is neat, ignore me being a dork)

...

Janus stepped cautiously as he looked down each aisle he passed. The shelves extended far into the room, lined with thousands upon thousands of books.

Janus appreciated that the fact that he went to Law school meant that the libraries were extremely well-funded and filled to the brim with all sorts of books. Mostly Law-related books, although there was a reasonably hefty section for recreational reading. He paced between the aisles labeled D, seeking a particular few texts mentioned by one of his professors in a lecture earlier that day.

Janus was too focused on scanning the titles and authors of the books lined before him that he didn't realize his sudden proximity to a stranger. The stranger seemed to have been doing the same, and they quite literally bumped into each other.

They were the same height, but Janus had a slightly larger build, and so on impact the other person fell entirely on their butt while Janus only stumbled backward slightly, quickly gripping the edge of a bookcase to steady himself.

"My deepest apologies. I was not looking where I was going." Janus righted himself, reaching a hand down to help the stranger up.

"I believe we were both too captivated by our searches that neither of us anticipated literally running into another person. My apologies are offered as well." The stranger took Janus' hand, and Janus had to steel himself so as not to gape.

This stranger was beautiful. His hair fell in wisps over his thick glasses, a deep raven shade. His hand felt cold when he took Janus', even through Janus' compression gloves. He had bright eyes that glinted with a childlike hunger for knowledge, all held behind a glassy calm collection. His cheeks were dotted with freckles, and his lips looked pale and soft. Janus internally cursed himself for thinking of this stranger's lips, and pressed a small smile onto his face.

"A mutual mistake, then. My name is Janus." Janus pulled the stranger to his feet, and when he didn't pull his hand away, Janus kissed his knuckles chastely. The stranger's face somehow paled and brightened at once, eyes widening as a rosy shade overtook their cheeks.

"R-right," he tried, "What, er, what were you looking for, Janus?" the stranger inquired, running his fingers through his hair to collect it a bit.

Janus tutted for a moment, trying to recall. "Ah, yes." He recited the title of the book he'd been searching for. "My critical thinking professor suggested that we read it. supposedly it shall b-"

"boost our chances on the final come end of term," the stranger completed. "I suppose we must have the same professor, because mine recommended the same." he offered a small smile, and Janus returned it, eyes lighting up a bit.

"Well dear me, I hope they still have two copies," Janus laughed a little nervously, and the two began a duel-force search for the book they both sought.

Shortly they discovered that there were, in fact, only two copies left. They conversed briefly about the nature of their shared course as they approached the front desk to check their books out.

"Well, I must be off for now," Janus sighed, straightening his capelet. He nearly completed his statement with 'I must get home to my boyfriends,' but admitting to a practical stranger that he was not only gay but also polyamorous wasn't exactly the smartest thing, in his experience. "However, I find it may be mutually beneficial if we might see each other again? Perhaps we can study together," Janus asked, almost in spite of himself. What was he doing, exactly? He didn't even know this stranger's name-

"That sounds... adequate," he pulled Janus from his conflicted thoughts. "Would you like to meet here, same time tomorrow?" he inquired, meeting Janus' eyes and pushing his glasses up in a way that Janus found far too cute.

Janus cleared his throat. "An acceptable proposal... I'm sorry dear, I'm not sure that you shared your name." Janus smiled, and the stranger gulped slightly, cheeks turning pink beneath his freckles again.

"Um... Yes. Right. Well, I'll see you tomorrow then." he brushed past Janus in a rush, but halted, seeming to realize something. He turned back to Janus, adjusting his necktie. "My apologies. My name is Logan." He spoke, frozen for a moment, before nodding to himself and turning to leave once more.

"Logan..." Janus smiled to himself. He'd thought the stranger's appearance rung a bell. "It appears I have some good news for a certain Prince of mine."

Janus sat at the dinner table with his hands folded, thumb rubbing against his gloved palm as he bit back a smile. Virgil was shoveling salad onto his plate across the table only slightly barbarically. Dinner was just starting, as Roman had texted that he'd be home shortly, and Virgil wanted to get a bit of a head start.

"What's your damage, snakey?" Virgil commented, glancing pointedly at Janus' hands. translation: I can see that you are worried, love. What can I do to help?

"I have some news for Roman," Janus started, smile on full display now, "that I think he'll find quite enticing. I'm just a bit anxious for his arrival."

"Jeez," Virgil scoffed a bit, "It's really not like you to..." Virgil stopped, finally looking up to see Janus' genuine smile, his eyes so full of feelings. Virgil's eyes widened.

"I so wish that I could tell you," Janus blurted, "But I want Roman to hear it first. Or at least, at the same time." He was still smiling, and Virgil was still dumbfounded.

"Okay..." He watched Janus warily as he scooped a forkful of salad into his mouth. Janus made a chipper noise and began serving himself as well.

They heard the front door burst open down the hall, and Janus grinned mischievously, adjusting himself in his seat a bit in his excitement. Virgil gaped at him for a second before turning his head, calling to Roman, "We're in here love," Never breaking his gaze on Janus and shoveling another large scoop of salad into his mouth. Virgil was undeniably captivated by the strange behavior his boyfriend was displaying.

Roman stomped down the hall in a bit of a frenzy. "A WEEK!" He practically shouted, washing his hands as he exclaimed, "seven entire DAYS and I haven't seen Logan even a single time!" He scoffed to himself as he dried his hands. "Do you think it possible that he'd entirely drop from the show simply because I asked him on a date!? That seems HIGHLY improbable!" Roman huffed as he sat at the head of the table, beginning to grumpily serve himself.

"It's entirely possible that his absence is due to the fact that he's currently swamped with his Law studies. Any man knows balancing your time in our program is a god's errand." Janus spoke smoothly through a smirk, and Virgil's jaw dropped.

"'a god's errand?' my love, that's hardly what that saying means," Roman consoled, not having processed the rest of Janus' words. They both looked at him after a moment, and he returned their gazes confusedly. "What?"

Virgil snapped his head toward Janus. "You met him? He goes to your school??" Virgil was in absolute awe. His face looked frozen in terror, but Roman and Janus knew by now that he was, in fact, not horrified when he made that face.

"WHAT?" Roman was suddenly leaning a little too close to Janus. "You met him? You're sure it's him? Did you speak to him? Oh you must have - I'm SURE he couldn't keep himself away from you, you devilish minx - my goodness, what HAPPENED?" Roman was falling over himself, giving Janus a pleading look through his immense grin.

"Take a breath, please my dear," Janus cooed, reaching to hold Roman's hand. "I did... run into him, yes. Judging by your... very detailed description of him, Roman, I was suspicious from the get-go. When he told me his name, I was sure." Janus spoke, clearly struggling to conceal his excitement.

"You ran into him?" Virgil repeated, still looking completely appalled. Janus chuckled.

"Yes... we both happened to be searching for the same book, an optional assigned reading for our shared critical thinking class," Roman squealed in delight. Janus continued, "We quite literally bumped into each other, and... We searched for the book together. There were only two copies left, which was..."

"Perfect," Roman whispered, stars in his eyes. Virgil had taken to staring at his plate to hide his smile.

"I do have to concede, Roman, that he is in fact... incredibly dashing." Janus kissed Roman's knuckles, and Virgil shrunk a little further into his hoodie, face thoroughly tomatoed.

"S-so did you get his number, or what?" Virgil spoke breathily after a moment.

"Ah. No, not exactly. In fact, I hardly got him to share his name." Janus conceded, but his tone remained sultry and smooth. "However. We did decide to meet again, tomorrow. At the library once more, to study together." Janus tried to keep his sly smirk but it was churning itself into a giddy smile.

Roman groaned. "You HAVE to get his number tomorrow!!!! I don't know how I'll live with myself if I can never see him again..." Roman slumped in his chair, slamming his forehead a bit clumsily on the tabletop with a soft 'ow'. Janus chuckled at him.

"All in due time my dear, all in due time. I feel it is a bit... optimistic to suspect that our bespectacled spectacle is not only attracted to men, but polyamorous, or at minimum willing to be romantically involved with a partner who is in a separate polyamorous relationship..." Janus brought his hand to his chin, tapping his pursed lips with his index finger pensively. Roman looked up to engage himself in listening to Janus more properly. "He seems rather... fragile. I feel it may be important that we take our time with him, and do our best not to... overwhelm him with bouts of affection," Janus spoke carefully, looking at Roman pointedly, who smiled sheepishly.

"Ok cool. Yeah. I get it, you guys are the only ones who get to meet our future boyfriend," Virgil commented, the foreshadowing in his words entirely unknown to himself. "Can we just eat and deal with this later, once Jannie has had the chance to talk to the guy again?" Virgil acted annoyed, but the lingering rosy shade in his cheeks was an undeniable giveaway. His boyfriends smiled at him fondly.

"I love you, Virgil," Roman blurted, looking at Virgil with a shocking tenderness that made Virgil almost nervous. Roman reached out to take Virgil's hand, who quickly accepted.

"I love you too Ro," Virgil kissed the inside of Roman's wrist, doing his best in his gay panic state to let his sincerity bleed out a bit. "So so much."

Roman blushed, gripping the hem of Virgil's hoodie and yanking him into a kiss. If Roman's grip weren't iron, Virgil would have fallen face first onto the floor between them. Janus laughed at them, smiling bright and watching as Virgil struggled to remain balanced.

[hopetofantasy]

Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E3

Zaterdag 08:10

Perfect parallel: An upset Robbe being little spoon to Noor this episode, him being a relaxed little spoon to Sander in the last one.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Moyo has half eaten wafers cookies on his bed. Between the cellphone time and timestamp, it took Robbe five minutes to get dressed and to the beach. The beautiful angel pendant makes its first appearance.

Bonus: This cinematography trick of using a wide shot with nobody else in the sight, makes us actually feel how lonely Robbe actually is. 

°

Zaterdag 08:23

C is for culture: “Vamanos” - As you may have noticed, Flemish has a lot of words that aren’t typically Dutch. These are called ‘leenwoorden’ (= ‘borrowing words’). In some cases, the language has made the word its own, with their conjugation or sound (like barbecue - barbecuet - or e-mail - ge-e-maild), other times the expression is copied completely (like smartphone or laptop). There are various reasons as to why people don’t want to change it: globalization, wanting to be more vague/cool, general laziness, ...

Perfect parallel: 

Sander’s playful “Are you the manager?” and “That’ll be zero stars on Booking.com” to Robbe when they meet in this episode, Sander’s sheepish “Zero stars on Booking.com” and Robbe’s pointed “Where is that manager when you need him?”, when they have their fall-out in a later episode. 

Sander saying “When I booked this room, I explicitly asked for room-service” here and him actually booking a room with room-service for the both of them later on.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens’ keyboard is lying on top of the closet. Sander grabbing his keys (to his car?).

°

Zaterdag 08:44

C is for culture: The option to use self-scanning is pretty common in Belgian supermarkets, especially in shop-and-go city stores. You pick up the scanner, scan the stuff you buy, go to a counter, pay and walk out with your groceries. A sales assistant is still present to help out with problems or do random routine checks. It’s fast, easy and cost-efficient. The downside? Shoplifting becomes a bit easier this way.

That’s character: Sander is putting up a ‘cool guy, devil may care’ facade. He jokes about not scanning everything, dismisses Amber’s list, whirls the shopping cart around and sings David Bowie to this boy. He wants to make a lasting impression on Robbe. If he’s the most charming, chaotic and adventurous version of himself, then he doesn’t have to think about other stuff like his own crumbling relationship. (Also the reason why he doesn’t answer the question about Amber: they simply met through Britt). As the boxes fall down, so does Sander’s tough exterior, as he never intended to hurt Robbe by playing around in the supermarket.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +3, he almost topples off the cart twice and drops the chocolate bars on the floor. (The crash with Sander isn’t his fault though)

Oopsie: 

Sander is wearing a leather jacket, but we don’t see it in the previous clip. Either he left it in his car or it’s an ‘oopsie’.

When Sander accidentally tosses Robbe into the boxes, we hear glass breaking. However, in the next shot, the boxes seem to empty (and they were supposed to be filled with chips, which don’t make that sound).

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Sander is wearing black Converse. They bought Jupiler beer. Robbe pulls out ‘Delhaize’ Biscuit chocolate bars and Florentin cookies.

°

Zaterdag 13:13

C is for culture: "Croques” - The word ‘croque’ is an abbreviation for ‘croque monsieur’ (= ‘crunch mister’). These are grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches, a typical greasy snack at taverns, markets, carnivals, your home, ... Other versions include the ‘croque madame’ topped with a fried egg, ‘croque bolognese’ with bolognese sauce, ‘croque hawai’ with a pineapple slice.

That’s character: It’s clear that Robbe has no idea how to eat properly. All throughout the season he eats unhealthy breakfasts (choco spread with cookies), snacks (chips, cookies) and dinners (Aïki noodles, frozen lasagna). But here we see the reason: he doesn’t seem to know how to cook or work a stove. Exactly why he buys prepackaged or instant food options. So, it’s probably for the best that Zoë helps out his eating habits.

Perfect parallel:

Robbe making an unhealthy breakfast in the previous episode, Sander providing him with an unhealthy snack in this one. (The way to a man’s heart is through the stomach)

Britt’s condescending “Listening to David Bowie again?” in this episode, her calling Robbe his next obsession similar to David Bowie later on. 

Sander’s “Do you know where I can find the coffee?” to Robbe in an earlier scene and his “Was coffee on the list?” to Amber here.

Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +2, he stumbles backwards after Sander touches his shoulder and burns himself after turning the ‘croque’.

Nod to the OG: This kitchen scene is the equivalent of the ‘5 fine frøkner’ scene, as Sander sings his favorite song to Robbe and makes breakfast, whilst both flirt with each other (subtly).

Oopsie: They supposedly went to ‘Delhaize’ for all their groceries, but the ketchup bottle comes from ‘Carrefour’ and the butter from ‘Colruyt’. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Sander messes up the first words to ‘Under Pressure’ - it’s ‘pressure’ not ‘under pressure’. He mixes the weed with tobacco for his joint. The conflict on Sander’s face at the end.

°

Zondag 16:34

C is for culture: "What kind of shit question is this?” - They’re playing ‘De Slimste Mens ter wereld’ (= ‘The smartest human on earth’), a board game by the popular Flemish television show with the same name. The quiz is very challenging. People have to solve associative, general knowledge and out-of-the-box questions with multiple answers in different rounds. Points are awarded in the form of seconds, which are used during the game. The candidate with time left at the end, wins.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The group is drinking white wine out of plastic cups. Sander studied at ‘de!Kunsthumaniora’, the same school as Noor. Sander’s wearing his combat boots again.

