#they look red but also that's just the color of the tissue itself

[ask-the-praetors]

Question to the white aligned phyrexians:

How do you keep your red guts from staining the white porcelain?

They do not stain. We are clean, orderly, precise. And it is both inaccurate and disrespectful to refer to the optimized muscle tissue of myself and my centurions as mere guts, like entrails pulled from a fleshling. They are no more of the flesh than the rest of us. -E

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if all the yeerks suddenly died? AU

Part 3.5; Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3 are here. All you need to know from earlier parts is that all the yeerks disappeared at once after the events of #19, and that the Animorphs and ex-controllers have been trying to resume a normal life ever since.

• Hedrick Chapman wanted to be an ecologist when he grew up.  Or a veterinarian.  Barring that, he’d have settled for being rich.  At no point did he ever want to be a vice principal of a criminally underfunded public high school.  That had been a yeerk decision, not his.  Certainly not his.  And yet, here he is.

• Then again, Chapman reflects as he watches Andy Mitchell vomit into the potted plant on his desk, this job has recently involved far more working with wild animals than he initially anticipated.

“It was horrible,” Andy sobs.  “Her f-face, it… it split open.  I could see bones under the—”  He cuts off, retching more.

Probably in shock, Chapman thinks.  A perfectly understandable reaction to having seen someone morph for the first time.  “What did she turn into?”

“What?”  Andy lifts his head.  Milk-pale, except for those red-rimmed eyes.  Definitely in shock.  “What do you mean?”

“Rachel.”  Chapman didn’t get a name, but that description could only apply to so many students.  “What did she morph?”

“I don’t know,” Andy wails.  “Her face got all baggy and horrible, like the skin was coming off, and it…”  He makes a pulling motion, away from his own mouth.

“So she turned into an elephant.”  Chapman notes that down.  “Then what?”

“You don’t understand,” Andy says.  “She… she… her body was melting!”

Chapman sets down the pen, looking him in the eye.  “I believe you.  You saw her turn into an elephant.  Did she try to attack you, once she was done?”

“I don’t know!  I ran for it.”

“Smart choice.”  Chapman massages his left temple, which is where his Rachel-shaped headache seems to have taken up full-time residence in Iniss 226’s absence. “I figured as much, since we’re not having this conversation in the hospital.”

“It was horrible,” Andy says again.

“And what did you say to Tobias Fangor that precipitated this incident?”

Andy blinks.  His color looks a little better, anyway.  “How did you know that?”

Chapman does not roll his eyes.  Because he’s an adult, and in control of his own body.  “I just so happen to be fluent in English, Mr. Mitchell.  Which is, by enormous coincidence, the language used to write your disciplinary file.  I’m also capable of basic pattern recognition.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Andy asks.  “Rachel.  What happens to her?”

An excellent question.  Bringing a deadly weapon to school results in a ten-day suspension.  But if Chapman applies that statute in this case, then he’d be forced to suspend all five Animorphs for the rest of eternity.  Threatening a classmate can result in expulsion, though it sounds like no actual threats were issued.  There isn’t a rule on the books for showing a classmate something so disturbing his brain tries to turn itself inside-out from sheer horror, although in light of recent developments there really should be.

“Not your concern,” Chapman says.  “Thank you for telling me.  Back to class.”

Andy takes several more minutes to collect himself before he goes.  Chapman uses that time to catch up on paperwork, though he does offer the young man a tissue.  And a breath mint.

• Andy is barely out Chapman’s door when it swings open again and Tom Berenson strides in.  “You have to tell my parents it’s not Jake’s fault,” he announces.

I am not your therapist, Chapman would dearly like to say.  I am not your best friend.  I am not, regardless of Iniss 226’s relationship with Temrash 114, your fucking subordinate.  I do not ‘have to’ do anything.

Not being snippy with vulnerable teenagers is probably one of those things they’d cover M.Ed. programs, if Chapman had ever actually been to school for this job.  “Why don’t you take a deep breath and explain from the beginning.”  There.  That sounds like something a vice principal would say.

“Jake.”  Tom sits down.  “My parents keep forcing him to go to school.  They think he’s, like, being a moody teenager.  Or faking it.”

Chapman may not be a therapist, or even a college graduate, but he does recognize that Jake’s entitled to as many sick days as he feels like taking, for the rest of eternity.  However, “That’s between your parents and your brother.”

“You can’t do anything?” Tom asks.  “You have the ability to give kids permanent excuses for made-up medical conditions— Iniss did it all the time—”

“I am not,” Chapman says severely, “Iniss 226.”

Tom stiffens.  “I just meant…”

“I recognize it is not your fault you have entirely too much information about the administration of this school.”  Chapman tries to soften his tone.  “But if you can do without using the Krav Maga or ability to home-assemble a working handgun that you also didn’t choose to receive, you can do without that.”

“But— Jake.  They don’t get it.”

“I will speak with your parents.  I’ll express these concerns to them,” Chapman says.  “In the meantime, might I suggest you focus on your own grades?  Thanks to Iniss, you’ve missed far too much school already.  If you want to have any hope of graduating on time, you need to catch up.”

“Why?”

He says it so simply.  It’s a question Chapman’s been asked before: Why bother?  Of all the kids who’ve asked him, only Marco Santiago has been more entitled to ask.  Why, indeed, bother with school?  Why care about Civics and Algebra when the world itself has already ended around you? 

A real vice principal would make a speech about learning being its own reward, or the importance of insuring one’s future.  “Because,” Chapman says, “when I speak to Coach Lu about letting you back on the basketball team, he’ll point out that student athletes need a minimum two-point-oh GPA.”

Tom’s whole face lights up.  Suddenly looking years younger.  Looking like a kid, for the first time in months.  “You’d do that for me?”

That M.Ed. program no doubt would have advised against bribes.  “No skin off my butt,” Chapman says.  “Now go do your homework.  And let the adults worry about your brother.”

“Yes sir!”  And he’s off like a shot.  Possibly even, miracle of miracles, off to work on that backlog of English essays.

• The first time Jake called a meeting in Cassie’s barn, even though they don’t really have a reason to meet anymore, it was to discuss what they can do to help the hork-bajir—taxxon alliance.  The second time, it was to make a plan to help Tobias get caught up in school.  The third time, he doesn’t even make an excuse.

Rachel complains about the press hounding them for a statement.  Marco complains about his parents making out on the couch while he’s in the house.  Tobias complains about Ms. Paloma’s workload, and about the hork-bajir constitution negotiations.  Jake complains about his dad’s horrifying questions about how morphing affects puberty.  Ax complains about Alloran’s frequent, extremely snobby, emails.  Cassie complains about her parents constantly asking her to morph their patients to figure out what’s wrong with them.

It’s silly.  It’s fun.  It’s playing at being teenagers with teenage problems.

“This time next week,” Jake announces, at the end.  “And if there are any major developments in the meantime, keep the rest of us posted.”

• “Tobias Fangor’s aunt called again,” Principal Walsh says, when Chapman gets to the office on a Tuesday morning.  “Don’t you think we should at least speak to her, see what she wants?”

“No,” Chapman says.  “I don’t.”

“His uncle.  This…”  She glances at the paperwork.  “Axel Mili-Esgarrouth.  Didn’t show up for last parent-teacher conference.”

Small mercies.  Chapman doesn’t explain Tobias’s living situation.  Doesn’t reveal that he owes the kid’s parents the kind of debt that cannot be repaid in an entire lifetime of favors.  Doesn’t deign to find out if Maggie Walsh knows what an andalite is.

“Tobias Fangor,” he says, “is part of the one-tenth of one percent of students who are, somehow, attending this high school because they want to be here.  If you give him reason to transfer out, I will resign.”

• There are reasons that Chapman stays in this job, despite being stashed here against his will.  Not the pay.  Not the sullen ingratitude from the teens he helps.  Certainly not the parents.  It’s because he’s needed here, now more than ever.

• He stays for the times Loren’s kid comes skittering into his office, wild-eyed and muttering, “Sorry, I just, sorry, I’ll be out of your hair soon, I promise…”  Chapman knows to open the window, when that happens, knows to shove a chair already well-deformed with talon marks out from behind his desk.

•  He stays for the kids who on paper had straight As, perfect attendance, promising gigs at The Sharing — and overnight became failing wrecks with insomnia and dozens of unexplained absences.  He can explain to their teachers, to their parents, in a way that someone who hasn’t been there will never be able to understand.

•  He stays for the way Eva Santiago clasps his hand and says, “You will look out for him.”  Half-supplication, half-command.

•  He even, despite himself, stays for Tom.  Who showed up at school the day after Aegas 1909 died, trying to pretend like nothing had happened.  Who is a truly godawful actor — he took one look at Chapman, went dead-white, and ran for it.  Who was backing away even as Chapman cornered him in the parking lot.  “Wait!” Chapman had said.  “Wait! Iniss is dead too.”  And Tom had burst into tears.

•  No one else would understand them.  No one else would know why nearly every one of the seventy-three ex-hosts in this school has been sent to his office for not paying attention, for sleeping in class, for allegedly being stoned during school hours.  No one else would overlook the absolute illegal mess of Tobias’s paperwork, or give Rachel a fortieth second chance after she has yet another hair-trigger reaction to being bumped in the hall.

•  But there’s one reason above all others that he stays in this job.

“You don’t mind?” Melissa says, every single time he offers her a ride to school.  As if he’s doing her a favor, letting her take up space in the car he’s already driving that way.  As if it’s a chore to get to spend time with his daughter and hear about her day.

“You sure you don’t mind?” he always answers, smiling, and she always runs to get her bag.

It takes so little — a smile, a nod, an offer to feed the damn cat, sometimes even just a glance her way — to get her to light up with gratitude.  It breaks his fucking heart to know the reason why.

He drives her every day.  He helps her with homework every night, and cooks her dinner afterward.  He drops more than he can afford on leg-warmers and Lisa Frank and Limited Too.  He’s every parenting cliché: on a trial separation from Alison, spoiling their kid rotten because of the guilt.

Anyway, time with Melissa is worth a hell of a lot more than mere money.  And it’s almost enough to make up for dealing with parents.  Almost.

•  “But Cassie’s a good kid,” Michelle Logan says.  “She’s always been responsible, and she’s always taken care of herself.  There has to be some kind of mistake.”

Chapman looks at the good kid sitting between her parents.  Thinks of watching her rip a hork-bajir’s throat out, taking an innocent life along with the guilty one.  Trusts that she had no choice in the matter, because if it was him she’d killed instead then he would have understood.

“I recognize that Cassie has had an overall clean record thus far,” Chapman says.  “However, the Rain Forest Café is filing charges against the school for the impersonation and theft of several live animals, and I don’t have other suspects.”

“Cassie would never,” Michelle said.  “She’s a good kid.  She just fell in with the wrong crowd, that’s all.”

“Of that,” Chapman says dryly, “I have no doubt.”

Cassie lifts her head then to look straight at him.  “I’m sorry,” she says, not sounding it.  “I was trying to help the parrots.”

I.  Yes, she’s a good kid.  “It’s admirable,” Chapman tells her, “that you’re covering for your friends.”  Probably also on the list of things a real vice principal wouldn’t say.  “But there is no way that you could have acted alone.”

“Can you prove that?” Cassie asks.

“Can you even prove it was her?” Michelle says.  “What about Marco, or Rachel?  They morph.  Isn’t Tobias a bird quite often?  Who says it wasn’t him?”

Cassie and Chapman make eye contact.  Marco is one incident away from being expelled.  Rachel is about negative eight incidents away, and Chapman can only do so much to protect her.  Tobias isn’t supposed to be at this school at all, which the board will surely notice if he comes to their attention.  Cassie confessed, because Cassie can take the heat.  And Chapman’s letting her take that fall.

“It’s okay,” Cassie tells the adults.  “It’s only a week of detention.”

Because that was the lowest sentence he could propose, while still avoiding a legal proceeding.  She really is a good kid.

•  “Where you going?” Jake asks, not looking up from his Spanish homework, when Tom unlocks the front door at 8:00 PM on a Sunday.

“Sharing meeting,” Tom says casually.  “Wanna come?”

Jake sets down his pen.  He looks at his brother.

Tom stares back, smirking.

“Where are you actually going?” Jake says.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”  And with that, Tom walks out the door.

Despite himself, Jake follows.

 • It’s an under-21 nightclub that Jake vaguely recognizes as being a front for The Sharing, but the crowd spilling onto the lawn around it is truly all ages.  There’s a giggling pair of 10-year-olds standing too close to the beer keg for his comfort, a middle-aged guy handing out glow sticks, and a woman with gray hair and a hand-knit sweater smoking a joint on the curb.

“Tommy-boy!” That’s the guy standing next to the door, an ex-controller Jake thinks is named Bill.  He throws out his arms and, before Jake can react, has grabbed Tom, spun him around, dipped him, and kissed him on the mouth.

“Hands off, asshole,” Tom says, laughing as he pulls loose.  “You are so fucking drunk.”

“Sssshhhhhh,” Bill says, not disconfirming the accusation.  He points to the Employees Only printed on the door.  “Just meat-puppets tonight.  Ditch the tagalong.”

“Oh, come on.”  Tom gestures at Jake.  “The kid was a controller for a hot second last November.”

Bill squints at Jake.  “Wait, really?”

Jake shrugs.  He doesn’t want to talk about it.  “Yeah.”

“Well all right, then.”  Bill ruffles Jake’s hair, Tom slaps Bill on the ass, and they shoulder their way inside.

• The club is jammed full of bodies, most of them sweaty and partway naked.  Jake retreats until his back is against the nearest wall, looking over the mess of dancing humans.  Tom has split off, chest-bumping with some other guy Jake doesn’t know and stealing a drag off his cigarette.  None of them are acting remotely like controllers, which is reassuring, and now he’s wondering if it’d be rude to leave without Tom about 10 seconds after having arrived.

 No one would notice if he turned into a bug, he decides after about an hour of this.  Seriously.  This crowd would not notice, and it’s not like they’d care if they did.  Tom can find his own way home.

A small form sidles up next to him.  “Hi, Jake.”

“Melissa!” he says too loudly, glad to see a familiar face.  “Hi.”

“You want some drink?”  She holds up a clear plastic cup, three-quarters full of liquid.  “There’s plenty more over…”  She points to the punchbowl behind her.

“Drink?” Jake asks.

Melissa shrugs.  “From the empty bottles, it’s mostly beer and tequila, with a little bit of Bloody Mary mix.  Which is probably why it…”  She grimaces down at her cup.  “Looks, smells, and tastes like urine.”

“Um.”  Jake peers at her cup; her assessment isn’t wrong.  “I think I’ll pass, thanks.”

“Cool.  There’s also a guy around here with E, if that’s more your speed.”

“Gee.”  Jake looks back over the crowd, which includes several couples openly pawing at each other, a group of four with hands inside each other’s clothes, and Tom apparently attempting to eat some woman’s tongue before she can eat his.  “There’s ecstasy here?  I never would’ve guessed.”

“People are just glad the war’s over,” Melissa says.  “And your brother’s a really good kisser.”

It’s official: this is worse than the gathering of alien slugs plotting Earth’s destruction that Jake expected to find.  It’s not even a proper orgy, just a whole crapton of giddy ex-hosts hugging each other and then getting too enthusiastic about the hugs.

“Look,” Jake says.  “This has been nice, but I have school tomorrow, so…”

•  Which is when the commotion breaks out near the door.

“Gatecrasher!”  That’s Bill, brandishing a mason jar as he continues to yell.  “We have a gatecrasher!”

Several people crowd around him to get a better look, someone holding up a glow stick to reveal that, sure enough, the jar in his hands contains a single wolf spider.  Among this crowd, animals that act strange or aren’t native to California don’t go without notice.

«I’m innocent!  And even if I’m not you can’t prove anything,» the spider says.  «Maybe I just wandered by accidentally, and this is all a big misunderstanding.»

“This thing’s for full members only,” Tom says, straight-faced.  “There’s a sign on the door, can’t miss it.”

«Maybe I want to join the Sharing?» the spider suggests.

This gets him several unamused looks.  “Toss him out,” Li says.  “And let’s get back to the keg stands.”

“Nah, let him stay!”  That’s Koko, piping up from the back.  “God knows every person in this bar owes the Animorphs a drink.”

Looking between them, Bill turns back to the jar.  Finally he lifts it up to eye level, starting at the spider’s middle two eyes.  “Repeat after me,” Bill intones.

«Uh-huh.»

“What your mom doesn’t know…”

«What my mom doesn’t know…»

“Will not hurt her.”

«Dude, I wouldn’t narc on you!  What do you take me for?»

“A chip off the old block,” Tom mutters.

“Repeat it,” Bill says severely.

«What my mom doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.»

“Great!”  Bill unscrews the lid of the jar, dumping it out on the ground.  “Welcome to the Sharing.”

“If it makes you feel better,” Melissa says to a slowly-demorphing Marco, “I got the same speech.”

“It really does.”  He presses a hand over his heart.  “Now, someone mentioned buying me a drink?”

•  A small nightclub on the outskirts of the city burns to the ground, shortly after having every piece of its furniture and glassware smashed in a pile in the middle of the floor.  The local police force, over 30% of whom were controllers three months ago, elects to ignore this development.

•  Chapman loathes paperwork to the absolute depths of his soul.  Nothing, absolutely nothing, is worse than filing paperwork to get permission to file paperwork, and yet here he is.  The state of California cannot possibly need this many copies of Ashley Shawn’s transcript.  This has to be a torment invented by an evil god to punish him for everything he did aboard the Jahar.  There is no other explanation.

So when Ms. Hanna comes skidding into his office and announces “Science wing! There’s a brawl!” his first thought is, oh thank god.

His second thought is to wonder why she came to get him, skipping the security officer and Principal Walsh, but they’re already running by the time that occurs to him.

When they get there the press of screaming-chanting bodies fills the hall from end to end, but kids still find room to crowd out of the way when they see Chapman coming.  The circle of spectators breaks long enough to reveal the melee at the center, and—

Oh hell.  Chapman can tell exactly why Ms. Hanna got him first.

Fiona Aherne has one hand fisted in the collar of Tom Berenson’s shirt, and is punching him repeatedly in the face.  Joe Lassen catches her around the middle and rips her off Tom, tossing her to the floor, only to be caught in a side-tackle by Li Saren.  Beyond them, Hailey Ng and Bill Renaldi are hanging onto Asher Reed, until Asher suddenly rolls forward and body-slams Bill to the floor.

Chapman winces — so much for not using that Krav Maga. He's knocked aside as Jake shoves past him and dives in to the fray.

Principal Walsh is across the battlefield, staring in bafflement.  Shouting ineffectually for everyone to stop.  She doesn’t know, of course, what Tom and Joe and Asher all have in common.  What Bill and Li and Fiona and Hailey do.

Li has Tom by the throat from behind, which is why Jake throws himself onto Li with the gracelessness typical of a high-schooler.  Li head-butts Jake, only to have Jake, snarling, bite him in the face.

“Stop!” Chapman bellows.  “ALL OF YOU!  STOP!”

Jake drops off Li.  Hailey drops Asher.  Slowly the others lower their fists, glaring.

Good to know everyone’s fear of Iniss 226 is still good for something.

“Everyone in the Biology classroom,” Chapman barks, pointing at the door.  “Bill’s lot near the windows, Tom and the others by the door.  Move it!”

Principal Walsh stares at Chapman in confusion, which deepens when everyone obeys him without question.  He beckons first to Ms. Hanna, then to Mr. Tidwell, pointing them into the room as well.  They also take their places without question, Mr. Tidwell supervising the voluntary half of the room as Ms. Hanna covers the involuntaries.

Pausing in the doorway, Chapman turns at last to face Maggie Walsh.  His boss.  Who has the ability to fire him, if she misunderstands the situation.  “It’s about yeerks,” he settles for telling her.

Her look of bafflement doesn’t fade.  “How?”

Chapman opens his mouth. Hunts for words.

“Jake had nothing to do with this.”

Chapman doesn’t have to turn his head to know who spoke from the involuntary side of the room.  What a surprise, a Berenson kid running his mouth.

“Thank you for your input, Thomas.”  He spins around.  “That isn’t your call.”

Tom crosses his arms.  Between the fingernail marks down his cheek and the broken knuckles of his right hand, he looks the very picture of delinquency.

“He’s right,” Joe says, from the voluntary side of the room.  “It’s nothing to do with Jake.”  In Chapman’s peripheral vision, Maggie Walsh blinks several times.  He’ll explain later.  Or try to.

“Fine,” Chapman says.  “Jake, get back to class.”

Jake lifts his chin, blood striping the lower half of his face.  “I chose to get involved,” he says.  “I’ll take my punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” Tom says.  “Then what was the fight about?”

Jake looks from one side of the room to the other.  Both sides have ninth graders, twelfth graders, jocks and nerds, white and Black and brown kids.  Jake’s probably smart enough to identify several ex-controllers, and to guess at the rest, but unable to tell how or why they sorted themselves like they did.  Nonetheless, after a second he opens his mouth.