°

Maandag 15:12

C is for culture: Aaron is wearing a bunny costume for the paintball game ‘Hunt the bunny’. This is usually played by people on a bachelor party or a corporate team building (with the groom/boss as the bunny). The goal is simple: the bunny has to cross the field from one corner to another, whilst the hunters shoot as much paintballs as possible to ‘kill’ it. Which is... rather painful, especially at close range. 

Oopsie: What they’re doing is actually illegal or even impossible. People aren’t allowed to play paintball in protected environments, like dunes. Unless they’re doing it with a specialized organization who’s trained for these games (and are present at the time of playing) or have the written permission from the ‘Agency of Nature and Forest’, the police, the city, ... There is a whole heap of permissions, administrative papers and laws to deal with. 

Lost in translation: Britt saying “Doe normaal” (= “Act normal”) has nothing to do with her dismissing Sander’s mental health. This Flemish phrase is often used to calm people down, telling them that they’re acting rather irrationally or childish. It’s an angry way of saying “Can’t you behave yourself? Calm down. What are you doing? Be rational!”. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The blue and red flags tells us that they’re going to play ‘capture the flag’. Some of the ‘pfff’ gun sounds you hear, indicate that the air pressure needs to be checked. Moyo took off his protection mask, which is dangerous and sometimes considered a foul during the game.

°

Dinsdag 20:02

C is for culture: "Do you know how to make s’mores?” - Toasting marshmallows above a campfire, isn’t really a tradition in Belgium. So that’s why the girls don’t know how to make s’mores. 

Lost in translation: ’Smoor’ is a Flemish dialect word for smoke or the act of smoking. It does sound a lot like ‘s’mores’. This is why Luca thinks Aaron wants to hold the marshmallow into the fire. 

Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Of course Robbe had nothing to lose with Noor, he wasn’t actually interested in her. With Sander, however, Robbe doesn’t dare to do anything.

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Aaron is drinking ‘Bock’ beer. Amber looks at Aaron like she really likes him, when he’s preparing the s’mores.

°

Woensdag 20:42

C is for culture: 

“An old german bunker” - The province of West-Flanders as well as its coast still has a lot of remnants left from WWI. From German bunkers to trench-networks, burial sites and museums, the 'Great war’ left its traces. Unsurprisingly, every year, people still find around 300 tons of (active) bombs underneath the fields.

“Around ‘All Souls’ Day’ they come back to life” - ‘All Souls’ Day’ is a christian holiday on the 2nd of November, on which the dead are commemorated. However, since that day isn’t an official holiday in Belgium, people visit the graves and honor of their loved ones on the 1st of November, ‘All Saint’s Day’. 

The group drinking ‘jenever’ shots - ‘Jenever’ (known in English as ‘Dutch gin’ or ‘genever’) is a traditional liquor in Belgium and the Netherlands. Young people usually drink these colored, high percentage spirits at Christmas markets, pre-drinks or parties when it’s cold outside. Different flavors include vanilla, chocolate, berries, lemon, apple, ...

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The wooden panel behind Jens says ‘Volg de pijlen’ (= ‘Follow the arrows’). Aaron and Amber are holding hands after their fall. Robbe downs a chocolate-cream ‘jenever’ shot at the end. 

°

Woensdag 21:53

Perfect parallel: Robbe lashing out at his friends in this episode - he feels left out and confused about his sexuality - and blames the pranks. Him doing the same in the next - he thinks his friends are hypocrites by saying homophobic comments to him yet defending the gay teacher - and blames the vlogs. 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The second living room has a spinning disco light.

°

Donderdag 21:12

C is for culture:

“In dat jeugdhuis” - A ‘jeugdhuis’ (= ‘youth house’) is a meeting place, run by young volunteers. All teens and young adults are welcome to hang out, throw parties, drink at their bar, organize concerts, attend workshops - just making the space their own. 

“He sounded like a begging Romanian” - Luca is referring to Romanian Romani families, who roam around in the streets of Brussels begging for some money. These ethnic groups have a mostly negative image amongst the Europeans. Which is why she states this harsh and hurtful comparison.

Perfect parallel: Noor asking Robbe for a playlist so she can listen to his favorite songs here, Sander actually making a Bowie playlist for Robbe in the next episode.

Lost in translation: Luca is mocking the West-Flemish dialect by copying what the boy said, namely “Moe’en julder ok ‘n flyer ‘ennen?”. This dialect is known for blowing their ‘g’ and ‘h’ so that they sound similar, conjugating their 'yes’ or ‘no’, having double subjects, seemingly swallowing some letters, among other things. It’s one of the most confusing and difficult dialects for the Flemish to understand themselves.

Oopsie: When Aaron asks Amber if she needs a drink, Britt and Sander are dancing right behind him. When she answers and walks away, they’re suddenly gone, only to be seen again when Moyo walks over.

Nod to the OG/Wink to other remakes: The ‘call your girlfriend’ kiss, duh! 

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jana is wearing one white contact lens.

°

Vrijdag 08:43

Perfect parallel: 

Sander searching for coffee first thing in the morning earlier this episode and him pouring a cup before any task in this clip.

Sander’s “Maybe I’m scared that I will never find someone” here and Robbe’s multi-layered “I’m so happy that I found you” in the last episode.

Oopsie: When the boys walk to the recycling spot, the lighting changes from sunny to clouded to dark in a matter of seconds.

Funny coincidence: Sander referring to his relationship as ‘ups and downs’, probably similar to his experience with bipolarity.

Wink to other remakes: An almost kiss near trash, remind you of certain Italian boys?

Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Amber delegating tasks, but doing nothing herself. Robbe smiles for a few milliseconds, because Sander touched him. The flash of panic in Robbe’s eyes afterwards.

[lettrespromises]

LettresPromises informs you : you have one notification. 

> Letter object : ‘La fable du crocodile et du flamant rose.’

@theastroooooworld​ sent a letter :  ❝Hi, I hope I'm not bothering you! I really liked what you did for Mihawk and I would like to ask for a scenario in which Sir Crocodile fell in love (if it's possible with this man) with a woman s/o pirate who also has a crush on him, whom he often sees in meetings of the shichibukais. Only, the evil Doflamingo also wishes to have the reader by his side. Et sincèrement, j'ai adoré la lettre que tu m'as remise 🤭💙, 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙨 𝙨𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙙𝙚 𝙩𝙤𝙞 𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙘𝙞 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚 🤪❤❞ author’s letter :  ❝hello, you lovely human being! cam, you already know how sorry i am for being so late, and i apologize once more for taking so long. i do hope that this letter will make you crack a smile because i absolutely loved writing it!! sealed with a kiss, nikki. P.S: merci pour tout, t’es un ange, prends soin de toi aussi!!❞

Warnings : None, not even cursing, nothing. Genre : Fluff. Word count : 2.6K.

The aura emanating from each protagonist in this room was undoubtedly intoxicating— meaning that if a poor soul belonging to a rookie of the Marine were to step foot in the forbidden room, they would instantly bend under the invisible pressure created by the alliance of Shichibukais. In another context, and under different circumstances, the household names present in the vicinity could, metaphorically speaking, be considered as the embodiment of a guaranteed promotion if they were to be caught by the Marine all together. Unfortunately (or fortunately according to your point of view), the relationship between each Shichibukai and the Marine prevented anyone from daring to even nourish their hushed fantasies about capturing any of them for their own profit— they were pirates, they were fueled by the seven deadly sins, they had stains of blood on their hands and above all : they were untouchable. What a sweet, sweet paradox.

Some enjoyed this privileged status more than others, but amongst this group, all of them would think of the Marine each time they committed a crime— apparently, having the epitome of justice on their mind whilst accomplishing the dirtiest deeds humanity could think of made said deeds even more enjoyable as it was motivated by the impossibility of being reprimanded and thus, live a life filled by crime and sins.

But amongst their rarely mundane occupations, the Shichibukais still had to bend under the measures which came with their status, one of them being that their presence was mandatory to meetings to the top organized by the finest names of the high hierarchy of the Marine : Sengoku, Kizaru, hell, even Akainu despite his boiling hatred for pirates, the scum of Earth in his opinion.

The moments leading to the meetings were always the same — each protagonist would silently defy another one, the deafening silence squeezed between them would often hold interrogations or statements such as « what else have you accomplished since last time? », « I see I’m still superior. » or « My reputation shines the most between the two of us. » communicated through hushed laughters, a raised eyebrow or a smirk plastered upon someone’s facial expression. These moments were always both stuck in time, because of how heavy they felt, because the pressure emanating from each Shichibukai reached its apex, because the oxygen became almost rare due to the toxins lacing each word longing in the air, because of who these people were. And yet, they were your favorite moments because they were the most intriguing— an irresistible mix of passion and curiosity.

You were sitting between two of the biggest producers of this vivid aura of intimidation— Sir Crocodile on your right, and Donquixote Doflamingo on your left, in all, you cursed and blessed yourself at once for having chosen this spot. Truth be told, ‘chosen’ was an exaggeration. Allow me to tell you about this tale.

Each time a Shichibukai would enter the room, naturally, all eyes would be set on them. Judging stares, sometimes, glances which translated to « How come they are still alive? » or « Why are they still alive? » But when you stepped foot inside the meeting room, a new kind of tension spread through the room, and the two protagonists to blame both wore extravagant coats and had a sordid fascination for torture. They were gazes of envy, jealousy in its most vivid form, and silent questions hung in the air : « How come they aren’t mine yet? » Or statements like « I refuse to let this excuse of a man claim them, they are mine, and mine only. » (A statement, which, by the way, worked both in Crocodile and Doflamingo’s way.)

« My, my, my! Look at what the cat dragged in, ‘can’t say I’m complaining though, fufu. » The laughter itself was the signature of a maniac, which, needless to say, belonged to Doflamingo whose eyes were following your every move from his chair, his legs spread apart.

« Did you miss me that much since last time, Doflamingo? » You asked, as a form of rhetorical question, a fainted smile crept its way onto your face once the last syllables left your lips.

« I would be a liar if I said you didn’t occupy my mind these last few days, Y/N, and you should know how much I despise liars. » As the word ‘liar’ rolled off his tongue, his smirk faded away and instead, the emergence of a vein on his forehead was noticed as he reminisced the betrayals which stained his past.

You knew better than to interfere when Doflamingo dangerously crossed the line between moral and immoral, instead, you scanned the room to find a vacant seat to occupy. Perhaps next to Hancock? At least, you wouldn’t be bothered by the men here. Oh, but she was bound to drown you with stories regarding the man of her life, not the smartest choice. The seat next to Mihawk seemed like a good option as well, but he was not one for conversation and you would end up talking to yourself. Another choice would b—… « Y/N, I could not help but notice you were desperately looking for a seat to occupy. How convenient, the seat next to mine happens to be free. Of course, the choice is yours, I only took it upon myself to offer you the best option. » Oh, such a suave voice you could have recognized amongst a thousand voices.

This statement caused a chain reaction : your orbs were now focused on the beholder of these daring words, an amused grin stuck across your face; Doflamingo’s vein grew bigger as he caught the audacity coating Crocodile’s every word; Hancock’s palm hid a hushed laughter at the reaction of the blonde Shichibukai, Mihawk silently wished he could disappear. Enticed by his words, you start walking in his direction until a warm touch stops you in your tracks : upon closer inspection, it was a harsh grip on your wrist which belonged to Doflamingo who (now) combined both the raging vein on his forehead and his signature smirk, a duo made in hell. « Don’t be ridiculous, Crocodile-Man, Y/N knows, deep down, that I will take a way better care of them than you ever could, don’t you, lovebird? Fufufu. » And that, precisely, was the definition of ‘taunt’, a presentation of mankind’s most provoking aspects showed by Doflamingo.

Crocodile hushed his response, judging that entering Doflamingo’s mind games would the equivalent of handing him a victory he categorically refused to give him. A fit of smoke was blown, perhaps as a sign of exasperation, Crocodile was not keen on dragging this pseudo fight any longer— his hook circled around Doflamingo’s arm, and in a swift motion, your wrist was no longer the martyr of his tight hold. You couldn’t even gather enough time to bring your wrist to your chest that Crocodile’s large palm snaked around the same wrist and yanked it in his direction.

The aftermath of this motion was everything Doflamingo had once dreamt of, or rather feared in his most vivid nightmares— the sight of you, sitting on someone else’s lap. After all, wasn’t his lap welcoming? What did Crocodile have that he did not? It was infuriating, even more so because he could not seem to find the answer to this riddle, perhaps, in the worst case scenario, there was no answer in his favor and he was doomed to observe you sitting on your newfound throne. A vision of horror which made him frown and turn his smirk upside down, on the other one hand, Crocodile offered him his most victorious grin on a silver plate, a silent way to state his undisputed victory.

Crocodile’s hook was pointed in Doflamingo’s direction whilst his hand encompassed your waist— a clear and distinct switch in body language if you will : on one hand, the palm resting on your waist echoed to protection and desire to keep you closer to him, on the other one hand, the hook facing Doflamingo translated to a clear case of threat and perhaps even a way to dissuade him from tempting anything he might regret in a very soon future.

« It appears that victory is mine, wouldn’t you agree with me, Y/N? » Although Crocodile’s interrogation contained your name, it was directly targeted towards Doflamingo. « Don’t be fooled, the only person who won here is me. You’re bickering like kids while I’m getting all the attention, I can’t say I hate it. » You replied, the playful tone lacing your words matched with the grin spread across your face.

This not only signed Crocodile’s victory but also the beginning of the Shichibukai meeting, and almost every protagonist in this room had forgotten about the oh so important reunion—  the distraction brought by the quarrel of hearts between Crocodile and Doflamingo seemed to have hogged all the attention of the spectators of this scene.

Sengoku made his way into the room, an intrigued expression on his face which was as clear as daylight, « Sir Crocodile, Y/N, you do realize there are other seats in this room? » he questioned, although he was wondering how the situation escalated until reaching this point. « I’m afraid it will not be necessary, Y/N has already claimed their seat themselves. » Crocodile stated, with the same ill intention to send toxic jabs in Doflamingo’s way whose vein grew bigger under the more-than-obvious indirect verbal blow. « He’s right, this isn’t too shabby. » Sengoku showed no sign of surprise whatsoever at your response, he was in a room full of the most dangerous human beings alive, what else could he expect from them?

And so the meeting went on, and on, and on. But Crocodile’s position remained still— his digits brushed against the bare skin of your arm, and from time to time, his glance would switch between your from Doflamingo’s enraged figure (who was clearly not listening one bit to anything Sengoku was saying) and yours. But whenever his orbs landed on you, Crocodile could not help but drink in your presence and admire each detail crafted by the Gods until he could remember each inch of your body with closed eyes. You were torn between paying attention to Sengoku’s formulas and battle tactics, because it was a part of your job as a Shichibukai, and let your subconsciousness take the lead and allow yourself to melt into Crocodile’s warm and intoxicating touch. Each time the brushing motions would cease, it felt like the aftermath provoked by drugs— you craved for it, you needed it, and he quickly understood the underlying orders to continue through your pleading eyes half-hidden by your lashes.