“That’s what I thought,” Chapman cuts him off.  “Anyway, if I suspend you then Marco and Rachel will have burned down the school within a week.  Fix your nose, then back to class.”

Knowing when he’s beat, Jake leaves.  Chapman makes a note he’ll also have to explain to Maggie how morphing works, and that he didn’t just order a 14-year-old to hand-set a broken nose.

“The involuntaries started it,” Bill announces, the moment Jake is gone.

“Yeah,” Tom snaps, “and the voluntaries are the ones who—”

“Who were lied to, instead of being coerced?” Mr. Tidwell suggests.

Tom shuts his mouth.

“Asher called me a traitor.”  Li points a finger across the room.

“Six months ago Li told me,” Asher says quietly, “that I should really join the Sharing.”

“And so,” Chapman drawls, “you had no choice but to punch each other in the face.  Is that correct?”

Tom mutters something under his breath that Chapman chooses not to catch.  He can’t threaten them, not this crowd.  Most of them have survived worse hells than the Geneva Convention ever dreamed of.  Detention means nothing.

Fine.  Persuasion it’ll have to be.  Fuck his life.  Chapman raises his voice to address the involuntaries.  “They—” He points to the voluntary side of the room.  “Are not the enemy.  The yeerks are the enemy, and the yeerks are dead.  Don’t start doing their work for them, you hear me?”

There’s a long silence.  Asher scuffs the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“Yeah,” Tom says at last.  “We hear you.”

“Everyone get checked at the nurse’s office,” Chapman tells the room at large.  “You’re all suspended for the rest of the week.”

Maggie Walsh takes a seat next to Chapman, even as the kids all file out.  Yeah.  He owes her an explanation.  Taking a deep breath, he tries to sum up what just happened.  Hopefully in a thousand words or less.

Don Tidwell, coward, takes that opportunity to slip out the door.

•  “Does anyone have anything to report?”  Jake looks around Cassie’s barn.  It’s still odd to see Ax and Tobias sitting out of morph and in the open.  There was a brief collective panic when Cassie’s mom poked her head in earlier to ask if they want any lemonade or feeder mice.

“I have,” Marco says grandly, “a date… with Destiny!”

«Oh, you mean Destiny Trembull in tenth grade?»  Tobias immediately undercuts this, because of course.  «She seems nice.»

“And we don’t even have to spend the next three days following her around,” Rachel comments, which gets Marco to lob a horse comb at her head.

«I have accessed one-hundred twenty-three additional channels on my television,» Ax adds.

Cassie and Jake exchange a glance.  “How’s it going, getting a ride home?” Cassie asks.  “Any word on that?”

Ax shrugs — he isn’t even going to fit in on the andalite homeworld anymore when he does finally get there — and looks away.  «I’ve been told that there are more important priorities concerning the Navy.»

«Their gratitude,» Tobias drawls, «is overwhelming.»

•  Chapman explains to Jake’s parents that Jake needs a therapist, and also permission to miss school if he needs to.  Chapman explains the Yeerk Empire and how exactly they recruit humans to Li Saren’s parents for the third, then the fourth, then the fifth time, until they are in tears and begging their son’s forgiveness for doubting him.  Chapman explains to the district that he has no idea how the school ended up with a staircase leading from a supply closet to the alien sinkhole, but that he wants it sealed up posthaste.  Chapman explains himself to Naomi Berenson, and then he does his best to explain Rachel as well.

• "No," Chapman tells the officious-looking little man sitting across his desk. "I don't know of anyone like that. I'm sorry, I wish I could be more help."

The man — he's probably a real detective, he has a badge — leans across the desk to push the photo array a little closer to Chapman. "You're sure? None of these individuals is a..." He glances at his notes. "Voluntary controller."

Chapman looks at the array, which includes images of nearly 100 students. Some of whom weren't controllers at all — that's Tobias Fangor in the upper left corner. Some of whom were lied to by the Sharing, and then lied to by the Yeerk Empire. Some of whom, like Bill Renaldi and his absolutely debilitating major depression, felt they had no choice but to give up their bodies. "Sorry," Chapman says. "None of these individuals appear to be voluntary controllers to the best of my knowledge."

The detective stares at Chapman, waiting for more information. Chapman stares back, waiting for the detective to get bored. He can do this all day, literal hours of silence if that's what it takes. He doubts any mere civilian can say the same.

Sure enough, the detective breaks first. "You see," he says, "we know for a fact that some of these individuals did, in fact, collude with the Yeerk Empire. And we have CCTV footage indicating that you might have been one of those colluders yourself. So anything you can do to help us out..."

Chapman lets the silence go for another minute, long enough for the detective to shift in place. "You're mistaken," he says at last. "About what it means to be a voluntary controller. Or an involuntary one, for that matter. The distinction you're seeking does not exist."

"I'm sorry." The guy has his notepad out now, pen moving. "You're saying... there's functionally no difference between the voluntary hosts and the involuntary ones?"

"Yes," Chapman says, unaware of the hell he's about to unleash. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

•  “Ms. Paloma’s being a butt,” Melissa says, spinning her chair with a toe on the floor.  “I told her that I have a French test the same day as the Bio one, but she just said that means I have to learn to manage my time.”

She just walked into his office.  Without knocking.  Without asking if he’s busy, if he minds, if he’s sure.  Without apologizing for her existence.  She walked in, she sat down uninvited, and now here she is complaining to him like any normal teenager.

“That sounds stressful.”  Chapman is choosing his words with infinite care.  He’s six years old again, holding a butterfly cupped in his palms and knowing that even a millimeter’s clumsiness will crush this precious living jewel.  Thinking this.  This is what I want.  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She came in unprompted.  She just walked right in.

“I hate French.”  Melissa spins the chair again.  “It’s all those lists of vocab words, and I can’t even say half of them correctly…”

“Do you want me to help you study?” Chapman asks.

Her head pops up with the force of her surprised, pleased smile.  “You’d do that?”

That’s it, then.  He’s never leaving this job.  Paperwork and all.

[popponn]

a fool in love. [isagi yoichi x f!reader]

notes: no listen downbad!yoichi is kind of a walking disaster because this is the kind of guy that goes 'oh making you happy makes me happy' and he is mister egoist who goes a bit unhinged whenever he wants something do you get it. it's kind of doomed in a very cute way. (aka this is a fit of madness pt three. the only thing im willing to examine with seriousness here are isagi yoichi's deep blue eyes.)

You knew it wasn’t as if it was a bad thing. But, in a way, as happy as Yoichi makes you—you kind of wish he doesn’t turn off half of his brain when it came to you.

So far, the most often times he could do that was when soccer came up. And most of them ended up with longing stare and him turning his head back one last time as if saying 'sorry'. One time, you actually ended up throwing a snot soaked tissue because he felt bad leaving for practice when you were bedridden with a flu. It was adorable, but honestly a bit pathetic, in a cute way.

Though, those moments are indeed cute when you compared them to the others.

“I’m craving something salty and buttery,” you said at 2.34 am and you had to physically restrain him from cooking for you. Doing that to an athlete on his prime while being half asleep taught your backbone that it was a terrible idea. It made cracking noises for a week straight.

“Oh, that shirt is cute,” you once praised the white t-shirt he wore while lounging around with his friends in the living room. Suddenly, it was his favorite shirt. Last month, thankfully, that old, greying thing was replaced by another t-shirt you bought him before it had seven holes in them.

“God, I fucking hate him,” you would mindlessly comment about someone and Yoichi’s mouth went on a field trip. This happened around way too much already. One time happened when you said this half-jokingly after his match and high adrenaline Yoichi thinking someone genuinely did something to you was a sight. Hot, but unsuited for public consumption.

At this point, you really didn’t want to know what the line was for him outside of his soccer. It also didn’t help that it seems like most of his friends—especially Bachira—are a bunch of shit stirrers who supports him.

“You know, it’s sweet and stuffs,” you sighed, one day, deciding that being honest is the best way to go. “But, I really wonder, why you are like that sometimes?”

Yoichi, who walked beside you whilst pushing the shopping basket in one hand, smiled bashfully. “Uh, well—I got… carried away sometimes?”

“Definitely,” you sent him an unamused glance whilst showing him the shopping list written in his phone. “It’s not that I hate every time you do it. I just want to know why.”

Yoichi laughed nervously at that, averting his eyes away from you as he grabbed a pack of butter from his right. It took him sometime to answer, and as he did so Yoichi’s expression turned nostalgic and fond, “Remember when you said that you wouldn’t want me to lose my focus on soccer even if we are together?”

“Ah.” You did remember it. It was a long conversation that was both necessary and heavy back then. At this moment, though, it became just another chapter in your life with Yoichi.

“Well, I kind of swear to myself after that—” Yoichi stopped walking and turned towards you, looking at you through his blue eyes with many promises and softness. It took everything in you to not hide as he continued, “—that I will make you the happiest person on earth even with everything going on. So, yeah?”

And suddenly, you found yourself very lucky. “Oh.”

“And also, uh, I like how it feels when I spoil you and stuffs…? ” Yoichi murmured almost inaudibly, sounding unsure and embarrassed, before quickly laughing it off in the boyish manner you had came to known since long ago. A hand warped itself around yours and Yoichi smiled, a hint of red still coloring his cheeks, “So, uh. You know.”

Like a second nature, you intertwined your fingers along with him and gave him a smile just as shy and gentle in return, ”…seriously? You do it just because it makes you happy? Now, I’m sad.”

“And now you are just teasing me,” Yoichi replied easily. Then, he leaned his head, peering into his phone in your hand, “What else do we have to buy?”

“Hmm…” you hummed, eyes not turning away from him. “I think we got it all.”

[the-traveling-poet]

it’s me again, and I’ve found an idea! Okay so, I’d like to request a Levi x lieutenant reader where the reader is sick but she is as stubborn as a mule and every time someone points that out she just brush it off some way, or elude the questions, until she feels so sick she can barely stand, and ask Levi for help? Thank you Lynn! 🤎🤎

Head-Cold

What started off as a slight cough and a runny nose, now consumed your every waking moment in the form of a head-cold. The worse you get, the more your friends and comrades worry for your health. But you’re fine, right? Your stubbornness to be seen by a medic doesn’t go unnoticed by your Captain, who takes matters into his own hands.

Pairing: Levi x Lieutenant!Sick!Reader

Warnings: Language, sick reader, mention of vomit SFW, fluff, xReader

A/N: Love this idea! Seriously tho the “I don’t need help I’m fine” trope that turns into the “Crush has to take care of you” trope? UNDEFEATED. Also this request is ironic cause I’m coming down with a head cold myself xD As always, if this doesn’t meet your expectations, I’ll rewrite whatever you prefer!

Enjoy~🤎

The moment you woke up feeling nauseous, you knew today was gonna be a great day.

Rolling out of your bed with a stuffy groan, you shuffled over to your private bathroom and took a look at yourself in the mirror. Crusty eyes looked back at you from your reflection, and a red nose drew attention to the color in your face, making you look fevered. Placing a hand on your forehead, you could nearly confirm this was the case.

Mumbling incoherently to yourself, you tried your best to clean yourself up before you had to make an appearance for the day. Before leaving your dorm room, you’d gone through at least ten tissues and wiped your face with a damp wash cloth nearly just as many times. With your hair pulled up neatly away from your face and your clothes adjusted properly on your frame, you put on your best ‘I’m fine’ face and strode out into the hall.

Steadying yourself on your feet, you slowly made your way down to breakfast with the others in your regiment, gliding your hand along the wall to keep your ever wobbling balance.

Shit…Light headed, dizzy, nauseous, runny nose…what’s next, a headache?

You entered the hall and found your way to the kitchens to grab a bowl of what appeared to be soup.

Thank god, maybe this’ll help my poor throat…

You scanned the room over with tired eyes and spotted your fellow superiors sat around their usual table. Stifling a yawn, you trudged over and plopped down near Hange and Nanaba.

“Lieutenant Y/N,” Commander Erwin greeted you formally from across the table.

“Mornin’ C’mander,” you replied back in a stuffy tone, rubbing slightly at your nose.

The conversation happening around you paused, but you were too busy suffering to notice until a hand placed itself on your shoulder. Looking over, you spotted Hange giving you a confused look.

“Y/N, dear…Is everything alright?” they asked.

“Yeah, why?” you asked with a raised brow.

“Y/N, you look sick. Are you sure you’re alright?” Nanaba pestered from your other side.

“Sick? Ehh…maybe. Nothin’ I cant handle doe.” You sniffled, your throat feeling worse from trying to talk in a volume they’d be able to hear you in.

“Maybe you should go to the infirmary…You shouldn’t attend to duties today if you’re ill. You’ll just make yourself worse and possibly spread it to someone else!” Hange’s assistant, Moblit, spoke up from the other side of the scientist.

“Nah, I’ve had a lot worse, so therefor I can’t complain. This won’t kill me.” you argued stubbornly, taking a sip of your soup to hopefully help with the aching pain there.

“You’re sick. I smell it on you.”

You looked up to see Mike joining your table, a bowl of soup in his big hands as he sat down across from Nanaba.

“I’ll be fiiiiiine,” you sniffled, ignoring their concern. You’ve dealt with many hardships in life, both physical and mental. A little head cold wouldn’t be your downfall.

Finally giving into your stubbornness, they dropped your case and resumed their previous conversations. You attempted to follow suit as you ate, but a sudden wave of nausea made you set your spoon back down with a nearly inaudible groan. Deciding you couldn’t stomach anymore, you went to stand on shaky legs and discard your bowl.

Normally you’d let one of the others have what you couldn’t eat, but if Mike was right (and his nose always was) about you being sick, you didn’t want to risk infecting anyone else. Ever you were the considerate one, despite your dismissal of your own issues.

Before you could leave the hall, you found Levi walking in with an empty cup in his hand. After refilling it, he sat near Erwin at your table. He caught your gaze, and you were quick to look away shyly.

“You look like shit,” he greeted.

“Mornin’ Levi,” you greeted back, now trying to hold in a sneeze. As Hange eagerly filled him in on your situation, you rolled your eyes and made to leave the mess hall.

Training wasn’t going to be fun…

══════════════════

Only twenty minutes in, and you were sweating like a pig. In order to catch your breath, you’d had to resort to breathing through your mouth since your nose was completely plugged up and runny.

Great. Just great.

Your legs shook and your head spun as you got off the ground for the nth time. Taking several shallow breaths, you closed your eyes for a moment and silently prayed to anything that might be listening that the torture would end soon.

“Oi, Lieutenant.”

You snapped your eyes open with a muffled ‘huh?’ and came face to face with the gaze of a glaring Captain Levi. He was running the training course today. He stood several feet away from you, not wanting to come any closer after all Hange had told him.

“You shouldn’t be out here training, you’ll make yourself worse. Go to the infirmary,” he commanded.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you tried to reassure him breathlessly, wiping at your brow and nose.

He sighed, punching the bridge of his nose. “The one time I go easy on a brat and they refuse,” he mumbled to himself.

“That’s an order, L/N. Go.”

“You can’t orber me roun’. I’m a Lieutenan’.” Your stuffy voice was getting worse, paired with the scratching of your throat.

Another frustrated sigh left the Captain, but he really wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“Fine, have it your way. I was just trying to help, but if you want to make yourself worse, be my guest.”

As he started to walk off, you suddenly gasped and held at your mouth.

“Oh gob oh shid,” you mumbled, catching Levi’s attention. He turned back around, only to see you taking off in the opposite direction; a hand over your mouth and stomach.

He grimaced to himself, knowing immediately what was going on.

“Damn brat…”

Not wanting to vomit in front of everyone, you had raced back into HQ, desperately trying to hold down what little breakfast you’d managed to eat earlier. Throwing your dorm room open, you raced to the bathroom and barely made it to your personal bathroom before it all came back up.

You clutched the bowl of your toilet with shaky hands and coughed, grimacing as your throat burned. After brushing your teeth and cleaning up the bathroom, and yourself with a quick shower, you decided to finally take your friend’s advice.

Not to go to the infirmary, but instead to rest. Locked away in your room, you ignored the knocks and muffled voices at your door as you curled up under the blankets on your bed.

It may have been warm outside, but you were freezing. Despite the sweat that clung to your body, you attempted to rest.

══════════════════

What felt like an eternity later, the sound of your door being messed with woke you up out of a deep sleep. Rubbing at your sweaty brow, you groaned as you saw your locked door handle twist.

Your door opened slowly, and with blurry eyes you could make out a head of raven hair. Shuffling under the covers, you looked over your shoulder to see Levi approaching your bed.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled sleepily.

“You missed lunch. And dinner,” he stated quietly, and it was only then you noticed a tray of food in his hands.

“Oh…What time is it?” you yawned, trying your best to cover your mouth and sit up, but the dizziness came back in full force, making you groan and lay back down.

“A little after eight,” he responded, setting the tray down on your bedside table.

“I tried to check up on you earlier, but you must have really been out of it.”

“How did you even get in here this time?” you asked with a raised brow. “I locked the door.”

“I picked the lock,” he stated in a ‘you seriously have to ask?’ tone of voice.

Shooting him a look of disbelief, you shook your head and attempted to sit up again.

“Why are you even in here? I’m sick. You might get sick.” You pointed out, knowing how skittish he was about germs.

With a sigh, he sat on the edge of your bed. “I decided to swallow my pride and make sure you didn’t die in here. Firstly, that’s a lot of paper work for me. Secondly, someone has to help your stubborn ass. Might as well be me.”

“And why’s that?” You pushed for more information, a smile slowly making its way onto your face. Though his face was turned away from you, you could make out a very faint pink hue blooming over his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Why not me?” he mumbled.

“Awe, you do care,” you chuckled, voice a little raspy still from sleep and your scratchy throat.

“Shut it, brat. You’re stuffy, and it’s annoying to listen to you talk. The sooner you become less annoying to me, the better.” he grumbled, shooting you a pointed look over his shoulder that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Starting to understand, you couldn’t help but grin. Maybe he did care a little more than he was trying to let on…

“You wouldn’t have had to hear me talk like this if you hadn’t come in here,” you pointed out teasingly.

He didn’t have a retort for this, so instead he sighed in annoyance and picked up the forgotten tray of food.

“Eat your damn soup already. And take some meds for god’s sake. I grabbed a couple bottles on the way up here.”

Rolling your eyes, you took the tray from him, your fingers lightly brushing against his hands. He stiffened slightly at the contact, but made no comment. Instead, he quietly observed you taking a sip of the warm soup. He refused to tell you, but you could tell this wasn’t something that had been served for dinner. He had to have made this himself.

For you…

“Thanks, Levi. I guess I could maybe use the help.” You smiled at him, scooting a little closer to where he sat.

“Yeah no shit, now eat.” He didn’t move away from you. Instead, he discreetly moved a little closer.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to ask for help from time to time, you supposed. Especially if being sick meant you got to spend some time with your favorite Captain…

[royalreef]

@sinshosted || Starter call.

"Oh, it is you."

It was Miranda who spotted Ava first, and thus Miranda who spoke first. Her voice was good at directing people inwards towards her, away from anything else, guiding them back to hold them against her shore and to keep them from wandering too far out ever again. Trained for that, really, practiced with a keenness that would sharpen it from intention to reality over the years that she had grown up inside of the Merkingdom.

It was also Miranda's voice, this guiding hand placed effortlessly onto the back of the conversation, that drove attention towards the other merfolk, standing at her side.

In many ways, this merfolk was Miranda's opposite.

She was blue where Miranda was pink, a lighter underbelly shaded in the hues of shallow water to contrast with the open sea decorated across her back, dappled in long stripes that stretched over her sides and down her tail.

Miranda, as ever, was dressed in a slighter outfit, one with an open back and flowing fabric in dark red and shimmery little gold details stitched in with care. But where Miranda jingled with bells sewn into the design, when the other merfolk turned to look at Ava, so that she was not just staring down the side of a rocky eyepatch, she jingled with the plates of metal touching metal, the single pauldron on her side shifting with the movement. Her clothes were shorter, thicker, exposed more around her limbs where the fabric was hemmed up, but less over her back and around her middle. They looked nearly padded, their darker navy color less fantastically detailed and catching to the eye, more stately in the embroidery tailing the ends. The pauldron itself was dark and horrible looking, long spikes extending off of it in every direction, more of a growth outlined in a strange lighter green metal than a piece of armor. It clinked against the cleaver mounted against her back, massive, easily larger than Ava herself, and only just with a smaller charm of some stuffed animal dangling at the end.

And, of course, the most telling part. While it was hard to forget the difference between Ava and Miranda on the best of days, the other merfolk made that impossible.

Miranda, low-slung and long, already looked predatory. Her dimensions pushed out in unknown and intolerable ways, her face far removed from any hints of neoteny, far closer to those things that were only just glimpsed in the water, things that should never be approached, that showed that thirst was the only way that this night would be survived. Her body was already wound through with thickened muscle and dense bone, reshaped so that the sheer physics of death would flow more cleanly.