« … Thank you for attending this reunion, you’re all free to go now. » Sengoku announced to a semi-attentive crowd before leaving the room, followed by Mihawk, Jinbei, Hancock (who did not miss to send a wink your way upon leaving), Kuma and Moria. Isn’t luck a wonderful thing? Now it was only the three of us in the room.

Doflamingo stood up, to your surprise, as if he was ready to leave the room too. He dangerously reduced the space between the two of you as Crocodile brought you closer to his chest to balance the cruel lack of distance. For a few seconds, which seemed eternal, Doflamingo allowed his orbs to roam free on your figure, drinking your stance in for future memories. His genetically given long finger traced the edge of your jaw, malice fueling his every move : « I can assure you that I will see you very soon, lovebird, and this time, I won’t lose and you will be mine. Have fun while you still can, crocodile-man, fufufu! » His maniac laughter signed the end of his presence in this room, now it was only you and Crocodile.

Silence lingered for a bit, as a way to let the both of you soak in the glory or the horror, depending on your sense of perception, of the events which had taken place earlier on. You were now the sole holder of all of his attention, and being the two only protagonists in the room offered the privacy Crocodile had secretly begged for since the arrival of Doflamingo. « Say, Y/N, would you really want to be his? » He asked although he was not really asking sincerely, taking another drag of his cigar as he awaited for your answer.

You brought your thumb and index right underneath your chin to fake a sense of interrogation, but the answer had already been stuck on your mind since you laid your eyes on Crocodile : « Mhm, I wonder… I mean, Doflamingo is pretty handsome if you ask me. What do I win if I choose you? » The faked innocent tone of your voice drew a harsh contrast with the importance of the question, but oh well, he had already noticed that. « Well, first of all, he will never kiss you quite like I do. »

If it was even possible, Crocodile reduced even more the space between the two of you until your respective chests were touching, his hook was delicately applying the pressure needed on the small of your back to keep you steady. Before respecting the rules of performative language, he admired once more the traits adorning your face and that’s when he realized that none of the paintings he owned could ever compared to the masterpiece of details and panorama of shades that were your face, he just hit jackpot.

His finger lingered just where Doflamingo’s digits used to be a few seconds ago, as a way to re-claim his territory and leave his imprints for good. Amused, Crocodile concluded his journey of touches by letting his palm rest right on your cheek in a way that his fingers could meddle with your hair behind your ear. Your lids shut close in response to his touch, already anticipating the explosions of sensations which was bound to come. And there, at this very moment, the explosions were set free and turnt into a myriad of fireworks— his lips crashed against yours and everything around you felt hot : your lips, his intoxicating touch, the sparks in your belly, you felt like a living volcano caught in eruption. His lips were perfectly molding against yours, as if they were made to melt against yours, like poetry in motion, if you will. Crocodile wasted no time and deepened the kiss, tilting his head in the process, you were breathless but you were willing to give up on air if it meant you could rest your lips on his until being persuaded of seeing stars.

To your surprise, he was the one who broke the kiss— don’t be fooled, his lungs hadn’t failed him yet, he was just dying to see your face contorted under the desire for more lingering touches and kisses. He couldn’t help but allow a chuckle to break free from his lips at the sight he was waiting for, or rather, the sight which confirmed his thoughts. « I shall take it as you belong to me now, and I’m positive you do not see anything wrong with this, my treasure. » And he concluded his sentence with yet another kiss planted on your lips, he was finally at peace with his feelings, knowing he had you now.

Moral of the story : never linger on an uncharted territory for too long while claiming loud and proud that you want to make this territory yours, the crocodile will always strike first.

[talesmaniac89]

The Wingman

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Summary: You worry about Dean Winchester as he’s trying to act like your wingman to hook you up with Sam, unaware that Sam thinks Dean’s his wingman.

Triggers: None, just fluff

Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour | Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour

—

Reader: For the last few days Dean Winchester, your best friend and the older brother of your secret crush, had been acting kind of… Well, weird as hell. Since you’d moved into the bunker your best friend had always just treated you as one of the boys. Just as ready to prank you or help you out whenever you pretended a cute bartender caught your eye to hide the fact that Sam’s flirting with some other blonde and beautiful perfect 10 was breaking your heart. 

Yet, just a few days back. His whole brotherly act had twisted. Everything from little winks to secretive smirks sent your way at random times throughout the day. His very vocal appraisals of every little thing you did or wore… He wasn’t acting like the Dean you knew. 

“(Y/N), you look good with your hair up… Doesn’t she look good with her hair up Sammy?”

At first, you’d struggled with the awful feeling of him possibly liking you as more than just a friend. Agonising over how you could turn the hunter, who you loved like a brother, down. Feeling awful that you had to hurt him because of your unrequited feelings for the youngest Winchester. Hell, you’d spent more than one night awake trying to rehearse and rephrase the many imaginary ways you could break it to the hunter with the biggest heart you knew. 

Though you didn’t love him like that, you still loved him, and you didn’t want him to be hurt. 

But… Just as soon as the agonising fears struck you, the reality of your situation hit like a goddamn freight train. And suddenly you wanted to be the one to hurt the hunter. Of course, it was a relief that your best friend still just saw you as his. Still, Dean wasn’t in love with you, which was a relief, but he knew… 

He knew you loved Sam. 

How he’d figured it out you didn’t know, but you were 99.9 percent certain. Dean Winchester knew you loved his brother, and he was doing a shitty job of keeping your little secret under wraps. 

Sam had been around for every little wink. Usually leaning closer to read a piece of lore over your shoulder or scooting over so you could grab a seat on the couch next to him. For every secretive smirk, there was a matching secret storm of butterflies in your stomach as your pulse rose to dangerous levels at the younger hunter’s proximity. 

Even the comments. Every little compliment was followed by Sam’s name. Asking his brother to back up how good your hair looked, how the top you’d just pulled out of the wardrobe was ‘very flattering’ or whatever bullshit he managed to come up with. Hell, he even kept talking about how amazing Sam was, as if you didn’t already know. Probably wanting you to agree to enact some strange form of a “you complimented each other, now kiss”-moment.

Dean knew and, just like he’d done endless times at bars with random strangers, he was trying (and failing) to be your wingman. 

So, when the older hunter entered the library where Sam and you were just settling in for a late night of researching for a fellow hunter’s monster of the week, you groaned internally. Knowing you were in for another evening of silent colour commentary about secret feelings, hidden glances and raised heart beats. 

--- 

Sam: Dean had been getting on Sam’s nerves for the last week. Ever since his older brother figured out how Sam felt about you, he hadn’t shut up about it whenever the two brothers were alone. But even that was tolerable next to the way he acted when you were in the room.  

Dean’s way of acting like a wingman wasn’t really subtle. 

Every time you were in the same room as Sam, and even remotely close to him, Dean would raise his eyebrow at the youngest Winchester. Egging him on with winks and smirks as he struggled with going past just simple greetings and hidden glances. Not that the push from Dean was even going to help… 

It wasn’t as if Sam hadn’t tried to tell you. Hell, he’d attempted to get the feelings across for what felt like an eternity. But every time he wanted to say anything, to tell you he loved you, the feelings he wanted to confess just came out as simple hellos, good nights and good mornings. Turning every word he spoke to you into secret confessions of love.

Meanwhile, his older brother had no problem attempting to translate Sam’s unspoken feelings into English. The older hunter would constantly compliment you whenever you walked in the room asking for Sam to back him up. 

Teasing out stuttered soliloquies that were only mere fragments of the words Sam’s mind used to describe your absolute beauty and perfection every single day. Making him cringe over his dull little “you look pretty” replies, as his mind added verses upon verses about how your (Y/E/C) eyes caught the light, how the sound of your laughter was what dreams were made of, or how much he loved the way your smile always made him feel better, brighter even on the darkest days. 

All of which was left unspoken until he was alone in his room again in the evening. Regretting every one of the day's actions and replaying the moments in his head. Answering his ceiling instead of you with the words he should have said. Words of love and beauty painting his ceiling in an invisible mural of secret feelings, dedicated to you.

Worse yet was Dean’s favourite way of acting like Sam’s wingman, and probably the most transparent. The oldest Winchester’s constant “humble bragging” about his younger brother was textbook wingman behaviour. Though you still hadn’t seemed to catch on… Thankfully. Though Sam couldn’t help to tag a worried “for now” to the end of that chain of thoughts as Dean dropped down in the seat next to you. The younger hunter cringing in anticipation of another attempt to make you turn to face him. 

Perfect you, and broken Sam… It wasn’t going to happen, and the only thing his brother was helping Sam with, was ruining what little bond he had with you. Once you realised, things would just get awkward. Maybe it would damage your carefully crafted friendship. Hell, maybe it would scare you away from the bunker forever. Maybe you’d never smile at him again. 

No matter what - this whole shitstorm could only end with heartbreak. With Sam’s heart as the unwilling sacrifice.

---

Reader: “Hey (Y/N)?” As Dean spoke up, the innocent words made you flinch from the clearly up-to-no-good smile that followed them.  

Waiting for another forced compliment from Sam through Dean, or some other new and creative way to hint at your infatuation with the younger hunter, your hand gripped the old tome in your hands a little harder. Your eyes refocusing back on the words on the page with a noncommittal mumbled noise of acknowledgement. Waiting for whatever new dissection of your feelings would be performed on top of the library table that evening.

Though, for once, Dean surprised you by staying clear of the topic. Choosing instead to focus on the research in front of him. His refreshingly innuendo free question made your tense shoulders instantly relax. Though in the dark suspicious depths of your mind, you still clung to a thread of that wariness.

“Which of these books should I start with?” The older hunter asked, holding up two books for you to glance at out of the corner of your eye. Looking over at the two ancient books you simply nodded towards his right hand, relief clearly evident in your eyes as Dean gave you a boyish, teasing grin. Letting you know that he hadn’t missed the obvious way your body relaxed at the innocent question. 

“That one. We’re looking for info about a possible djinn subspecies to help out on a strange case in New York,” 

With a silent nod, Dean dropped the other book back onto the library table with a dull thud before hunkering down over the dusty pages of the book you’d pointed out. As his eyes scanned the page, you were rewarded with no more than a few seconds of silence before the older Winchester clearly decided to audition for the role of annoying best friend once more with an overacted sigh. 

“This one’s too much for me… Someone smarter should read it,” The hunter groaned out words that were clearly a load of bull. Dean Winchester was one of the smartest men you knew. So, this was clearly a ploy. And you could guess what was coming next. “Hey (Y/N)… Did you know? Sam’s super smart, he even went to Stanford. This book won’t be a problem for him,”

Focusing your full attention on the page in front of you, you burned the words into your eyes to keep from rolling them and rewarding Dean’s obvious ploy and poor acting. Opening your mouth to shut the hunter down you were just a second late as Sam beat you to it.  

“Shut up Dean,” The words were no more than a mumble over the top of the book the younger Winchester, and the lead actor in all of your daydreams, was reading. The exasperation those three words were soaked in was the only hint at the expression hiding behind the leather binding as Sam kept his head in the book. 

“Yeah, you’re right, we have work to do. You’ve always been the responsible one…” Dean sighed. The book forgotten on the table and his poor acting skills still very much intact even with the less than stellar reception of Act 1.  “Sammy’s very responsible, isn’t he (Y/N)?”

“I know Dean... Now please focus on the research,” Your own sigh was very much not an act as you shot daggers at your best friend out of the corner of your eye. Ignoring the bright shiteating grin he gave you in return. As well as the cheeky wink that followed. 

“Alright, alright… We’re all serious today,” Dean said with a roll of green eyes as your own (Y/E/C) eyes burned into him. Silently promising him a world of hurt if he didn’t calm the fuck down. 

Taking your silent threat seriously, your best friend raised his hands in a quiet surrender. The bunker easily returning to the comfortable silence of rustling paper as Dean picked the book up again. Not adding any further complaints about the complexity of it as he flipped through the pages looking for hints. 

---

The silence lasted for half an hour give or take a few minutes. 

Though it felt like no time at all had passed as the sound of Dean’s fingers tapping against the wooden table drew you out of a paragraph about Baltic genie myths that could possibly point at a subspecies. The tapping growing increasingly louder as the older hunter made no attempts at hiding how he was trying to get your attention. 

Glancing at him from out of the corner of your eye, you watched as your best friend looked from Sam to you and back again. Clearly debating something with his conscience and need for absolute mayhem as green eyes followed the well beaten path between you and your crush. 

A pat your own eyes had often taken to cast secretive glances at a certain Sam Winchester. Well, not so secretive it turned out. Since Dean had easily interpreted those glances for exactly what they were.

As the annoyed crease in his brow slowly but surely disappeared, only to be replaced with a smile, you steeled yourself. The confident smirk that replaced the internal round table discussion with the angel and devil on Dean’s shoulders instantly terrifying you. He was up to something, and whatever that something was, it wasn’t good. 

The sound of his chair scraping jostled you fully out of the pages of the book as you looked up at him. From across the table you could see Sam flinch and look up at his brother from behind his book as well. Hazel eyes dark with worry as that cute confused crease that always made you feel all tingly made a guest appearance on his brow. Just slightly hidden by the hunter’s soft brown hair. Clearly Sam was seeing the same thing you were. And neither of you trusted the bright gleam in Dean’s eyes as he turned his chair to face you fully. 

“Hey… Do I know you?” He asked, the same cocky grin brightening as you looked on confused. Your mind trying, and failing, to figure out where your best friend was going with this one.

“Uhm… Yes, you do Dean…” You hesitated over the words. Unsure what would be the right thing to say to stop whatever train wreck was happening from, well, happening. 

“‘Cause you look like my future sister in law,” Dean finished with a flourish and an overacted wink. Clearly choosing to ignore your words completely as he delivered the slightly edited pickup line your way. 

“Wha…” Your mind was blank. Dean had taken his little joke too far. Looking from Dean to Sam and back down to your book, you tried to find the words you needed. But Sam beat you to it, his low rumbled voice sounding equal parts embarrassed, confused and outraged. 

“Did you just hit on (Y/N)? For me?” Sam’s words were barely above a whisper as he looked at his older brother. There was a quiet anger and something more, something smaller and scared, in his voice as the words trembled across the table. Reaching both you, frozen in place, and the older hunter whose grin was fading slowly when faced with his younger brother’s quiet rage. 