The other merfolk ramped that up to eleven. She was a solid wall of muscle, thicker than Miranda, rounded out with muscle and armor-fat and holding a weight with her that made time itself still, wait for her first, only drip by once it was given permission to breathe. The word larger applied in every sense, Miranda nearly svelte next to her, Ava's limbs rendered down to useless instruments carved of tissue paper next to the simple sight of her head — the single eye so deep and red that it shone on the edge of purple or pink, set against that eyepatch and the web of scars that leaked out from beneath it, deep and pitted and long as they traced along her lips and against her snout.

She was standing on the far end from Ava, Miranda between the two of them, the two opposites parallel to each other. As Miranda turned her head to the side, attention diverted away from whatever business she was attending with this other merfolk, the other turned her head as well. She turned it beneath Miranda's own head and neck, lowering her head down, bringing the rest of her body lower with it, staring back at Ava with that one slitted pupil, barely visible against the vibrant magenta hue.

And then she smiled, pulling the corners of her mouth back, not breaking her gaze towards Ava.

Miranda pulled her fins back, curled her tail so that it pressed against the flat of the other merfolk's tail, looked down across the distance at Ava, not glancing back at the other merfolk.

"Greetings. I did not know you would be around today. This is Princess Bellanda Vanderbilt of the Merkingdom, Chief Warlord and Head of Military Operations. Bellanda, this is Ava."

[saucymincks]

GIFT-GIVING TIPS AND REMINDERS NO ONE ASKED FOR

Hello, my name is Caro and I fuckin' love giving people gifts. This year, we're all doing the "shit shit money is tight oh no" thing, a lot of us have to buy things for people we don't know super well, etc. so here are a few ways to make cheap/generic/last-minute gifts a little more special!

WRAP THE GIFT I know this might seem obvious, but you'd be surprised. Get some cheap wrapping paper and scotch tape and wrap it up! Or, if you're like me and hate wrapping gifts, grab a gift bag AND TISSUE PAPER. Don't just throw the thing in the bag and call it a day, a little puff of tissue paper makes it look like you gave a shit. Plus, the gift wrap is a great way to add a personal touch - you can use someone's favorite color, it can be cute or pretty or funny, whatever you want it to be. There are all sorts of creative ways to wrap gifts, too - I've seen part of the gift itself used as the wrapper, like when I received a book wrapped in a scarf and tied with a hair wrap!

REMOVE THE PRICE TAG Either cut the price tag off or, if it's printed directly onto the gift in any way, scratch it out with a pen or sharpie. It's not entirely about hiding what something costs (though there are reasons to do that) so much as it's about making it seem like you put any effort whatsoever into this. I've received $5 bargain bin gifts that were thoughtful and wonderful! But when you receive a $5 bargain bin gift that has the big red sticker on it and is unwrapped, it kinda feels like a "fuck you". I've also received expensive gifts and felt guilty/inadequate when I saw the price tag. That's not the energy you want when you're giving a gift. PERSONALIZE IT Even if you're giving something generic, you can personalize it at least a little most of the time. I'll use bath stuff as an example - we often think of that as a general "buy this for whoever" kind of thing, and it totally can be, but it's also easy to make bath stuff thoughtful! If I'm buying for my mom vs. my best friend, the vibes will be very different. My mom is more of a sunshiney organicy type, so she'd get light floral/herbal/citrus scents in colors like pink, light green, cream, etc. My best friend is basically if Morticia Addams and Tia Dalma had a baby, so she's getting things in purple, black, gold, forest green, with heavier scents like you'd associate with incense and the woods. They're both getting a candle, a bar of soap, and a sheet mask, but those items are personalized to their tastes and vibes.

IT'S OKAY TO ASK If you honestly don't know what to get someone, you can ask! And you don't have to phrase it like "what do you want me to buy for you" because that might make them feel weird! A more tactful way to ask what someone might want as a gift that doesn't make them feel as pressured to have the "right" answer is to ask them "is there anything you've had your eye on that you haven't been able to justify getting for yourself", or "is there anything I can help you replenish that you might need", or "what sort of things are you trying to keep on hand these days", or something along those lines. Ask them what they're watching or listening to these days, ask them what they're enjoying as hobbies, ask them where they like eating, etc. All of these questions can spark a ton of ideas!

IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU Some people really struggle when the person they're shopping for just wants practical or "boring" stuff, but remember: giving a gift is about giving a gift, not about receiving points. If someone says all they want is socks and a grocery store gift card, give them those things. If someone is overloaded with stuff, consider gifting them an experience or a subscription (I'm giving both my parents the gift of "pick a night, pick a theme, I'm your personal chef, you get to hang out and watch movies while I continue to hand you food until you say stop" this year). Don't buy loud stuff for little kids unless the parents are okay with it. Consider the person you're shopping for rather than how the gift will make you appear. If you're really hung up on the whole "paying your electricity bill for a month isn't a gift", "cleaning supplies aren't a gift", "underwear isn't a gift" thing, get them something indulgent in addition to the thing they're asking for.

GO ONE STEP FURTHER I have a friend who is BIG into Pokemon. I don't know a dingdang thing about Pokemon. I could very easily give him a Pikachu plushie and call it a day, and he'd be delighted by it, but you know what's a little more creative and fun? Doing some research and finding something a little more out of the box and unexpected. Which is how I stumbled across a bunch of Pokemon-themed cocktail recipes, and how I stumbled across the idea of making little cocktail kits in small mason jars with dried fruit and sugar cubes and stuff like that and pairing them with airplane bottles of liquor, which is how I gave that friend a gift that made him go "BITCH THIS IS SO CUTE, I'M GONNA MAKE THESE JIGGLYPUFF JELLO SHOTS TONIGHT" at the top of his lungs one year. Plus, he still has and still uses those jars after about a decade! It didn't cost me a ton of money, I was able to DIY most of it, and it was cute and personal. There are a lot of ways to do something a little unexpected and create a gift that's not going to set you back a ton but that has a ton of heart and love put into it.

CONSIDER A BUNCH OF TINY THINGS I...love tiny things. I love knickknacks. I love stuff and tchotchkes. I love opening a box or a bag and finding SO MANY LITTLE THINGS IN THERE. If you know someone like that, oh my god, shop for them like that, trust me, it's so much fun. Sometimes it's hard to come up with one big concrete item to give someone, so maybe...don't! One of the nicest gifts I ever got was literally a box of a bunch of little things that reflected me as a person. There was a mini bottle of a bourbon, a couple of jars of spices, a pair of fingerless gloves, some stickers, a box of shabbos candles (I am forever forgetting to replenish my supply and having to light random candles on Fridays), all sorts of random but personal stuff. Each item on its own was inexpensive and simple, but when it was all put together, it added up to an incredibly thoughtful mixture of practical, indulgent, and just plain fun!

YOU CAN REGIFT BUT YOU GOTTA BE CAREFUL ABOUT IT, BUDDY Look...it happens. We receive a thing we can't use/don't like/already own. Someone else might like it. We give it away. But please, please, please be strategic about regifting. I've regifted things plenty of times, but the trick is to keep it outside the circle so the person who originally gave it to you doesn't see you blatantly passing it along. There's honestly nothing inherently bad or wrong about regifting, in my opinion, but there can be hurt feelings attached to it for many people, so it's a good idea to try and avoid that. Also, if the item is personalized in any way...most of the time, regifting is not gonna work. Use your head here!

This is all I can think of at the moment but if y'all have other advice please feel free to add. Gifts don't have to be a "feed the capitalist machine" thing - they can be (and should be) an opportunity to give a loved one a tangible reminder that they are cared for, a chance to give someone a little treat to make their day and by extension their life better and happier. Gifts also should not be something that causes you stress and shame and frustration! Gifts should be JOYFUL for everyone involved. Now go out there and don't forget to buy tissue paper.

[coastalcreatureworks]

As Disability Pride Month is nearing a close and I wanted to insure I get one more post up here even if I didn’t find the energy to be more active this year. Though that in itself is something as a disabled person I’ve had to come to terms with time and time again. However while my goals to educate have fallen to the wayside, I did take time to take care of myself this month which is also a suitable way to celebrate the month.

in the name of coming to love yourself fully and living authentically I wanted to share a self portrait of sorts. Red Dead Redemption 2 is a game that is very special to me and in a way it helped pave the way toward me becoming confident in myself. This is technically a character I created for a fanfic I was inspired to write to help with coping with the trauma of being disabled during the pandemic. I also just wanted more time with my fave characters but, I digress. Being such a big fan of RDR2, and as an artist fascinated by Rockstar games’ art style I took on the challenge of rendering Matt in the style of the promo material. Which is quite a undertaking when you’re color blind. This ended up a mark of great growth for me. I drew a human that looks right, I did an act of self love by drawing my full authentic self voluntarily for the first time. Matt also has my connective tissue disorder and blindness which I used to never do with my characters. I drew a horse well for the first time and I’m still beyond proud of what I’ve accomplished both artistically and personally. Self acceptance is hard at the best of times but, however the path you take toward it, it’s worth the journey even as that becomes something you need to practice versus expecting it to be one and done. I hope you find some media that you connect with as throughly as I connected with this game.

[maythray]

okayyy anyways BURNER current shrimp design plans cause i wanna talk abt them and it'll be a bit before i get to actually make them

pilly:

red rili!

the red half of his design is the opaque red part, and the yellow half is the transparent section with just a slight yellow tint. hes sized closer to a shrimplet

(rest under the cut cause its a bit long)

playdoh:

red calceo!

these guys can have a vibrant yellow undertone with distinct and varied red spots/stripes on top. this way i can use the spots to mimic the "hair" in his design!! ADDITIONALLY. calceos are notoriously difficult to breed up and keep due to their pickiness with water conditions. this sorta reminds me of a dramatic ego that playdoh kind of has :)

record:

orange base boa!

my plan here is to have the orange sections mirror her casing sleeve, and the black spots resemble the disc itself. The blue rings bordering the orange spots will be exaggerated to draw on the blue ring on the disc in her design :)

limey:

green jade!

ill probably make him a bit lighter than this example, but i liked this one for its bright yellow stripe. i dont see that too often in jades and thought it would be good to use to mimic limeys inner pulp. I also plan to make his tail short and round to look like the nubs on the ends of a lime :]

kit:

red tibee (not too certain on this ID since the reference image is not identified in its source and its colors confuse me a bit, but its deffo a tibee)

i want to use the white spots to form a ring around the front section of the body, as if it were the markings on the wrapper, and the black patches/undertones to make up a pattern resembling the two halves of her candy part. I also want to elongate her tail and give it a squared off appearance to push this design further. also i wanna make the black a deep red instead, closer to a chocolate shrimp coloration

daddy long legs:

not a shrimp, longspine urchin

i dont think of dll as the same soecies as the objects, and so i feel that giving him a shrimp design would be strange. instead i want him to be a very dark longspine, with exaggeration on two bottom spikes to make up his legs. i think itd also be fun to make their eyes out of shells stuck to their spines. like this :]

(other ideas without example)

tissues:

purple pinto tiger, with the skunk pattern. will take up the top head region to mirror the tissue from the top of the box, and the metallic purple can be modified to be a bit brighter and more closely fit their main body color.

polaroid and rosey:

not sure on any breeds, but im sure i want to to give them an orange eye mutation

[mallowofmuses]

The net has been draped over Oz's locker as though it was intended to capture it but missed its mark.