Yet, you missed the silent argument that was happening between the two sets of eyes belonging to your best friend and the man you loved. Your mind loud and noisy with the many different creative ways the younger hunter could voice what was basically a direct rejection of your feelings. There was, after all, no way Sam could misunderstand Dean’s words. Not when he practically spelled out your feelings in plain English. Your spiralling mind only breaking free from your early attempt at crushing your own heart before Sam could as Dean’s palms slapped against the table making you jump in your seat.

“Someone had to!” Dean shouted, but there wasn’t actual anger there. More just long pent up frustration as the words echoed across forgotten research books in the library. “I’m sick and tired of this whole will-they-won’t-they thing. I feel like I’m living in a damned chick flick! And, in case you missed the memo, I hate chick flicks!”

Giving neither of you a chance to fight back or deny his words. Dean jumped fully out of his seat; one hand still anchored to the wood of the table as the other one pointed directly at you.

“(Y/N)!” Though you already knew what was coming, you couldn’t help but flinch as Dean called your name. In some twisted forced confession roll call. 

“Yeah?” Your voice broke over the one-word reply, knowing he was about to either tell Sam himself, or force you to vocalise your feelings. Yet… What followed was exactly the opposite. 

“My brother here is madly in love with you,” Dean said, his hand that had been pointing at you easily swinging across the table to point at his brother instead. Sam barely even took note of the finger pointing at him. His eyes wide and jaw dropped as the big guy was growing both pale and red simultaneously. His heart sending all the blood to his head in an act of a rebellious standoff featuring logic versus emotion. 

“Sam…” Dean continued, clearly not done just yet.

“Sam!” Dean barked, a little louder, in an attempt to pull the younger hunter out of his daze as he barely registered the roll call. His wide hazel eyes going back and forth between his brother and you in shock and what seemed to be the early stages of embarrassed relief of finally having the truth out there. 

“Sammy!” Dean’s insistent third attempt was just enough to draw a small nod out of the youngest Winchester. Which the older hunter clearly deemed as enough of a reply as he spilled the secret you’d promised yourself to never voice.

“(Y/N)’s obviously been in love with you since… Hell I don’t know, since forever,” 

As the words left your best friend like a slow-motion action scene in one of those movies he loved just a little too much, you watched as Sam’s eyes stopped moving between the two of you. Instead choosing to come to a full stop on you as his brother’s words fully sank in. 

Those warm brown eyes you loved going from worried and questioning to a cautious warm hope as you sat stunned. Left unable to move or speak through the cottonmouth that followed Dean’s impromptu stolen confession on your behalf. 

You were rooted to your seat in shock as your eyes just numbly watched Sam. Your mind reeling as you tried to get your brain to catch up to the lightning fast development orchestrated by your best friend. Dean Winchester had just ousted you to your crush. That and… 

Wait. 

Did he say Sam was in love with you too?

“Wha…”  Sam stopped himself from even attempting to speak through the shock as his voice broke over the very first word. Clearing his throat, his warm hazel eyes instead searched yours across the table. The careful question they asked louder than your own frantic heartbeat, as you forced your body to listen to you again.

Taking a shaky breath, you gave the man you’d been in love with for years a shy smile. The small gesture enough to make the eyes of the man you’d spent countless days, and nights, daydreaming about brighten. His own small, hesitant smile quickly grew as the mixture of your smile and his brother’s words fully sank in. Your own smile just as easily growing to echo it as you finally fully realised it was true. 

Sam loved you too. 

The few seconds of sweet silence as you just marveled at that fact, were just as rudely interrupted by your best friend as your years of quiet pining had been. The older hunter easily brought your attention back to him from where you’d been getting lost in Sam’s eyes with a fake tired sigh. Though you couldn’t make yourself stay angry at your very own cupid in a ratty AC/DC t-shirt. 

“There! You’re both in love and you’re both welcome. Now maybe we can get some work done here huh?” Dean’s cocky smirk and fake scoff made you want to elbow him in the stomach. Yet your body was still not done catching up with you as you simply rolled your eyes at your best friend’s antics. “I guess thank yous are in order huh? To me I mean…”

“Oh, how can we ever repay you,” The sarcastic words that left Sam, underlined and punctuated by a trademark annoyed glare, beat your own by just a fraction of a second. Both of you still only glanced over at the other hunter in the room as you kept getting drawn back to each other. To marvel at the miracle that was mutual feelings. 

“You can be my wingman any time,” Dean laughed from somewhere next to you. Though you didn’t turn to look at him, as you instead focused on Sam’s annoyed reaction to the movie quote. The way his brow furrowed and how his hand went up to pinch at the bridge of his nose sending little electric shocks through you. Yeah, you were a goner, anything the younger Winchester did had your heart racing.

“Dean, this isn’t Top Gun... You better not have planned all of this just so you could say that quote,” The younger Winchester shot back, eyeing his brother with slight wary suspicion. The words finally made you tear your eyes off Sam as you turned to throw an incredulous look towards your best friend. 

The older hunter answering your suspicions, not in words, but in actions. As he laughed out loud and took the words as his cue to flee the room.

“Really Dean?!” 

Your tired outrage mirrored Sam’s as you responded in unison to the quickly retreating back of one Dean Winchester. Though, where you couldn’t help but laugh, Sam was clearly sulking at his brother's antics, which only served to squeeze at your heart a little more.

As Dean retreated and your laughter died down, the library grew silent once more. Both Sam and you unsure where to go from there. Feelings had been voiced, but not from either of you. And so, a part of you was still hesitant to act on what you knew you felt, and now were pretty damn sure Sam felt too. 

Clearing your throat, you looked into Sam’s warm brown eyes again. Looking to borrow some courage from one of the bravest men you knew as you readied yourself to speak words you’d never planned on saying out loud to anything but your bedroom ceiling. 

“So…” Cursing your own cowardice you simply looked down. Trying to find the words in the palms of your hands and finding nothing but air and shaky fingers. 

From somewhere across from you, you heard the tell-tale sign of a chair pulling away from the library table and, within just a few seconds, Sam’s hand was on yours. Placing strength, feelings and a piece of his heart in your hands as he crouched by your chair, looking up at you through your curtain of (Y/H/C) hair. 

“You love me…” Sam whispered. The words were not exactly a question, yet not exactly a statement. They fell somewhere in between. Inside that little piece of magic and marvel that was softening the whole moment in cotton candy sweetness. 

“I love you,” You said, adding that final layer of truth that brought substance and sincerity to your feelings. Your voice shaking over unexplored emotions as you watched Sam’s eyes grow impossibly bright and warm. The hunter still kneeling by your chair looked as if he was finding the shape of a new religion and some form of worship in your revelation. Awe and wonder making the beautiful man look younger as his eyes crinkled from another wide smile. 

“And… You love me,” You added, still slightly hesitant as you watched Sam’s hand raise from his side to gently brush your hair out of your eyes and behind your ear. His fingers lingering against your skin and tracing the shape of your jaw, as if to convince himself you were real.

“I do. I love you,” Sam’s voice was thick with emotion as he straightened up until he was eye level with where you were sitting. His forehead bumping against yours with a wry smile as he drowned in your eyes and you his. “I guess we’re both cowards huh?” He added with a breathy chuckle. His words barely above a whisper yet reaching you easily where you rested your forehead against his. 

“Yeah…” You laughed. A careful smile building as you glanced down and took his hand in yours, painting small circles on his palm. Still not used to being that open about your feelings, you hid in the simple pattern as you confessed a little more. “But… I’m too happy to care,”

“Me too,” Sam’s sincere words were a bit louder as he moved to sit on a chair next to you, pulling your chair closer until your knees were between his. “I just can’t believe it… You love me,” He added with a marveled whisper. Looking at you like you were the most precious part of his existence. Like everything, all the bullshit, pain and suffering, had been building up to this. To well-deserved happiness.  

His warm smile shifted into something more careful and slightly deeper as he slowly leaned in. Hazel eyes dipping to trace the shape of your lips and his teeth grazed his own. A big hand raised to gently trace the shape of your jaw as he softly angled your lips up towards him. Just seconds away from the kiss you’d been dreaming about since… Well, what felt like forever. 

“And, as the music swells, Sam Winchester leans in... Ready to wrap (Y/N) in his warm embrace…” Your best friend and much-loved pain in your side, Dean Winchester, was putting on his best movie trailer voice in a poor attempt at narration. Easily interrupting the sweet moment just as you could feel Sam’s warm breath like the ghost of a kiss to brush against your lips. 

Sighing, you felt Sam’s forehead drop against yours again. Both of you shared an annoyed look before you squeezed your eyes shut and called out to the man who was simultaneously the best and the worst wingman in history. 

“Dammit Dean!”

 ----

[lifebeginsbyleaving]

It’s Snow Not My Fault

I would like to start this off by saying this was supposed to be absolute crack... But blame @halevetica for encouraging my brain to make some semblance of sense when this is all utter madness. Almost 6k words. This is for @sterek-bingo

In hindsight they wouldn't have messed with magic they didn't understand, in two hours ago sight how cool would a talking snowman be?!?!

************************************************

Derek should've known better.

Correction, Stiles should've known better, but Derek should've known better that Stiles wouldn't know better.

They all should've known better.

They should've known better than to leave a bored Stiles with hundred year old mystic books and a best friend that doubles as a guinea pig, who replies, 'Sure man. If you think so.' to things. Stiles should've known better than to try a spell unsupervised. Scott should've known better than to sit still while Stiles chanted around him. Derek should've known a ten minute run for food was too long to leave them in his loft.

And Stiles should also damn sure know not to stand there melting on his hardwood floors.

If he could go back to a moment in particular, it wouldn't be when he left them. It wouldn't be when he left out the mystical texts. It wouldn't even be when he dropped his keys in shock.

It would be the moment he went to open the door. He would go back and just decide, nope I'm going to live a normal life. He would walk right out of the building and drive till he didn't even know where Beacon hills was, what was happening, or what the hell a Stiles was.

But alas, he could not. He was stuck. Stuck to live the life of having to open that cursed door.

The one that he could smell the stink of magic wafting under.

He hesitantly unlocked and opened the door.

He was greeted by eerie silence.

"Stiles? Scott?"

There was a loud, "Thud, thud!" A dull thumping like something large bounding closer.

He heard a shriek from the opposite side and no matter how much he didn't want to look away from the possible threat the yell pulled his attention.

A lightning flash of a small body running at top speed caught his eye. A kid with curly dark hair shot past the door. He was waving his arms around wildly with way too long sleeves flapping behind him.

Derek hadn't even noticed the thumping stopped near him, too absorbed in the shock of the child. He darted in front of the doorway and as he ran past something caught Derek's eye.

There was a large snowman in front of the door, one that hadn't been there before.

In an instant it's stick arms were flailing in a way that seemed to want to convey for him to stay calm. "Derek, don't freak out."

That voice came from that snowman. That snowman was talking. The snowman knew his name. The talking snowman knew his name and was talking to him.

Just then he felt an impact on his leg and something wrapping around it. On instinct he almost kicked it away, but he was glad he didn't. Looking down was the small child no more than four. His little teary eyes were looking up at Derek.

"Please save me from the scary snowman!"

Derek's mouth gaped as he looked at the kid. His tears stared to flow and they fell on a red and white striped shirt with grey sleeves. Wasn't that Scott's shirt? Wait- was that Scott?!

"Oh sure! Of course you like him! Totally not cool bro!"

Derek looked at where the snowman was crossing his twigs.

Oh fuck.

"Stiles?!" He dropped his keys in shock. "What the hell!?"

"I said don't freak out, sourwolf!"

Yup, that was definitely Stiles. He listened to the rest of the loft to try and hear a witch or intruding presence. After a quick scan of the room he saw candles, herbs, and open books that he definitely told him not to touch.

Derek tried to gather strength. "What happened, exactly?"

Stiles took a deep breath and if it wasn't currently covered in frost Derek knew the exact face he would be making. "It wasn't my fault! I was just looking in the book and it seemed cool so I showed Scott and he agreed, okay! So I was like, how cool would an Olaf be?" He stayed solidly rooted in place, but Derek could tell if he could, he would've been pacing. He was getting more and more upset and loud as he kept talking. "The spell seemed harmless! It said something about using childlike glee to make a snowman come alive and taking a chill from his heart. And now Scott is five years old!..." He flung his twigs out towards Scott, and then back towards himself. "And I'm a snowman!" The last sentence was said hysterically.

Derek sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Are either of you hurt?"

Stiles took a deep breath to calm down. "Other than Scott screaming bloody murder when I get close? No, we're both fine."

Derek's voice was flat. "That's so great. It would've been a shame if your coal pieces would've fallen off."

The coal pieces in question made a wide O. "Rude Derek."

"I'm not the one melting all over someone else's hardwood floors." He gave a pointed look down at the puddle rapidly growing around him.

"Well sooorry." Once again he crossed his twigs indignation.

Derek let out another sigh as he leaned down to pick up his keys. It was difficult with the many grocery bags and weeping child attached to his leg. "Stiles, go sit Scott in the living room. I've got to put away the ice cream."

Stiles' twigs flung out wide. "Derek! I'm a fucking snowman! And you're worried about the freakin ice cream melting?!"

Derek leveled him with a flat look. "Stiles, you do this sort of shit too often for me to drop everything."

Derek tried to make his way to the kitchen, but the small body just clung to him more. "I need you to let go bud."

Scott's teary eyes burrowed into his pant leg and he shook his head. "I don't like him!"

"Come on, I'm your best friend! I'm Stiles!"

Scott looked over at him and shook his head again. "You're not Stiles! Stiles has face dots. And hands!"

Derek's face softened slightly. "Alright. You can come with me." He shifted all the grocery bags over to one hand and leaned down. "Is it okay if I pick you up?"

Scott immediately wrapped his arms around Derek's neck. Derek walked into the kitchen as he heard a sulking Stiles bound away.

He set the bags on the counter. "Is it okay if I set you down?" The mop of hair shook adamantly against his neck as his little arms tightened. "Okay." He settled him more against his hip.

Well, Derek supposed he was a babysitter now.

He held onto Scott with one arm and grabbed his phone with the other.

"Derek I swear to God I've got t-" Lydia's voice sounded annoyed.

"Stiles is a snowman and Scott is a half naked five year old." Derek figured it was just best to just rip the band-aid off.

"I'm four!" Scott protested and shoved three fingers in Derek's face as he wiggled.

There was a pause.

"When you say snowma-"

"I mean carrot nose and a beanie instead of a top hat, the whole nine yards."

Another pause and a sigh.

"I'll be there in ten. And I'll pick Scott up some clothes."

When Lydia got there she was greeted by the sight of Derek giving a small child a high-five and a literal snowman trying to change the channel with stick thumbs.

"Good job buddy! We're all done."

She hung her purse on a hook by the door. "How is this my life?"

Derek turned to her. "You aren't the one having to wrangle a four year old and a petulant snowman that's melting on your hardwo-"

A raised voice came from the other room. "Hardwood floors! Yes, we know! You've said it multiple times!"

Lydia went to look and there was a lake around Stiles.

"How-why- What- Okay nevermind, just deep breaths." She sharply inhaled and exhaled. She proceeded overly calm. "Stiles, tell me exactly what you've done."

The snowman turned to her and she would never be able to get that image out of her head. He turned to Derek. "You called Lydia? I mean no offense to a goddess, but isn't this more Deaton's area of expertise? I mean she's better at translation, but her casting isn't better than mine."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't think the snowman should be casting any coal pieces, especially to someone who left mid mani-pedi and could break your arms like twigs. Literally."

"Deaton is out of town you snowball."

"Plow a man while he's down why don't ya."

"Can we focus!" Lydia huffed as she strode into the room. "What book did you use?"

Stiles' twigs aligned with a thick open book. "That one."

She tossed her hair up into a bun as she walked over to it. She looked at the cover. "I can't even read half of this Stiles. How do you know what it says?"

The snowman looked shifty. He fiddled with his beanie. "Right. Yeah, so neither do I?" He said it bracing for backlash.

Scott paused sorting his fruit snacks that thankfully Erica insisted upon the loft having. He tugged on Derek's shirt and loudly whispered, "Who is that lady?"

Derek equally as loud and obviously whispered back, "She's a lady that knows everything and is scary unless she likes you."

"Does she like me?" Scott looked at her curiously and with caution. He sent her a small goofy smile and wave.

Derek tilted his head at Lydia.

Her face softened. "Yes I do. You're one of my very best friends."

Scott's grin went wide and crooked. "Do you want fruit snacks?"

She smiled at him. "No, thank you."

He nodded his head then turned back to Derek. "Why is she here? Is she here to kill the bad snowman?"

Stiles scoffed.

"She's here because she's the smartest and can figure out how to undo mistakes of two stupid people."

Derek had already determined from talking to him in the kitchen, that Scott wouldn't know he was insulting him because he didn't remember anything. He only knew he was four years old, his bestest friend was Stiles, and the scary snowman was most certainly not Stiles. Derek could smell instantly that he wasn't a wolf anymore, he was simply four years old again. No trace of the grown up Scott.

Scott shook his head. "There's no way she's the smartest. Stiles is the smartest. She's really really smarter maybe. She's not smarter than Stiles. Stiles is the best." His goofy grin was replaced by a sad look. "Can I see him?"

Stiles shuffled slightly forward. "I am Stiles buddy." The look on his face was the most hopeful look Derek had ever seen on a snowman.

Scott narrowed his eyes. "No you're not!"

"Yeah I am. We used to hide under your bed to eat peanut butter cookie sandwiches. We would take peanut butter cookies and slather peanut butter on one side and jam on the other." While he was speaking he used his stick arms to mime making the sandwiches. "Your mom would always yell for us because we would make a mess in the kitchen, but she pretended she couldn't find us."

Scott's face twisted into anger. "No! She doesn't ever know where we are. She doesn't find us! The real Stiles knows that! You're fake! I want to see my best friend! I want my mom! I want my dad!" Tears started streaming from his red face.

"It's okay Scotty!" Stiles started heavily bounding towards him.

Scott let out a screech and turned to Derek. He scrambled and pulled against his clothing like a monkey trying to climb vines. He made it halfway up before Derek scooped him the rest of the way into his arms. Scott buried his head into his neck and started to cry.

"Stiles. Maybe you shoul-"

Derek wondered if he had started to melt faster with how much he was slumped down.

"Yeah I know. Why don't you take him to the living room and find Balto in my movie case. It's his favorite."

Derek gave him a flat look.

"Don't give me that. We both loved that movie long before your furry butt showed up. And I think I've done a very good job of not mentioning it before now."

Derek simply raised an eyebrow before turning to go make popcorn.

Stiles hollered after him. "There's a bag of puffcorn in the top cabinet!"

Derek yelled back. "He's four not an infant! He can have regular popcorn!"

"If he chokes, I'm telling Melissa this was all your fault!"

Derek didn't reply.

"If you two children are done arguing maybe we can fix the actual child and the ever growing puddle soaking my shoes." Lydia's cold voice masked her concern.

They busied themselves with the books as Derek changed Scott then got them settled in to watch the movie.

Scott snuggled into Derek's side and giggled through the start of the movie.

He pulled the blanket around Scott as he looked down at him. He looked so small, he looked fragile. In a way Scott always looked like that, but this was mixed with an innocence.

He caught the sound of Stiles' voice and he wondered if he ever looked like this. It was hard to imagine, he almost couldn't. As childish and young he could act, Derek had never known Stiles to have a childlike innocence. But then he thought of the two of them under Scott's bed hiding from Melissa and he could almost see the shine of his big brown eyes. For an instant he wondered why that look was so completely gone and so soon, but then he remembered.

His mother. Stiles had lost his mother at such a young age and ever since, he carried it with him. He supposed Stiles was a lot like himself, trading innocence for carrying the people lost to them with themselves out of guilt.

He wished he'd known Stiles then, he wished he could've protected him. Just gathered him in his arms and let him cry until he felt better. He also wished Stiles had found him. After Paige, after the fire. Wished they'd been closer for after Laura. But then he was also grateful he was there for after Boyd.

Looking down at Scott made him feel so many things. He was so small, and he needed to be protected. He needed to be saved, brought back to who he was. But looking down at his small face he looked so angelic, so perfect.

He reminded Derek of his little brother. He used to watch cartoons on the couch with him every weekend. Derek tightened his arm around him as he thought of a house filled with kids. He cleared his throat as the memories he had buried long ago resurfaced. He never let himself feel how much he missed having younger siblings and kids around. How much he missed watching movies and pretending to not see hiding places. He felt a hurt in his gut thinking that as soon as Scott was back to normal he'd never see innocent little eyes look at him again like he could protect them from the entire world.

He was hit with a wave of longing. Not just for the family he lost, but for one he'd never have.

He was pulled out of his head by the distress wafting over from the table. "What's wrong?"

Stiles' voice came immediately. "Nothing. Just watch the movie sourwolf."

Derek's eyebrows furrowed. He gently moved over Scott and gave him a reassuring look when he looked alarmed. "I'll be back." He brushed his curls away and kissed his forehead.

Derek walked over to a tense Stiles and a worried Lydia. "And how come, nothing, with you is always someone is about to die?"

Lydia winced.

Derek's face went hard and he spoke very controlled. "Stiles. Is someone about to die?"

"Technically we don't know if it's about to, we just know it's soon."

It was very hard to take that news seriously when it was literally from a snowman, but seeing the growing puddle made it sink in a bit.

He looked to Lydia. "If he melts will he die?"

She grimaced and picked up the book. "Ice will freeze the spirit and magic in place. But, if the snow flakes guarding the heart melt, the soul will slip away."

Derek closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "How do we get him back to normal?"

She looked at the book once again, but frustrated this time. "We're still trying to figure that out. The translation is a difficult one, not only is it in a different language it has a double coded cipher. It will take hours to figure out. And I don't even know if the spell will tell us how to fix both of them. I turned up the air conditioner as high as I could but..."

They both looked to where Stiles' body looked ready to melt in half.

"Can't we just stick part of him in the freezer? Preferably his head?"

"Hey! And no. If this is like any of the  Nordic magic I've studied, any part that is melted or taken away just turns to regular water. It would have to be my entire body. Right now I wouldn't fit, but if it gets down to it-"

"If it gets down to it you could die! We don't know how melted you have to become before it's too late!" Derek yelled.

Stiles laughed and replied. "Believe me, out of all the ways I thought I'd go out, a snowman was not even in the top one hundred."

Derek's eyebrows pinched. "Will you, for the love of God, take this seriously! You could die! If it gets to the point-"

Lydia looked determined. "We won't let it get that far. You have to have an idea. You always have an idea! Think Stilinski!"

He huffed out a chilled breath and hopped over towards the book. "This spell might work, but I haven't finished the translation of the description. All I can get is that if you focus on something it will cause it to be filled with snow, ice, and winter air. But that's not for sure, and I can't cast like this. I tried to use a spell before to catch Scott and nothing happened." He looked over at Lydia unsure. "Also your casting-"

"Will have to be enough." Just like that, she began the spell, not that they would've been able to change her mind.

She spoke the last word and she lowered her arms that were pointed at Stiles.

Nothing happened.

"Well that's unfort-"

"Whap!" In an instant the entire loft was covered in three feet of snow.

Stiles looked at Lydia who's arms tensed in shock. On her bun sat a tiny pile of snow an her shoulders were covered too. He looked over to Derek and started laughing hysterically. There was a pile of snow on his head and shoulders too, but there was also snowflakes in his eyebrows and lashes. He had the most menacing look on his face as he looked at the room covered in snow.

"Dereeeek!"

By the time Derek had scooped up an equally frozen Scott, went upstairs with him and Lydia, and trudged back through the snow with all three of them wrapped in multiple layers of Derek's clothing Stiles still hadn't stopped laughing.

Derek huffed. "Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Guess who's going with me to pick out all new furniture jackass."

"That's a bad word Derek! You have to call him a poopybutt."

The snowman grinned at him. "Yeah Derek, you have to call me a poopybutt."

"You better be careful before I kick your snowballs."

Stiles smiled. "Oh I'm really pissing myself over that insult."

Derek turned to Scott. "You know not to eat the yellow snow right?"

Scott only cocked his head in confusion, but Lydia and Stiles burst out with laughter.

"Oh shut up." Stiles took a chunk from his middle and hurled it at Derek and Scott. Derek turned his back to shield Scott, but the snowball burst on his back and part of it hit the back of his neck.

He turned back with a dangerous glint. "Oh you're on Frosty."

Scott quickly brightened and shrieked, "Snowball fight!"

It was chaos within seconds.

Derek had flipped the coffee table on it's side for cover and Lydia hid behind Stiles.

She initially didn't want to be involved, but Derek nailed her right in the side of her face. The snow melted and smudged her make-up. It was war.

What Scott lacked in aim he made up for in enthusiasm, he was throwing snowballs as fast as Derek could make them. Lydia had a deadly accuracy, but she was slower.

Scott was starting to tire, then it was quiet for a moment. He looked over and they were fighting.

"Lydia just let me!"

"No! You're my only cover!"

Stiles was trying to bend over to make his own snowball and Lydia was trying to pull him back up to stay hidden.

"I want to throw one!"

"I'll make you one!"

"No I want t- ahhhh!" Stiles' top two balls fell into the snow and separated. "Oh my god! I'm in half! I'm two halves! Am I dead?" His twigs started feeling the ground and his body. "No I'm not. I'm fine!" Stiles started to let out a relieved laugh and Lydia joined in.

Derek looked over to Scott who was pointing and laughing. Seeing the clear joy he too joined in.

"You guys. I am stuck though."

They laughed harder.

"No really, I can't get up."

More laughter.

"Help me! Please?"

Derek wiped away tears as Lydia tried to speak through her laughter.

"You're- you're too heavy. I- I can't lift you."

They spent a few moments calming down.

"Derek? Scott? How about a truce? Just until I get back on my feet, literally. Well actually, I don't have feet right now."

Derek turned to Scott and even though there was some apprehension, Scott gave a nod.

They abandoned their post and trudged over enemy lines.

Stiles was surprisingly heavy. When Derek let out a grunt of effort Stiles smacked him and Scott even tried to help.

Derek should've expected it, but he didn't.

As soon as they stood him up Stiles tackled him and Lydia began pelting him with a stockpile.

"Hey! You guys broke the truce!" Scott whined.

Stiles spoke as he shoved snow in Derek's face. "It was only till I got up!"

The look of disapproval faded.

"You should help us! All of us against Derek!"

Lydia nodded. "He's going to lose. You should be on our team! We have a snowman!"

Derek started to thrash. "No! Scott would never! He's my buddy!" He dramatically lifted an arm towards him.

Scott looked considering till he threw himself next to Derek.

"Ha see Stiles! Scott wou-"

Mid sentence Scott stuffed a snowball in his mouth.

Stiles lifted his twigs up. "Woo whoop! Ultimate victory against Derek!"

"Ahhhh no! I have been defeated!"

Scott giggled and Stiles and Lydia smiled at him.

"No laughing at me you traitor!" In one quick movement he swept them all into his arms and pulled them on top of him. "Snowpile!"

They all burst out laughing.

It was warmer with all of them laying on the snow together.

Lydia adjusted the ill fitting hat she borrowed as she spoke. "We should make snow angels."

Scott nodded and got off Derek by sticking a boney elbow in his ribs.

They all made a snow angel except Stiles, who's angel looked like a snowman angel hybrid.

Once he was done with his Scott jumped on Derek.

"Oof! You're heavy!"

Stiles looked over at them with a smile that quickly turned to concern. "And he looks cold."

Stiles' twigy fingers pinched his red nose lightly. Scott crossed his eyes to look at them.

Stiles looked at everyone. "You know what is the opposite of cold snowy days?"

He continued, "Hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate!" Scott said at the same time.

They looked at each other and burst out laughing. They high fived each other.

Derek and Lydia looked at each other confused.

That made them laugh harder.

After one particular giggle from Scott he and Stiles both began to glow.

Stiles looked down at his sticks and Scott looked at his hands.

Scott looked afraid. "Stiles! What's happening?"

He was torn between being happy Scott finally believed it was him and terrified for what this glow meant. He didn't get long to freak out.

Simultaneously, Scott rapidly grew older in front of them, and Stiles suddenly felt very cold. Very cold.

"What the hell just happened?" Scott seemed more confused than anything. "Stiles? Why am I naked on Derek's lap surrounded by snow?"

Derek turned to Stiles with a raised smug eyebrow.

"Why do you assume I know! You're on Derek's lap, not mine!"

Scott nodded. "Yes, but you're naked too. And normally if I got into something, it's because of you."

Stiles squinted. "Not fair!"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Yeah, for him."

Stiles pouted.

Derek spoke up. "What made you guys go back to normal?"

Lydia seemed to consider it for a moment while muttering. "Oh! Childlike glee! We got it backwards. It gave Scott a chill in his heart towards you and you had to cause him glee to get back to normal! This wasn't a spell to make a snowman, it was a curse! Huh, clever. Well I am going home to take an extremely hot shower."

She got up to go gather her things.

"Yes, please! I need to warm up."

Scott held his arm. "Wait! I still need to know what happened?"

Stiles whined, "Scott, just because you have a nice and toasty werewolf seat doesn't mean we all do. Come on man I'm freezing my dick off here!"