The door has been wrenched open to do so, metal crumpled in on itself like a discarded tissue, paint chipped and peeling at the corners that have been bent creased as though they were nothing but a construction paper card created by a child. Long silver scars of exposed metal race over the top and the formerly immaculate sides, seemingly scored by nothing other than the edges of the locker door itself, rather than claws or some kind of implement. Almost like its been crushed and tried to spring back up on itself, though still bearing the wrinkles prior. Nothing's been touched inside, though the exterior has likewise also been slightly crumpled, bent inwards and out as though it was just wet and sagging, instead of the same solid, cool metal as always.

The net, in comparison, is almost too innocent. It's not heavy enough to do this, and there's no sharp edges, no glint of uncanny ability from it. It's large, larger than most nets surely, maybe several square yards, but this by itself suggests nothing other than the amount of material needed to make it. It does seem like it might be expensive — the weave is not plastic nor cotton nor rope at all, not really. It's somewhat tacky to the touch, a strange sensation, but it's clearly some kind of tempered leather strands, woven around on themselves in a braid to make a length, and those lengths woven further into an intricate, sturdy diamond-shaped net pattern. The holes are smaller than usual too, suggesting clear mastery of whoever made this, yes, but also suggesting a smaller, sleeker target. It doesn't look like the type of net that might be thrown over someone, but rather the type of net to be thrown over something.

Furthermore, it is still heavy. The edges are weighted, with every six inches or so along the outermost edge of the net interrupted by some kind of curling metal weight. They look a little like shells, actually. There's the inward spiral of a snail's shell, starting small and getting wider, suggesting a pattern of growth, and indeed there are hollow spaces within, where Oz might be able to stick a finger if so wished.

However, they also are, still, absolutely, metal. Some kind of black, dense metal, not easily identifiable, cold to the touch and slightly pitted here and there. No animal has a shell like this, but it's not clear how they were even made in the first place. There's no seam, and furthermore, this level is detail is just not possible when working with metal. The only idea that keeps being arrived at with any conviction is the theory that this was made from an animal, many animals who grew many shells, but again, there is no animal with which this would fit the profile. It's too specific, too intentional, too purposeful.

The last piece is somehow the least concerning, because it at least is the most directly concerning. There's a red substance on one corner of the net, thick and sticky, the kind of ruddy color so deep and so dark that it appears black beneath the right light and stains fingers that touch it. Clumps of it appear along the net and its strange leather bindings, pale pink and gummy, veined over with the darker red.

Oddly, despite the evidence to the contrary, there's none of the red semi-liquid on the locker, or what remains of it. Perhaps Oz just managed to get lucky, and it's one less thing to clean.

Between the awful minutes of awakening from a deep slumber, this was a rarity, the feeling of avoiding school today. Yet, he needed to force himself to get up from the weight of his physical and mental exhaustion.

All he wished is to stay at home and pet his dog, forgetting the outside world that awaits him. However, there was a nagging feeling to at least 'try' and proceed to this unshakable dread of missing school.

The hallways felt never-ending, walking in it almost forever with monsters passing by like they're shadows from his peripherical vision.

To witness his locker in such a state, it didn't have an effect on him to muster up an ounce of irritation. Whoever did this, it was either a prank or a way to show some sort of appreciation? He can make a deduction as to who it was, but didn't want to be absolutely certain of the culprit. If one thing for sure, he's not going to touch the substance that is staining his locker and potentially his belongings inside.

Thus, he went on away, hoping to find the Princess nearby.

"Hey, Oz, good morning there!" One of the students greeted as he passed by them.

"I'm sorry, not now." Oz responded with an empty tone of voice.

[zannatykhatun]

Doubling down on the "old" FREITAG at Xianyu, is it IQ tax or really delicious?

Are you willing to spend two thousand yuan to buy a dirty, stinky, but unique luxury bag? FREITAG, a bag accessories brand from Switzerland, has made fashionistas at home and abroad break their legs in order to buy its bags.

Recently, the owner unexpectedly discovered  HE Tuber   FREITAG’s social circle on Xianyu. More and more young workers and students who are no longer a niche trend have begun to join the trap, and even become die-hard fans, giving rise to more “F people”.

Amway provides you with a way that doesn’t cost much and allows you to change your back to a different color when you get tired of carrying it: Xianyu. In the five years since I entered the market, I have exchanged seven or eight bags. If I don’t like it, I will hang it on Xianyu and wait for a suitable buyer. Then I will buy a new bag that I like, and I won’t spend too much money. "F-men" Jack told the shop owner that he really likes rare colors such as pure black, letters, industrial green, rose red, etc., and he can accept the increase in price.

Even for some "F people", the older and more traced the FREITAG bag is, the more attractive it is and the more it is worth buying at a premium. The owner who was aroused in curiosity learned from various sources that at the beginning of its establishment, FREITAG sold a unique bag brand concept "environmentally friendly and recyclable". All bags were made of rag truck cloth, and the designer would use them in different bags. Different positions on the fabric are selected for cutting, so the patterns of each bag strap will never conflict, and each color matching of the style will be photographed and recorded to prevent collision of the same style and destroy the uniqueness of the bag itself. The implication is that each bag is a "peerless and unique item".

The series of bag color matching never have to follow the fashionable colors of the season in the fashion circle, but all come from the color matching of trucks running on European highways. It is this distinctive style that FREITAG has attracted followers from around the world. For Jack, before buying, he felt that the brand's "environmental protection" was just a gimmick and an IQ tax. The materials used were not valuable, and could even be said to be recycled. Shouldn't they be sold very cheaply? After buying it, it "smells really good" and I became obsessed with collecting patterns and colors in various colors. It is worth noting that in the past, the scenes where people encountered "F people" were more on the shoulders of gyms, cafes, designers, and Asian people. During this period, after the city walk became popular, young people carried them on their backs. FREITAG is becoming more and more popular and has become a must-have for riding and walking.

How come a niche torn bag made of truck tarpaulin, without a celebrity to carry it, has become an affordable luxury brand that is highly sought after by young people today?

1. How did you become an F disciple?

"Who grows FREITAG because it is environmentally friendly? It must be because it looks good, is practical, and is durable. It doesn't hurt if the tarpaulin is thrown anywhere. It is a tarpaulin, and you can put it on your head to protect yourself from the rain when it rains!"

This is the reason why Xiaoba, a first-generation fan, got into F. Her favorite one is the F14 in milky white and gray. It is a must-have for working people. It not only has expansion capacity, but also has divided inner pockets and external zippers to store commonly used items. In particular, it is not a problem to install a laptop, it will not bend corners, and it is not afraid of getting wet in the rain.

The first FREITAG most people buy is usually a messenger bag. F40 is the smallest size and is suitable for holding tissues and headphones. F41 is the most purchased size by users and is suitable for girls to carry when shopping. F11, F14 and F13 are classic messenger bags. They are similar in shape but slightly different in size. It can accommodate iPads, books, folding umbrellas, etc., which is enough for a day's travel. The straps made of seat belts are also moderately wide.

The F12, which has been discontinued, currently has the highest price premium on platforms such as Xianyu. The price of polka dot stitching and kraft paper colors has doubled.

For Mumu, a post-00s generation, buying FREITAG is mainly for good matching, which may even reduce her desire to buy other bags. “No matter the time or occasion, the only thing I want to carry before going out is FREITAG. It used to be a bag to match clothes, but now No matter what you wear, this bag can be perfectly integrated. What I love most is the capacity. It is not big, but it can be packed. Now when I go out, even if there are many bags next to me, I will only subconsciously follow the eye-catching FREITAG. Messenger bag.”

FREITAG's color matching also has its own "chain of contempt". The color comes from the tarpaulin of an old truck. Color is too easy to buy, so it is nothing unusual. Color, solid color, black and white color or special pattern, F people will take a high look, but because of the attraction Due to the heat, it is difficult to see dark colors. Therefore, the all-black color is a rare color, and the price is very high.

Blue and red were the most popular colors for truck tarpaulins in Europe 5 to 10 years ago. However, in China, these strong and bright colors are a minefield that many young people dare not touch. This year, dopamine wear has begun to be popular among young people. After becoming popular, FREITAG's pure blue and bright red colors, which were rejected by fashionistas in the past, also became popular.

The prevailing essence of both is a kind of emotional dressing, which is a way for young people to pursue emotional value, to awaken positive emotions in response to the pressure of life, and to pursue a sense of self-satisfaction with life. Mumu would like to call FREITAG "the most versatile item for dopamine".

Good looks and good matching are the first steps to get into the trap. For Jack, after entering the trap, he will often pick up his mobile phone to open the mini program or official website, and browse it when he has time. Because the good-looking ones are sold as soon as they are put on the shelves, and the unsold ones are often ugly. I have seen them again and again. Once I meet one I like, my anticipation will be infinitely amplified. I will buy it, "I am just afraid." After I was slow, others bought it. When I encounter a rare color matching of a popular model, I never hesitate and buy it directly. Anyway, sooner or later, I will find the right person in Xianyu."

Shop owners discovered that unlike Louis Vuitton and other luxury bags with limited purchase and other hungry marketing methods, each FREITAG bag has a unique "ID card", which has its own value and scarcity, especially after buying a bag, it happens by chance. When I saw the original appearance of this piece of cloth on the truck on the official website, the fate of his past and present lives was really linked to the user. For F people, although they don’t buy in the early stage of entering the market, they will frequently establish emotional connections with the products, and their loyalty to the brand will continue to increase.

In Xiaohongshu, countless people from the F family joke: “It’s hard to escape the fate of FREITAG. When you meet someone you like, you will write your name on it, and you will have to carry it until you give it to your daughter as a dowry.” “It’s meant to be old-fashioned. It needs to be taken care of with the same care as a luxury bag, a bag can really be used for generations to come.”