Scott smirked. "Are you jealous of my super warm werewolf seat? Maybe if you asked nicely Derek would help you with your freezing di-"

Derek dropped his bare ass onto the snow.

"Cold man! Real cold!"

Lydia strode over to Derek and planted a kiss on his cheek. "A pleasure as always Derek. Next time though, if you leave the big boy books out for your kids I'm not picking up. Goodbye boys." With a wave over her shoulder she was gone.

"Rude!" Stiles yelled after her. "Any way I'm going to go upstairs to shower." He tried to get up with as much dignity as he could. "Please remember that it is cold."

Scott shouted after him. "You have nothing to apologize for bro! Your dick is perfect!"

Stiles cackled as he heard Derek's noise of disapproval at their lack of decency.

After his boiling shower he felt so much better, but he didn't want to ever have to look at snow again, much less deal with an entire room of it.

He went down the snow covered stairs in the thickest pair of socks he could find in Derek's drawers. He sighed knowing he would have to change them.

"Did Scott leave?"

Derek had shed a few layers and Stiles wondered if he only put them on for little Scott's benefit.

"Yeah. He said he had to talk to Allison."

Stiles nodded. "I assume he told you to tell me goodbye."

Derek considered lying, but he figured Stiles knew the answer.

Derek decided to change the subject. "I never knew he was that cute."

Stiles grinned. "You should've seen me. We could get away with anything. We were such horrible children." Stiles started to laugh. "My dad used to say he hoped I had the antichrist as a child because it would be an angel in comparison to me."

Derek looked away as he spoke. "Is that something you want?"

"The antichrist? No, I'd rather not. But kids, a couple rugrats? Yeah, I want a few and maybe more. I always wondered what it would be like to have a bursting house. I always said I'd foster though. There are already so many kids that need love right? Why not take care of them first. What about you?"

Derek shrugged. "It's not really in the cards for me."

Stiles nodded. "Not everyone wants them. That's fine."

Derek decided to let him think what he wanted. He was wondering about something else though. "Why did you do that spell?"

Stiles rolled his eyes as he started moving his hands in sweeping motions.

The snow swirled in little gusts and started to slowly disappear.

"I didn't think it would go wrong jackass. I didn't mean for it to happen."

Derek still had a serious look. "No, I know you didn't mean for it to do that, but why did you do it in the first place? I mean you'll do reckless magic sure, but that was stupid. You hadn't finished the translation, Deaton wasn't here to fall back on, and using Scott like that, you are reckless. You aren't stupid."

Stiles huffed. "I thought it would help. He's been having a rough week. He's fighting with Allison a lot lately, that last week was a lot to put on his plate, and he's just been stressed lately. I saw the childlike glee thing and I thought-"

Derek smiled softly. "You thought it would make him happy."

"He just needed a break."

Derek nodded and Stiles continued to work in silence.

"You're a good friend."

Stiles' hands paused. "Scott is a good friend too." His voice had an edge.

"No, I know. And you heard him today, he knows it too. Even if he lives in the big world now, even if he's big now and forgets to show that he knows it."

Stiles seemed to get what he was saying and resumed his work. "He's just stressed lately. Sometimes friends take more than they give. Sometimes they take without realizing what needs to be given. It doesn't make them bad, it just makes them human. Loving them doesn't change that they're people."

Derek narrowed his eyes. "Do you need something he isn't giving you?"

Stiles tilted his head from side to side. "Yes and no." Stiles' eyes met Derek's. "It isn't his fault I'm lonely." He looked back down. "It isn't really anyone's."

"It's my fault."

Stiles' hands and the wind stuttered.

"I'm your alpha. If you are lacking it means I'm not providing."

Stiles did a big sweep. "This isn't the sort of thing you could provide."

"Am I not your friend?" Derek tried to not show his hurt.

Stiles smiled. "Of course you are sourwolf. I meant either of you. It is not the sort of company a friend can fill."

Comprehension crossed his face. "Oh."

"I don't fault Scott for loving Allison, I just wish I had someone that loves me that much." Stiles shrugged as he finished the last few sweeps. He surveyed the loft looking for things out of place or somewhere his magic hadn't swept and dried.

Derek couldn't stand the acceptance in his voice towards his sadness. Like it was okay or even fathomable that he wouldn't have someone that loved him. "You do."

Stiles let out a snort. "Not, like that. Not in that way." Stiles straightened a picture frame the fell.

Derek tried to swallow to clear his throat. "You do."

Stiles turned with a puzzled look. "I- I don't un-"

"I do." Derek steeled himself. "I love you like that. I love you that much."

He looked distrustful. "Why have you never told me before now?"

"I don't deserve you, but I don't want you to think you aren't loved. God, never think that. In any way. Because I love you in all of them."

Stiles walked up to him. "Are you being honest with me?" He looked up at him with wide brown eyes.

Derek closed his eyes. "Yes I am."

Stiles scoffed. "Say it looking into my eyes, and maybe I'll believe you weren't toying with me to be a jackass." Stiles turned to walk away.

Derek caught him by his arm. "I didn't look into your eyes because every time I do, I fall more in love with them, with you. And I worry if I fall anymore I won't be able to look at you without kissing you." Derek could feel him turn back towards him.

"Derek, open your eyes."

Derek shut them tighter before opening them slowly. He didn't feel himself breathing as he looked at Stiles.

"Were you honest?"

"Yes." It came out as a breath.

Stiles slowly brought his arms up and around Derek's neck without breaking their stare. "Derek?"

"Yes Stiles?"

"Look into my eyes."

Derek looked down to his lips and Stiles nodded.

Derek kissed him hesitantly till he gripped the back of his neck with still chilled fingertips that pulled him deeper.

Derek pulled back to look into his eyes again.

Stiles spoke sincerely, "I love you. In every way I am capable. I love you as deep as the core of my being and I can't believe you never did anything about it if you did too."

"I don't d-"

"I swear if you finish that with, deserve you, I will walk out."

Derek wound his arms around his waist. "I don't."

"And I don't give a shit what you think. You're wrong."

"Says the man that turned himself into a snowman hours ago."

"I'm impulsive, not a bad judge of character."

"Well what ab-"

Stiles raked his fingers through the hair at the base of his skull. "How about you kiss me? We can have this fight later, like at out wedding."

Derek snorted. "Quite sure of yourself aren't you?"

Stiles smirked and started to lean back against the unbreakable hold of the arms holding onto him.

"I'll be sure enough about the both of us for both of us."

Derek smiled. "Sounds good to me." He leaned back in and Stiles eagerly met him.

Derek supposes he should've known better, but then again he never knows anything when it comes to Stiles. He always seems to surprise him.

Looking into his eyes he'd be grateful to never seen them turned to lumps of coal again. However, he supposes a pair just like them filled with childlike glee might not be as far out of his grasp or desires as he thought.

[lovinlikeloki]

The Lone Wolf

Masterlist // 04

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.4k

King T'Challa agreed to let us stay here for a few days so that we can both recover from our fight and figure out our next move. Rogers, however, told us not to take too long, T'Challa is being very benevolent and we shouldn't risk our safety or the cleanliness of his reputation.

We've already discussed vague ideas of where we're going and who with. Splitting up is obviously the best idea, divide and conquer, and all that. Clint and Scott are going back to their families, with any luck they'll be able to negotiate for some sort of house arrest deal, but it won't be so easy for the rest of us.

The captain and Wilson are planning on sticking together, maybe go through Europe. Romanoff is planning on doing her own thing, as she usually does. Wanda is also planning on Europe, and with any hope she'll take me with her. We're still a bit awkward after our conversation in the bedroom but we're just kinda pretending it never happened. Right now I'm just discussing my plans with Wanda.

"What's your plans Fi?" she asks me.

"I was hoping to come with you Wands," I reply.

"No, absolutely not. That is not happening."

"Why the hell not? I can't go home; they have my information! And I don't want to hear the lecture that Shéa and Erin will have planned, they aren't my parents, not after they disowned me, but as legal guardians they'll have been informed."

"But Fia-"

"But nothing! I can't go back. They'll have talked to Orlaith by now, everyone knows she's my best friend. Not only that, but someone will have pointed them in Eoghan's direction and I especially can't endanger the pub. That is Eoghan's job, all the mercs' jobs, and I'm not going to take that away from them."

"Fianna I just want you to have a normal life. To be a normal teenager!"

"But I can't! Don't you get that? Ever since the damn experiments I can't be a normal teenager. My DNA has been ripped apart and rewritten, I'm not even human anymore. I'm not normal... and I never will be, not again."

"Well... I- I have an idea. Look you're not gonna like it but-"

"No."

"But I didn't even-"

"You just said I'm not gonna like it."

"Just listen Fianna," Wanda pleads.

"Fine. Go ahead," I roll my eyes.

"There's somewhere you can go. You'll be able to negotiate terms and you will be able to lead a somewhat normal life, wolf and all."

"It better not be-"

"Yes, it's Tony Stark."

"No. No way. There is no way I'm going to him of all people for help."

"Fianna please. He'll help you."

"No. He's the reason- Look Wanda, he's not in my good books. He wasn't before, and he sure as hell isn't now. Not after... not after last year."

"He can help you. He knows what you mean to me, what you meant to both of us. I've forgiven him, it's time that you do too," Wanda reasons.

"But he killed-" I trail off, tears starting to roll down my cheeks, "He's responsible for-"

Wanda moves closer, rubbing my back, letting me lean my head on her shoulder, "I know Fia, I know. He didn't though. He might've created Ultron, but he was trying to stop him too. He never meant for anyone to get hurt. Especially not Pi-"

"Don't," I jerk my head up, "No- na habair ainm s'aige! Ní dúirt- Ní dúirt mé é ó a bhfuair sé bás. Le do thoil— Wanda please."

(don't say his name! I haven't said— I haven't said it since he died. Please-)

"Okay, I won't say his name. But you won't even begin to move on, you won't begin to heal until you accept that he's gone."

I move back from her, shaking my head, "But he can't be. He just can't be gone. I already told you, he was my everything. I'm lost without him."

"But you weren't lost before him drăga, were you?" Wanda tries to reason with me.

(Darling)

"No," I wipe my tears away, "No I wasn't... but that was before all of this. Before the experiments. Before these powers. Before I met him. I can try to move on, I can, and say that maybe with time I do. But I'll always come back to him. Always love him. Always love him first. Before whoever I'm with. Whoever I marry. Whoever is the parent of my kids. They'll always be second best."

"I know, volk, I know," Wanda cradles my face in her hands, "But you will love again, maybe not as much, but you will," she wipes the tears still streaming down my face, "And while it won't be as strong it will still be as real. And no matter who it is, you know he'd be proud. You know that, right?"

(Wolf)

I nod my head, her hands moving with it before engulfing her in a hug. Wanda wraps her arms around my upper back and my head, soothing me like she did way back when. We stay like that for a minute or two and though it was a while before we pulled away it still felt too quick.

"And I'll always be here for you, fetiţa mea. Now, let's not dwell on the past, or on the future. Let us spend our time here making good memories, yeah?" Wanda smiles at me.

(My baby girl)

"Yeah," I breath, smiling back at her.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

I'm currently in Shuri's lab looking at all the cool tech she's made. She knows my skills and intellect and thought it would be cool if I got to look over her stuff and maybe even add stuff to it.

I get to browse the countertops with everything on them, the thing that sparks my interest most is the kimoyo beads. They are so freakin' cool.

I mean these thing can scan things, help heal people, control Wakandan tech, and they even make frickin' holograms! How cool is that?

"Ah, I see you've found the kimoyo beads," Shuri smiles when she sees them in my hand.

"Yeah, the tech is amazing, I mean I wouldn't even know where to begin making something like this. It's honestly incredible," I gush.

"Well, I could teach you how get started on advanced tech like this id you'd like," Shuri offers and I beam.

"Seriously?"

"Of course, I trust you, besides you're definitely capable."

"Okay then," I smile, "Where do we begin Múinteoir Shuri?"

(Teacher <prefix>)

Shuri then begins to teach me some little tips and tricks for basic tech that makes much more advanced in the long run. Just add an extra circuit here or just alter one you've already got and it takes your shit to a whole new level. Shuri might only be a little older than me but she's got some damn good skills.

She also asks me for suggestions for the new Panther Habit for T'Challa's new role as Black Panther. I give small ideas here and there but one that sticks is taking the shock absorbance to another level, redistributing the energy and making the shoes silent.

Its really nice to work with someone with Shuri's level of intelligence, she's like one of the smartest in the world. It's definitely better than the eejits (idiots) at school that I have to work with. While I'm nowhere near her level it's still good to be able to work with someone that knows what you're about to say before you even get the words out.

° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ ° ∆ -------- ••• ------- ∆ °

After spending time in the labs with Shuri I go to the rest of the team. I'm kind of an outsider to them, they don't really know me and I don't really know them. I decide to try and approach one of them to try and... I don't know, bond? Or just become less of a stranger at least. I decide to go for who I deem the most approachable, Natasha Romanoff.

Now I know that you may think I'm crazy, thinking the easiest to approach is the fierce Black Widow, but my reasoning is somewhat solid. Romanoff was trained to read the room, read people and therefore she probably knows more about me than she lets on. We also share a somewhat similar background which while I wouldn't use as bonding material it means she can probably relate.

I sit down next to her and wait for her to make the first move, that way I won't force interaction and she can leave if the idea of it bothers her.

"Hey kid," Natasha begins.

"Hey," I reply.

"So, you're the kid Wanda always talks about," Natasha says absentmindedly.

"I guess I am. Wanda talks about me?"

"Oh all the time. She loves to talk about her little sister, the Volchitsa."

(She-wolf)

"Yeah... the irony of it all is almost comical."

"What irony," Natasha questions and I realise I hadn't explained.

"It's just my name," I shake my head, "Fianna, it's an Irish name. It has many meanings behind it depending on where you look, but the direct translation is what's funny."

"And why's it funny?" Natasha quirks an eyebrow.

"Because, what could be better for the girl who's a wolf than a name that means deer?"

Natasha nods, a small smile on her lips, "I do see the irony there. A predator named after her prey. But the Volchitsa is a good strong name, names are powerful things."

"They used to call me the Wölfin in HYDRA, another she-wolf nickname, this time in German, it was becoming feared. Black Widow is a strong name, also scary. A good name for a skilled agent though, the spider who eats her mate."

(She-wolf)

"I didn't get to choose that name," Natasha tells me, "It was chosen for me when I was even younger than you."

"Oh, I- I'm sorry," I stammer.