Another key point is that the brand's main slogan is "there is charm only when there are traces". For F people, buying FREITAG is like plating walnuts.

A brand new state is good, but it is interesting to use your own unique mark. FREITAG usually has a 3-year warranty, and any damage can be repaired. The hardware can be ordered and replaced for free on the official website. However, in Xiaoba’s view, if there are various scratches, wrinkles, and wear and tear, they will not be repaired specifically. Instead, they will have an industrial texture with traces of time and a dirty style. “It’s like collecting old objects, and the more they become, the more they will be repaired.” Always is better”.

Jack, who likes to collect FREITAG, takes a different approach and believes that his new bags have their own smell, and if they are used second-hand, the smell will basically disappear. As for whether the price comparable to affordable luxury bags is an IQ tax, some followers of F Gate told the shopper that the materials used are indeed not valuable. The expensive part is mainly because the raw materials and processing process will emit a lot of carbon, and they are only made in Switzerland. The labor cost itself is high. However, for loyal F gate believers, if they really like it, there is no IQ tax.

2. Citywalk’s new “social currency”

During this time, F Gate believers were also wondering why there were suddenly more people carrying FREITAG on the streets, just like young people fell in love with Citywalk almost instantly.

City walk, also called city roaming, is a way of traveling casually and experiencing the history and culture of the city. It is also one of the most popular urban sports that emerged on social networks this year. Open Xiaohongshu, and you will find that no matter which city you are in, there are people who are doing their best to walk. Not only are there a large number of City walk routes shared, but there are also dedicated organizers publishing related activities, and many netizens are even looking for "City walk rides" ”, or cycling, or urban cross-country running, or just “street running”.

At this time, FREITAG emerged as a social currency. Due to the extremely prominent characteristics of the circle, it involves various young groups such as the middle class and Asians. At the same time, die-hard fans account for a large proportion. When they see someone carrying FREITAG on the street, their own users will immediately You will smell that the other person has the same taste as your own

which will lead to recognition.

At the same time, they not only discussed the usefulness and beauty of the bag, but also the past and present life of this oil-proof tarpaulin and the owners it had passed through. They were all talking points. The young people who were afraid of society met the beautiful FREITAG on the street, and they also discussed it. You can choose to post it on social platforms and seek exchanges with original players. At the same time, the city walk trend inevitably spreads to the FREITAG fan base, and the first scene that hits the mark is riding. This fits perfectly with Freitag’s “cycling-friendly” brand concept.

The original motivation for the Freitag brothers to found Freitag was based on their daily considerations of cycling, and they wanted a bag that could be used with peace of mind when riding in rainy Zurich. F14 and the discontinued F17 are the most common series in the riding scene. "With Xiaobu and the FREITAG backpack, grabbing a cup of coffee on Julu Road, Changle Road, and Fumin Road has become a must-have street-sweeping look on Xiaohongshu." Jack sighed.

The advantage of Xiaohongshu lies in the superposition of multiple layers of content ecology. There are countless feedbacks on original needs and advocacy of trend methods every day. It can tap potential trends, such as #dopaminewear##Citywalk#, which are consistent with the circle. Through content sharing, Fmen people can build the field value of interesting experiences.

The same trendy experience also occurred in Xianyu, which has the mentality of "exchange purchase" and "content community". Because of its strong social and circle attributes, it triggered new ideas for idle buying and selling by Jack and other F-men people. Offline, from the opening of its first store in Shanghai in 2018 to now, FREITAG has penetrated into fashion strongholds in various domestic cities.

Different from traditional luggage retailers, the offline stores FREITAG chooses to enter are more art galleries, cycling lifestyle brand stores, lifestyle experience centers, art districts, handmade fashion concepts, bookstores, etc. Online and offline, FREITAG will hold various urban history and cultural discussion activities to pay attention to the urban development process, think about the connection and value between individuals and society, and use a positive attitude to build and participate in urban possibilities. These "seed users" "Most of them come from the creative, media, trend and cultural industries.

Within FREITAG, we do not classify consumers based on age, occupation, or consumption level. We use YCU (Young Conscious Urbanites) to describe consumers, that is, conscious young urbanites. In March this year, FREITAG opened its first directly-operated store in 

[thecotlin]

Celebration Chic: Unveiling the Finest Women's Ethnic Wear for Festivals

Festivals in India are not just occasions; they are celebrations of tradition, culture, and life itself. Every festival calls for a special attire, and for women, this often means adorning exquisite ethnic wear that reflects the joy and vibrancy of the festivities. In this blog, we're going to delve into the world of celebration chic, where we'll explore the finest women's ethnic wear for festivals, focusing on three exquisite categories: designer gota patti suits, pure tissue linen sarees, and cotton gota patti sarees.

The Allure of Gota Patti Suits

Gota patti work is an art form that has been cherished for centuries. Its origin dates back to the royal courts of Rajasthan, where it adorned the attire of maharanis and nobility. Today, it continues to captivate fashion enthusiasts with its timeless charm.

Designer Gota Patti Suits:

Gota patti suits are the epitome of elegance and traditional craftsmanship. The intricate handwork involves applying pieces of zari ribbon onto the fabric to create beautiful patterns and motifs. These suits are characterised by their vibrant colours, intricate designs, and rich embroidery. They are perfect for festivals, weddings, and special occasions.

The beauty of designer gota patti suits lies in their versatility. They come in a wide range of colors and designs, making it easy to find one that suits your personal style and the mood of the festival. You can choose from classic color combinations like red and gold, or opt for a more contemporary look with pastel shades and silver embellishments.

Styling Tips: Pair your designer gota patti suit with statement jewellery, such as jhumkas and a maang tikka. A vibrant dupatta adds a touch of grandeur to the ensemble. Complete your look with mojris or embroidered heels for a regal appearance.

Pure Tissue Linen Sarees: The Essence of Grace

For those who prefer the timeless elegance of sarees, the pure tissue linen saree is a perfect choice. These sarees are a blend of tradition and contemporary fashion, making them ideal for a variety of festivals.

Pure Tissue Linen Sarees:

These sarees are crafted from the finest linen fabric, known for its breathability and comfort. Tissue linen sarees are lightweight, making them easy to drape and carry throughout the day. They are adorned with delicate zari work, giving them a subtle shimmer that adds to their charm.

The pure tissue linen saree is a canvas for artistic expression. From traditional motifs to modern geometric patterns, these sarees cater to a diverse range of tastes. Whether you're celebrating Diwali, Durga Puja, or a family gathering, a tissue linen saree can be the epitome of grace and style.

Styling Tips: When wearing a pure tissue linen saree, opt for a contrasting blouse to make the saree stand out. Classic updos and statement earrings complement the elegance of the saree. Complete your look with comfortable yet stylish juttis or embellished flats.

The Timeless Appeal of Gota Patti Sarees

Gota patti work is not limited to suits; it also graces the six yards of a saree. Gota patti sarees are an embodiment of grace and sophistication.

 

Cotton Gota Patti Sarees: 

Cotton is a fabric that is loved for its comfort, especially in the hot and humid climate of India. When adorned with gota patti work, cotton sarees become a perfect choice for festive occasions. These sarees are lightweight and easy to carry, making them a preferred option for long hours of celebration.

Gota patti work on cotton sarees creates a beautiful juxtaposition of traditional craftsmanship and contemporary fashion. These sarees come in a variety of colours, making it easy to find one that suits your skin tone and personal style.

Styling Tips: To accentuate the beauty of a cotton gota patti saree, you can pair it with a sleeveless or short-sleeved blouse. Accessorise with chunky silver jewellery and a potli bag for a touch of vintage charm. Comfortable kolhapuri chappals or embroidered juttis complete the look.

Where to Find Your Perfect Festival Attire

The world of celebration chic is vast and varied, offering a multitude of choices for festival attire. When looking for the finest women's ethnic wear for festivals, consider exploring both local boutiques and online stores. Cotlin is a renowned online brand which provides exquisite collections of ethnic wear that combine traditional artistry with contemporary design.

Before making your selection, consider the colour, style, and comfort factor that align with the specific festival you're celebrating. Whether you opt for a designer gota patti suit, a pure tissue linen saree, or a cotton gota patti saree, ensure that the outfit resonates with your personal style and the festive spirit.

Conclusion : 

The celebration of festivals is a joyous and meaningful part of Indian culture. Embracing these moments with the finest women's ethnic wear adds an extra layer of beauty and grace to the festivities. So, go ahead, choose your celebration chic attire, and immerse yourself in the magic of festivals with style and elegance.

[etchif]

Fighting Dinosaurs won! Predictable, but not unjustified.

I would like to formerly apologize for not including SUE in this poll I simply forgor. What I however did not forget was the Triassic Cuddle (which was mentioned by quite a few people in the notes) as neither Broomistega nor Thrinaxodon are dinosaurs (amphibian and stem mammal respectively).

Anyways. Here are the fossils

Archaeopteryx London Specimen

Discovered in 1861. It was the first dinosaur fossil ever found with preserved feathers (not actually the first instance of fossilized feathers being found! The first fossilized feather found was discovered a short time before in the same area.). Considerably less popular than the Berlin specimen due to it being incomplete.

Dakota

Discovered in 1999-2006. A rare example of a naturally occurring mummy fossilizing. As a result not only the bones and imprints of soft tissue fossilized, but the actual soft tissue itself. It's because of this specimen that we know that Edmontosaurus (and probably Hadrosaurs in general) had hooves.

Archaeopteryx Berlin specimen

Discovered in 1874/5. The beast now is complete!! As mentioned before, considerably more popular because of this.

Sinosauropteryx holotype

Discovered in 1996. It was the first non-avian dinosaur fossil found with preserved feathers and melanosomes, which indicate coloration (visible in the picture!). It was mostly a red-ish brown with white stripes on its tail. Isn't that neat

Fighting Dinosaurs

Discovered in 1971. An absolutely remarkable fossil of a Velociraptor and a Protoceratops locked in combat. It is the first (and only?) instance of action being preserved by fossilization ever found. It provides valuable information about the predatory behaviour of Velociraptor (e.g. because of this fossil we know that the dromaeosaurs' sickle claw was likely used to pin down prey, as is seen in the fossil).