"Don't be. As you said, it's another strong name, a scary one too. The important thing is that the name Black Widow was once feared for bad reasons, now it's welcomed for good ones. Wölfin was feared because she was strong and could be used for bad reasons, use that or pick your own name that can be welcomed because she can use her skills for good."

I nod my head, slightly in thought, "I've had many names since getting my powers, Wölfin by HYDRA, Volchitsa by the twins, and back home the mercs, they called me an Mac Tíre. Again it means wolf, but this time in Irish, it feels more me but I can't use it anymore. Not if I'm going where Wanda wants me to."

"As I said, names are powerful. Having too many doesn't have to be a bad thing, it gives you options, I've had many aliases in my time, Natalia Alianova Romanova, Natalie Rushman, Nadia Roberts. It means that you can be whoever you want."

"...That's inspiring. Wölfin was a weapon, a child soldier, not someone I wanna be."

"Then don't be. Volchitsa was who the twins saw you as. A fluffball that they needed to protect," Natasha points out.

"Not her either, I'm different, I've changed since the twins- since Wanda last knew me," I correct myself but Natasha knows my slip up, she does, however, not bring it up.

"That currently leaves you with Mactíre."

"Yeah, the mercenary with a bite. I wasn't the only young merc but I'm the most memorable back home. Mactíre isn't feared per se, but she's respected and dangerous but kind, fiercely loyal."

"That sounds like someone I'd wanna be."

I look her in the eyes and can tell she's genuine, of course she is. The Mactíre is a good person, or at least she is now, her past isn't so good, a lot bloodier than it is now, but she's different. Natasha's right when she says that names have power. Mactíre is who I am now, maybe if I change again I'll use a newer name, or not, maybe I'll be a Mactíre mark II.

"Thanks Natasha, that means a lot," I tell her.

She nods before asking a question, "What did you mean when you said you couldn't be Mactíre where Wanda wants you to go?"

I internally sigh, I slipped up, she's Romanoff of course she didn't let it slide.

"I- Wanda wants me to go to Stark when we split. She thinks that he'll protect me and let me be normal. But he won't, he only protects himself."

"That's not true you know. That's actually the reason he signed the accords, he thinks we need to be put in check or we'll lose more lives than we save."

"Is that really the reason?" I quirk an eyebrow, "Or did someone say something and he feels the need to cover his ass?"

"That I can't answer. But he would protect you Fianna, he protected Wanda when Sokovia happened."

"Maybe, maybe he won't since I helped Steve. All I know is that he's hurt people I love and I don't forgive easy. Loyal remember? Fiercely loyal."

Natasha ponders what I've said for a moment before carefully choosing her words. "You make points, but I believe that he'll do the right thing. It'd be good for both of you, you'd get closure for the one's he's hurt and he'll get to face the consequences of his actions like he wants to. Besides, if you need somewhere to lay low I might now somewhere you can stay for a bit until you sum up the courage to face him."

"I- really?" I ask, unsure of whether or not she's kidding.

"Really," she confirms.

"Why?"

"I know what it's like to have to face something... especially your past, you need to build up to it."

"Thank you Natasha."

[mconsent]

10 Advantages of a Self Check-In Kiosk for Dental Practices | mConsent

The patient check-in process sets the tone for the entire dental visit experience. Yet many practices still rely on outdated, cumbersome paper forms that bottleneck reception and create negative first impressions. By implementing a digital check-in system, your office can transform this crucial moment to boost efficiency, accessibility, and satisfaction.

Transitioning to an automated and paperless check-in is one of the smartest investments your dental practice can make. Your patients will appreciate the modern, convenient experience while your team benefits from optimized workflows.

In this blog, we’ll explore the top 10 advantages of upgrading to digital check-in. From self-service kiosks to mobile apps, read on to learn how modern intake can revolutionize your practice!

1. Faster Check-In Times

Digital check-in systems allow patients to verify their personal information and appointment details in seconds right from the lobby. This creates a seamless experience without lengthy paper forms, reducing wait times significantly.

2. Streamlined Patient Identification

Options like QR code check-in, ID barcode scans, or integration with practice apps identify patients instantly upon arrival. This boosts convenience, security, and efficiency.

3. Automated Workflow Integration

The patient's digital check-in data integrates directly into popular practice management software, auto-populating forms, charts, and documents to eliminate manual data entry. This saves massive administrative time.

4. Enhanced Front Desk Experience 

With a tablet-based check-in system, front desk staff deliver five-star hospitality and focus completely on patient service rather than paperwork.

5. Real-Time Updates

Digital systems provide real-time check-in confirmations via text, appointment reminders, and even wait time updates to keep patients informed.

6. Customizable Platform Options

Based on your preferences, digital check-in can be implemented via self-service kiosks, wall-mounted tablets, mobile apps, web portals, and more.

7. Improved Data Collection

The digital process allows easy collection of patient information like demographics, insurance, health history, contact details, and more during check-in.

8. Analytics for Insights

Robust reporting provides reception traffic analysis, check-in volume patterns, peak times, and other data to optimize efficiency.

9. Seamless Mobile Integration

Checking in via smartphone allows patients more convenience and flexibility through QR code scans or GPS location-based sign-in.

10. Enhanced Accessibility

Digital options improve accessibility with features like screen readers, magnifiers, translations, and integrations with accessibility apps.

As today's patients demand faster, smoother, and more automated dental visits, digital check-in systems are becoming necessities rather than luxuries for practices. The benefits ranging from reduced wait times to robust analytics demonstrate why old-fashioned clipboards can't compete.

By providing patients with a cutting-edge experience, like the Self Check-In Kiosk by your office makes memorable first impressions. Meanwhile, your team is freed up to focus on excellent clinical care. Prioritizing your check-in process with digital capabilities ensures your dental practice is positioned for lasting success.

[vgprintads]

‘Swissoft - ‘Super Bat’’

[DOS] [SPAIN] [MAGAZINE] [1993]

If you haven’t played everything if you haven’t played the best. Now you can get the diskettes of [Swissoft]. The smartest way to play and have fun. Use your skills in math, English, biology, geometry, and [programming]... against the greatest challenges on the screen! If you want to get more out of your computer, give him the greatest games in the world... you will surely learn it in a big way. ~Rough translation; liberties taken

Source: Superjuegos, December 1993 (#20) || Internet Archive; scanned by Sketch the Cow

[katedoesfics]

Shadows of Hyrule | Chapter 41

Link was the last one out of the building. It was finally Friday, and the world had been fairly quiet. There were no further appearances from the Shadow Beasts, no sign that the third portal had been open, and in general, no sign of Ganondorf's revival, but that only made Link feel more uneasy. He was preparing. It was only a matter of time before he made his next move.

He looked over as his friends were huddled together at the corner of the building where they usually stood. Revali leaned against his car, just outside of the huddle, his arms folded over his chest. They seemed to be surrounding Urbosa, and he approached them curiously. He peered over Mipha’s shoulder to see what was going on. Urbosa stood with a letter in her hand, frowning.

“What are we looking at?” he asked, moving his gaze around the circle.

“Urbosa got an acceptance letter,” Riju said. Her gaze was hard on Link’s.

Link hesitated. “Isn’t that… good?”

Mipha sighed softly and shook her head, disappointed in his stupidity.

“I have to tell them no,” Urbosa said quietly.

Link’s brows furrowed together and he took the letter from her hands. His eyes scanned it quickly. “We are pleased to inform you… blah blah blah… your shining performance… blah… ideal candidate… blah… scholarship of $50,000 to cover your first year…” Link moved his gaze back to Urbosa. “This is your dream school,” he said. “They gave you fifty-freaking-thousand-dollars. What do you mean you’re going to say no?”

Urbosa met his gaze. She hesitated. “Link… I only get two months this summer before I have to move half way across the world to go to this school. And one of those months is a four week prep course I need to take before I move in.” She paused, waiting for him to put the pieces together, but it became clear she would have to spell it out for him. “I can’t possibly go to college and try to defend Hyrule from Ganondorf's forces.”

Link blinked at her. He handed the letter back to her. “No one said you were required to help us,” he said with a shrug.

“I have to,” Urbosa said sternly. “You sad bunch need all the help you can get.”

Link shook his head. “This is more important.”

“More important than our lives?” Urbosa hissed. “My dream school won’t matter if we’re all dead.” She hesitated, her voice lowering. “I can always… apply next year, or something.”

“Look,” Link said sternly. “I never asked for your help. I never asked for anyone’s help. As far as I’m concerned, Zelda and I are the only ones that need to do this.”

“It better be finished by next year,” Zelda muttered. “Because I won’t give up my dream school for anything.”

Link ignored her. “You volunteered yourself,” he continued. “You want an out? Here it is. Get out. Get out while you still can.”

“I don’t want an out,” Urbosa hissed. “I volunteered for this. I’m in it to win it.”

“Well, I don’t want you here,” Link snapped. “I won’t be responsible for anyone getting killed.”

They were silent for a moment, the idea of putting their own lives on the line weighing heavily on their minds.

Riju crossed her arms. “Link has a point,” she said. “He obviously can’t even take care of himself. You’re all gonna fucking die if you stick around with him.”

“You’re not even supposed to know about this,” Urbosa hissed to her sister.

Riju looked up into the sky. “I may not have any super powers, but as an outsider, can I just say, you’re all in way over your heads. Who has to die before you realize that? You’re all damn lucky you made it this far. And if you let Urbosa die, so help me, you will feel my wrath. I bet I’ve got that power in me. I’ll shock you into oblivion, so help me Goddess.”

Link sighed and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “I’m doing this alone from here on out,” he said simply. He turned away from them and shoved his hands in his jeans pockets.

Revali stood up and moved away from his car. He stepped in front of Link, his brows knit together fiercely. “Look,” he said. “We’re all involved in this. One way or another, we’re gonna finish it. We don’t have much of a choice. The fate of this world is on our shoulders. If we all bail, we’re all doomed. Get it? I don’t like it anymore than you do, but we’re not about to ditch. I can’t believe you would think any of us would do that. I thought you thought better of us.”

“Don’t try to turn this around on me,” Link hissed.

“Get over it, tough guy,” Revali said, pushing passed him. “You don’t scare me. You’re nothing without that sword and Triforce, anyway.” He smirked at Link as he made his way back to his car and jumped into the seat without opening the door. The sports car roared to life as he turned the key in the ignition. “Smell ya later, bitches,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot. He paused next to Link. “Urbosa’s going to that school one way or another. I’ll kill you myself if she doesn’t get this chance. So you better wrap this war up quick.”

Link said nothing as Revali pulled out of the lot and onto the road, the engine roaring loudly as he drove away. Revali had a point, anyway. Without the sword and Triforce, he was just a scrawny nobody.

Mipha watched as Link left them alone without so much as a goodbye. Daruk called after him, but when he didn't respond, he hurried to catch up with his friend, leaving Mipha and Urbosa alone. Urbosa folded the letter up and tucked it in her bag with a sigh.

“How are you doing?” she asked Mipha.

“I don't think my love problems compare to your college problems right now,” she muttered.

Urbosa smiled. “True love comes but once in a lifetime,” she said. “I can catch the college train the next time it comes around. It runs on a pretty regular schedule.”

Mipha rolled her eyes but said nothing further, distracted by vibrating in her pocket. She pulled out her phone and scrunched her nose when she saw Zelda's name on the screen. She hesitated, letting it ring a few times before begrudgingly answering it.

“Hey,” Zelda said. Her voice was wary. “I kinda have a huge favor to ask of you. Do you time to meet me today?”

“Sure, I guess.” She listened as Zelda gave her strict instructions, which included a time and place to meet her. She was very cryptic, but Mipha did not question her.

“Who was that?” Urbosa asked when Mipha hung up the phone.

“Zelda.”

Urbosa frowned in an attempt not to look catty. Even though she didn't dislike Zelda, she felt obligated to hate her for the sake of her friend. “What does she want?”

“I don't know,” Mipha said. “Wanted to ask me a favor. I gotta go meet up with her.”

“Odd.” She paused for a moment. “And you're going to help her?”

“I guess so.”

“Even though you kinda hate her right now?”

Mipha sighed. “It's not her fault,” she said. “Besides. I should probably stay on her good side. But Link is dead to me.”

Urbosa laughed. “Call me later,” she said over her shoulder as she made her way across the parking lot. “I want all the gossip.”

*****

It was getting dark when Mipha found Zelda, sitting atop the trunk of her car in the empty parking lot just outside one of the city parks. The swings in the empty playground swung lazily in the breeze, making an eerie squeaking sound that could have only been the start of a horror movie. Hesitant, Mipha approached Zelda.

“What's this big favor?”

Zelda looked up from the open book in her hands, her expression very serious. “I need your help,” she said simply. She moved the book at an angle that Mipha could see it, inviting her in to investigate it.

Mipha peered at the text on the pages, but she couldn't make heads or tails of any of it. Her brows furrowed. “What is this?”

“It's ancient Hylian,” Zelda explained. “I found this book, among others, a while back. I didn't think anything of it at the time, but when I asked Impa about them, she didn't seem to want me to have anything to do with them. Next thing I know, they're all gone. Impa hid them from me.” She looked down at the book, her brows knit together. “Impa is hiding something from us, though I'm not sure why. But I'm going to find out.” She turned her gaze back to Mipha, closing the book. “I've been teaching myself how to read ancient Hylian, and I've managed to find a few of the books that were missing. But I can't possibly do all this by myself.” She hesitated, her gaze softening. “You're the smartest person I know. I need to know what these books say. Will you help me?”

Mipha hesitated, looking from the book to Zelda. “I don't understand,” she said slowly. “Impa... she's supposed to be helping us.”

Zelda's expression hardened once more. She looked down at the book. “I know. I don't trust her. I don't know who I can trust.”

“So, why trust me?” Mipha asked.

Zelda was quiet for a moment. “Well,” she began. “I like to think we're fighting for the same thing. And if I can't trust my own comrades, then I won't get very far in this world.” She sighed loudly. “And if it turns out you all betray me, I think I'll be able to kill you all easily enough.” She grinned up at Mipha. “So? Are you in?”

Mipha nodded. “Alright,” she said. “But, this sounds dangerous. If anyone finds out, I'm throwing you under the bus.”

Zelda hopped off the car and threw open the trunk. “Deal.” She dug through various items, pulling a few more books out of the blankets they were wrapped in. She handed them to Mipha and jabbed her finger into one of the covers. “This is the best thing I've found to help translate ancient Hylian,” she said. “You'll need it.”

Mipha hugged the books close to her chest, bidding Zelda a goodnight before making her way back towards the street. She looked down at the books as she walked, still pondering Zelda's words to her. It seemed strange that a Sheikah would go to such lengths to keep information from not only the princess of Hyrule, but the chosen heroes who were supposed to save the entire world. She couldn't blame Zelda for being so cautious and wanting to get to the bottom of the secrets hidden in the texts. Still, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. Not only did she have finals to study for, but now Hyrule's princess was giving her homework, too. Sometimes being one of the smartest students in school came at a price.

[ramblinganthropologist]

Writober 20 - Crossover

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple scanning mission. Now Alistair Shepard has the taint all over the Normandy. Great.

---

Where the unholy fuck was he?

Cahel's head was spinning as he glanced around his surroundings. Minutes ago, he had been hunting around Vigil's Keep. Hell, there were still leaves around him to prove where he had been. Problem was, he wasn't surrounded by trees anymore. Instead... there were boxes. At least he thought they were boxes. They looked like they were made of metal, but that didn't make any sense to him. Who would waste metal on boxes?

“Alright, Cahel, keep it together. Might be some weird Fade shit.”

He wasn't a mage, but it wasn't his first go round in the Fade. Technically, it would be his third. But this didn't look or feel like the Fade as he glanced around. In a weird way, it reminded him of the basement of the Keep. Smell was off, though; everything was so... acidic. It was probably the metal.

The second he moved, the room lit up. He glanced around, head pounding as his eyes made the rapid adjustment. No torches, no magelight, but the place looked like it was the middle of the day where before it had been dark as night. It was coming from the walls and overhead – glass globes providing the light.

“What the fuck?” He approached one, tapping it and hissing when his finger came back hot. “Must be mage shit. Definitely the fade.”

At least this one had a door. Cahel crept towards it, hand on the hilt of his long sword. There was a sign posted next to it, but he couldn't read the words. Wasn't common then – might've been Orlesian. Looked stupid enough.

“Shit. I don't see a lock to pick.” However, the door slid open with a hiss. “Or... it does that. Thanks, Fade.”

He left the storage room, keeping to the wall. The hallway he had stepped into was also metal; the whole damn thing was metal! That wasn't the weirdest thing, though. Cahel's eyes widened as he dashed over to the window. Outside the glass, there was... nothing. It was just blackness, punctuated by twinkling stars and a blue haze that dissipated into the blackness. Below wherever he was was... a very round orb of blue and green.

“What... the entire fuck?!”

A voice sounded from the end of the hallway. He picked his head up. Someone was rushing towards him, a blue barrier erected and hands glowing. Cahel unsheathed his sword and stepped into defensive position. Mages he knew how to fight, even in the weird surroundings.

It just sucked he was alone. Mages were a pain in the ass.

---

“What do you mean, we picked something up?”

Alistair Shepard's stomach was turning from the FTL drive as he scanned yet another hallway of the Normandy. Details were running on his omni-tool, displaying the layout of the ship in front of him. There were so many places to check, and so little time.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Scan the death planet, get the fuck out. Nobody went on the planet called 302-B because of the unique toxin found there. Anyone who came in contact died a horrible, slow death. Naturally, the council had cordoned off all contact from it and its two moons, but they had sent him to scan the damn thing.

Maybe they were trying to kill him.

“It's just what I said, Shepard. EDI said we picked something up.” Joker's voice echoed in his ear. Alistair's headache only got worse as he moved closer to the storeroom. With any luck, it would be a rock or something they could jettison off and decontaminate the entire area. Nobody had to know.

Shepard, the results are clear that the matter is organic. And on the move. Check the lowest storeroom under engineering.

His blood ran cold. “We picked up an animal?!”

Who the hell was manning that beam and why was he going to shove his foot up their ass when he found out who did it?

Unclear; I cannot run a full scan until you obtain a sample of DNA. Assume the intruder is infected and contagious with necrotic-hemorrhagic fever.

And that was why he was wearing his full armor, including the sealed helmet and visor that kept out any contaminants. Though neither had been tested against NHF, it would at least buy him some time. He could only hope the thing didn't have jaws to crush through plate, or he was in trouble.

“How big is this thing, EDI?”

Scans report 1.3 meters, weight of 50 kilograms.

Great. It was practically his size. Alistair fought the urge to groan as he crept closer. Now only a hallway separated him. He ducked behind the wall as the door hissed open at the end of the hall. A figure stepped out, then bolted to the window. It shouted in some strange language that grated at his ears – it wasn't registering with the omni-tool's translator.

Oh fuck.

Alistair stared, jaw slack. That... looked like a human. No, it wasn't – the ears were all wrong, coming to a point. He had missed it with the bright red hair covering the tips until the … person... moved. Old movies and stories flooded through his mind; he wanted to deny it, but there were those fucking ears and glowing eyes.

“Is that a frigging elf?!”

Joker echoed Alistair's own shock as he stared at the elf staring out the window, hands pressed to the glass. That wasn't the worrying thing, though. Their intruder was dressed in honest-to-God armor in blue and white, with two swords strapped to his hips and a real life quiver on his back. He was fit to fight, and actual projectiles could be nasty against kinetic shields.

Luckily, barrier stopped everything.

Shepard, approach the target with caution. Preliminary analysis indicates speed.

He nodded, and then his entire area hissed as his barrier erected. The sound of it drew the attention of the elf at the end of the hallway. Those glowing eyes faced him – blue, glowing eyes. The irony didn't escape Alistair as he watched his opponent unsheathe one of those swords and hop back into a defensive stance he had only ever seen in movies. Well... there went peaceful.

“I don't want to fight you! Lay down your weapon and identify yourself!”

His voice carried over the hallway. The elf didn't respond. Instead, they charged forward with the speed EDI had warned about. The swords hit his barrier, and soon Alistair was on the defensive. The little guy was stronger than they looked.

Shit. He really didn't want to LARP with this guy.

“I don't want to fight you!” Alistair held up his glowing hands. “Do you understand me? I don't want to fight. I just need to know why you're here!”

Something about his hands made the elf stop their attack. They took a step back, watching him with those eyes. Under the light, they no longer glowed but were still a shocking shade of blue and reminded him of a cat.

At least they weren't attacking, but... shit.

---

Cahel's opponent stopped trying to attack him. The elf watched as they held up their hands and spoke words he didn't understand. Now that he was able to think, he got a good look at the guy behind the shield.  Couldn't see much with the full face helmet and armor, but they were too small to be a qunari and too big for a dwarf. Shoes meant either city elf or human; he was going to go with human. Armed like a warrior, but no blade. Maybe an arcane warrior if the barrier was anything to go by.

“I don't fucking understand you, shem. Where the fuck am I?”

The human put their shield down and kept their hands up. Definitely a soldier of some kind, but not from any army Cahel had ever interacted with. They were saying something – high voice, probably an adult but not too old – but it made no sense. And then they tossed something at him. He should have dodged, but he caught it instead.

It was... well, Cahel didn't know what it was. He cocked his head to the side as he examined it. Best he could make of it was a little gray box with a glass top and a round thing underneath. The human was gesturing to a similar device on their wrist, pointing to the round thing. It wasn't the smartest idea, but he pushed down like the human wanted.

The glass glowed to life, and a see through piece of paper appeared on top. Luckily, there was no words – just pictures. It had a picture of him – how had it painted it so fast – staring back. Underneath, a line blinked.  What did it want?

“...Alistair Shepard.”

That Cahel understood. The human was naming themselves – himself, apparently. Maybe he wanted his name?

“Cahel Mahariel, Clan Sabrae.”

Words appeared on the screen – his name, though the spelling was off. When Cahel shook his head, the human made a few gestures. They kept it up until his name was right. Then the picture disappeared, replaced by other ones.

Ah. A naming game.

---

“Their name is Cahel?”

Alistair's head was throbbing as he peaked into the window. Their guest – Cahel – was in an observation room now. He had given the elf the translation app they used with unknown dialects. They were working through it now, naming places and things so the software built a database of their strange language. In a few hours, they'd be able to talk to them.

“That's what they said. Cahel Mahariel, then Sabrae. I think they were saying they're of a house or a clan.” Alistair shook his head. “This is so weird. They're a real life elf.”

Bo, next to him, nodded her head. “An elf that looks a hell of a lot like you. Wonder if they're trans too and the universe is just that damn funny.”

“I don't know. Maybe.” He winced as the elf let out what he assumed was a string of curse words at the device. “Well, at least we'll probably know what 'fuck' is in their language.”

That would be useful when they tried to get them to go back. Alistair had finally worked out how Cahel had even gotten there – the beam meant to pick up minerals had grabbed them instead. Apparently, even in armor they weighed less than a bunch of iridium. That was something he would need to fix in later scans.

Scans so far suggest a young adult, 23 at the latest.

“So it's a kid.” Bo was one to fucking talk about that. “A kid in some serious armor. Why'd we let them keep those blades?”

Alistair answered dryly, “Because I didn't want to be cut in half by them. They don't seem violent, so I let them keep them. If that changes, we'll deal. This might be a soldier of a Thedosian nation. It's first contact with them.”

Whatever army this small elf worked for, they liked griffins. A rather intricate one was stamped into their breastplate. Not a common soldier then, maybe. With his luck, they had picked up a child general without realizing.

Great. A diplomatic nightmare.

“Hey, how long do I have to stay in here? I'm hungry.”

A translated voice caused both Bo and Alistair to  turn. Cahel's face was at the glass, and they were staring out. The quickness made the Spectre's heart about beat out of his chest as he approached the glass.

“We can bring in some food. You're not under arrest-” Alistair faltered, frowning. “Er... we should do some proper introductions. I'm Commander Alistair Shepard of the Alliance Special Forces. You are?”

---

Cahel was really starting to like this little thing, this... omni-tool.

He had already gone through the translation program and had taken to playing with it instead. They hadn't locked the damn thing, probably because they hadn't expected him to be curious about it. That was on them.

So. He was on the Normandy, which was a frigate, which was a big frigging ship in space. He was above Thedas, but they didn't call it that. The ship he was on belonged to the Alliance, which was some big ass military force of mostly humans. He had figured out the human bit, but apparently there were others. That's what the scan told him anyway.

The guy he had tried to take out was the commanding officer, the giant pink nightmare next to him was his right hand woman. He had both of their profiles pulled up, already translated back into common. They were a bit older than him if he was reading right – though apparently, they couldn't really go by that. Time was different on this... Earth place.

They still looked human, so maybe they were related to his Alistair.

“Shit... I was supposed to be getting something to eat before this.” His growling stomach was proof of that.  He flicked the translator on and approached the glass. “Hey, how long do I have to stay in here? I'm hungry.”

There was Alistair, looking beyond confused. Then he made his introduction, though it was nothing Cahel hadn't seen on his report. Commander, fairly high but not the highest in his Alliance. Spectre, that was special. He couldn't pull anything up on that. Maybe like a special force?

Oh, he wanted his name. “Warden-Commander Cahel Mahariel of Clan Sabrae, leader of Ferelden's Grey Wardens.”

He was pretty sure that meant he outranked both of the humans in front of him. Now the question was if they would take that as a power play or not. Neither seemed to tense over it, so at least they weren't going to kill him.

They were probably taking him as some sort of ambassador from a foreign nation. It was what he would do if the legging was on the other foot. Most likely, they wanted to keep him alive until they could get him back to Thedas.

And if he was reading the report right, he had an ace in the hole if they turned violent. After all, he had a lovely little necklace to use as a bargaining chip.

---

“How'd a kid become Warden Commander of an entire fucking country?”

Thank you, Bo, for teaching him fuck again. Alistair watched as the little Warden continued to eat. He – he had made very clear of that – was destroying a plate of food. They were pretty sure he was the same sort of DNA they were, so there wasn't worry of allergic reaction. At least he wasn't dropping dead on the table.

Cahel stopped to breathe and answer her question. “I killed an Archdemon after every other Ferelden Grey Warden got killed by a douchebag named Loghain McTir. By the way, douchebag – love the word. I'm keeping that one.”

And they were teaching him new swear words – how wonderful.

“An Archdemon?” Alistair was still running reports. “Does that have anything to do with the necrotic-hemorrhagic fever present on your planet?”

Cahel cocked his head to the side, which he took to be a confused gesture. He thought it over for a few seconds as he chewed and swallowed. At first, the Spectre worried they had gone past his frame of reference. After all, he wasn't a doctor – if his planet even had them. As far as they knew, he was a soldier. But he couldn't resist. They hadn't even known sentient life existed on the planet he called Thedas. Apparently, they had enough for freaking armies.

Yep, he had a headache. First contact was not his idea of a good time.

“You mean the taint”

“Taint?”

The elf nodded. “It's a... sickness I guess. You get it in contact with the darkspawn. Rots you from the inside out. You turn into one of them or you die from it. The Archdemon is just the leader of them. They muster them to the Blight. We just got over it a few years ago.”

…

Alistair's head was hurting now as he made a note of this to give to the Council later. None of this sounded real, but he had a fucking elf in front of him. Anything was possible at this point. He was willing to have an open mind.

Bo slid him a bit of candy – she was clearly bribing him. “Was it a big fucker?”

“Big ass dragon. I almost died slamming a sword into the spot between its ugly ass eyes.” He took it and revealed rather sharp incisors as he chewed away. “Well, I technically died. Only Wardens can kill the thing or it body hops. I'm the first Warden to do it and survive. It really pissed the First Warden off, but I hate that shem.”

Shem hadn't translated, nor had some other words Cahel liked to use. Alistair figured it was some other language he was keeping to himself. It was probably some form of insult, given the way he pronounced it. Note to self – don't use that word.

Still, the changing part reminded Alistair of how the Reapers turned dead bodies into husks. Maybe Reapers were Archdemons to the people of Thedas. They might have been working for the same forces. Which meant, despite everything, this young man had some salient information for him.

“How do the Wardens survive the –“ He paused. No, use the word his guest did. “How do you survive the taint?”

Much to his surprise, the elf chuckled. Then it turned into a bitter sounding laugh that reminded Alistair of something he heard off soldiers who had seen too much. When he calmed down, Cahel wiped a tear from one of his bright eyes.

“I don't, dude. I'm tainted. That's how you become a Warden. It's gonna kill me, just... slower I guess.”

He took another mouth of food. “Probably got 15-20 years left in me. Blight Wardens have a shitty shelf life.”

…

Bio-hazard warning flashed in Alistair's brain as he tried to remain calm. “You... have the taint?”

“On me and in me my dude.” Cahel grinned though. “Don't worry, you won't get it unless my blood gets on your open wounds. Hope you don't like drinking blood either; my senior warden has a killer boost from drinking dragon blood.”

He kept eating while both Spectres shared a look. Their simple mission had suddenly gotten a whole lot more complicated. Now they had someone on the Normandy, infected with a deadly disease with no cure. It might not have been airborne, but every cut was a bio-hazard in the making. There was no choice now – they had to deal with him.

Why couldn't he have had a simple scanning mission? He hated Thedas.