Psittacosaurus specimen

Discovered in 2002(?). An incredibly well preserved fossil in which the color patterns and skin of the animal are clearly visible. It also proved the existence of feathers within ornithischia. Also fossilized cloaca

Borealopelta holotype

Discovered in 2017. Another example of a fossilized naturally occuring mummy. It is undoubtedly one of the best preserved dinosaur fossils ever found, preserving not only the animal's skeleton, but also the keratin sheaths covering its osteoderms, which give a clearer image as to how this dinosaur looked in the flesh. Its stomach contents also got preserved. It ate so many leafs (well, mostly ferns). Pigments preserved in the scales and skin suggest a redish-brown coloration. Also it looks like it's sleeping which is really cute

Scipionyx holotype

Discovered in 1981/98. Parts of its internal organs were preserved along with the stomach contents and other soft tissue. The fossilized individual was likely just a few days old when it died which is. Kind of sad. At least it ate some fish and lizards before it perished. It is the first italian dinosaur ever discovered.

Scrotum Humanum (Human Ballsack)

Discovered in 1676. Scrotum Humanum was the first scientific name given to Megalosaurus, and it is also the first dinosaur specimen to have ever been described. The actual bone is the lower part of a femur, it was however given the name Scrotum Humanum seemingly due to its similarity to human testicles which is so unbelievably funny. While the ICZN dictates that an animal's first published scientific name is also its valid name, Scrotum Humanum was determined to be a "nomen oblitum" (forgotten name). While human nutsack might be forgotten in the eyes of the ICZN I will never forget it. Never

[songoftrillium]

Pack Profile: Ephemeral Mists

Sept of the Trillium Glade (1975)

The warder pack of the Sept of the Trillium Glade, dedicated to acting as the strong arm of the Sept's Warder, as well as serving as guardians protecting the northern half of Winefelly. Their home is in Fall Creek along the border of their protectorate near a series of seasonal ephemeral pools. The Ephemeral Mists lately have been under scrutiny by the Hammer Butte Hunters and Warm Springs packs.

Meat Puppets have been a longstanding issue in the region, of which every pack has had to confront them, but things got a bit more personal. A Meat Puppet appeared on the Ephemeral Mist's territory; a red talon yearling kinfolk that hailed from the Hammer Butte Hunters' bordering territory.

Gristle’s relationship with Salamander was forged through a partnership stemming from a need to easily blend into one’s environment, one that has greatly benefitted the Ephemeral Mists in their duty to the Sept.

Gristle  Sept Role: Elder, Warder  Breed: Wolf-Born  Auspice: Philodox  Tribe: Red Talons  Gristle is a garou that is neither particularly strong, nor fast, but makes up for it in stalwart tenacity. She is one of the more recognizeable members of Sept of the Trillium Glade for the complete lack of fur from the shoulders up, and bearing a monstrous face showing very little of her nose and ears remaining. And in spite of that, her slightly cataract eyes contain a deceptive intelligence that betray her visage.

Her Rite of Passage found her raiding a cinnabar mine out in the Ochoco woods east of the Hammer Butte Hunters’ territory. The site had become infested with some modern prospectors turned to fomors, and she led the raid. Being the first through the door, she was also the one that took the brunt of the fomori’s attacks. She still landed the killing blows on most of the wyrmspawn present, and performed a rite of cleansing on the site.

Being one to confront her problems face-first, years spent putting herself between the sept and the outside world has earned her the esteemed role of Warder at Sept of the Trillium Glade. Following a dive in a pool of scalding hot water at the Strauss Lumber Mill during a raid, her face and upper body are just a pink mangle of scar tissue holding no definable details safe for lack of ears and nose, and the scarred tissue itself.

Her disfigurement doesn't really seem to hide her true nature though, because when with her pack, she can still be very cordial and even playful, albeit in her own dry, deadpan way, and her own appearance isn’t a topic of debate in the Sept; she’s just Gristle. Camaraderie is important to her, something that has kept her pack unified as it's gone through members over the years. Her favorite snacks are pine cones, which she will chew on for many hours on end. She acts as the temperance in her pack, being the decisive factor in many of the pack’s behaviors, who’s affect mirrors her own. 

Breaks-the-Leash Sept Role: Adren, Guardian Breed: Wolf-Born Auspice: Ahroun Tribe: Red Talon Breaks-the-Leash is an unusual looking wolf, to say the least. From their slightly smaller and smaller stature compared to even the sleeker wolves of the sept, to their black fur, contrasted by light colored ‘socks’ and lower muzzle, and two ‘eyebrow’ dots, it’s apparent that Breaks-the-Leash was a pet sired from unknown parents, one a wolf, and one a dog.

Their first change was a bloody one that killed the hermit that bought them from an underground seller. They fled the cabin and found themself in the Grand Tetons of Wyoming. They were from the outset someone that had earned the ire of members of their own tribe, causing them to be challenged, fought, and subsequently ejected from several packs from several wolf-born garou progressively westward. Finding themself trapped in between the territories of the Hammer Butte Hunters and another pack farther to the east, she encountered the Red Talons of the Hammer Butte Hunters, who brought them to Sept of the Trillium Glade. Taken before the Sept, Griffin recognized the cub’s Wyld-touched and as-of-yet untamed heart, and the tribe members of the Sept issued a challenge to aid in their campaign against the encroachment of Trillium. 

The wolf-dog staked a claim along the very edges of town with the blessing of Gristle, eager to prove themself. Over time, stray or abandoned dogs would wander through their territory, but rather than hunt or kill them, they let the dogs pass through. Word spread, and more hounds looking for a place to belong found her, along with bone gnawer kinfolk of the Barking Chain. This benevolence towards strays resulted in some dogs remaining in Breaks’ territory, and those able to keep up with their hunts became part of her own pack. When it occurred to the Sept just how well she broke her dogs of their dependence on humans and an embracing of the Wyld (and not to mention her pack was now large enough to rival that of the sept itself), the Red Talons have made overtures of peace with her, hoping to avoid conflict with her ever-growing pack of dogs, now standing at 19. Though many Red Talons sneer at this dog pack, there are others who can count the numbers Breaks-the-Leash has at their call and know better than to underestimate this intelligent warrior. Her dogs are fiercely loyal, and have proven themselves more than the equal of some wolves, making them valuable allies to the Ephemeral Mist. 

In the years since taking up Salamander’s patronage, Breaks-the-Leash has held a role of being the first line of defense between the bawn and human society. Utilizing her wolves to harry hikers and hunters alike out of the territory, they’ve been quite good at simultaneously keeping human society at bay, and simultaneously unaware of just how close to wolves the town lives. While other Sept members will still scoff at the wolf-dog, Gristle and the rest of her pack see Breaks-the-Leash and her dog pack as an extension of their own Pack-Family. Coming from the edges of human society however, she has developed an unspoken affection of single-serving snack cakes.

Sunshine "Crosses-the-Creek" (Player Character)  Sept Role: Adren, Guardian Breed: Wolf-Born  Auspice: Ahroun  Tribe: Children of Gaia All-too happy to fight for Gaia and please his packmates, Sunshine is in every way the physical manifestation of his namesake. more often than not a waggling ball of enthusiasm. This is a dirty blonde wolf with soulful amber eyes and a playful, pup-like nature that has persisted well into adulthood. Despite this, the wolf is also a warrior at heart, and to him, a fight, and playing, are one and the same. 

Born as a spiritual bridge between summer home and the human-born garou, he is the son of Esme "Leaping-Ghost". Born out of a result of the Rite of Alternation of Generations, he and his litter-mates represent the sacred peace rite that Esme performed with Dume'fa overseeing. His birth was proof enough for the primordial spirit to recognize human garou as one of it's own, thereby opening the Sept to open membership by the garou nation. 

His First Change and completion of the Rite of Passage, and continued presence at the sept represents a successful peace bond forged by the Children of Gaia. That said though, Sunshine was among the more sensitive and shy of his sibling, and was considered the least likely to experience his first change. To this end, he was a little coddled and babied by Esme, and even now as an adult still exhibits a lot of those same old puppy behaviors whenever he sees his mom. And, considering she's Keeper of the Land, he sees her an awful lot. 

He is far and away the friendliest garou in the sept, making him the unofficial Liaison between Sept of the Trillium Glade, and the Elk Prairie Sentinels. Amongst his packmates he is the only wolf-born that regularly visits Trillium. To this end, he is the moral compass of the Ephemeral Mist, and their overall disposition towards the town is often a hyperbolized representation of Sunshine’s own experiences in town.

Alex "Still-Morning"  Sept Role: Fostern, Guardian  Breed: Human-born  Auspice: Galliard  Tribe: Ghost Council  Still-Morning appears as a pale gray wolf that darkens to black tips on her ears and muzzle. As a human, Alex is an androgynous individual typically wearing clothing with various paint, clay, and burn marks from all of their various projects. Their autumn-colored skin and straight black hair is beautifully contrasted against the green of the wilderness that often surrounds them.

An artist and a tinkerer of indeterminate gender whose pieces are often as functional as they are unique, Alex lives in a warehouse sandwiched in between Steelhead Springs and Lucky Lad Auto Wrecking. Their property was once nothing but a dump consisting of spillovers from Lucky Lad's, but over the years they've transformed it into a gleaming, breathtaking gallery. From scrap metal herons suspended in flight, to half-melted glass wolves pulling themselves up from the earth, they've literally turned their trash into treasure.

While a good deal of the money they earn from selling their pieces goes into trusts to help first-nation tribes through the purchase and donation of land back to local first-nation tribes. Alex also works with companies who reclaim former dump sites in the greater Willamette Valley to recycle the materials therein and. Alex brought a lot of anger at humanity when they became a garou, and came to the Sept out of a desire to divorce themselves from their human ties. Under Crosses-the-Creek's mentorship and time spent with the Confederated Tribes of the Grand Ronde, Alex has found many creative outlets for their unexpressed anger at human society through artwork that simultaneously cleanses the formerly tainted objects she reforms.

[wingcrystal]

Brief Introduction and Efficacy of Aurora 23 Crystal

Some gems will be amazed at first sight, while some gems may not be so touching at first sight, but the more they look at them, the more they feel charming. It would be a pity to miss them just because there is no way to surprise them at a glance. Today we talk about the Aurora 23 crystal.

Aurora 23 Crystal

As the oldest crystal on earth, aurora 23 is really super low-key. A rough look with black brown as the background color, mixed with some dark red, but when you taste, you will find that aurora 23 levels are extremely rich, under the sunlight, aurora 23 crystal presents a variety of colors, including purple, yellow, brown, red and so on, which is also the special feature of aurora 23 crystal. The more you savor it, the more you are impressed by the inherent charm of Aurora 23. Moreover, aurora 23 crystal is more than that. its powerful effect is incomparable to other crystals. if you wear it, you will be different from before, as if your body is injected with very strong power, while aurora 23 crystal will bring you unprecedented sense of security and self-confidence.

Efficacy and Function of Aurora Crystal Bracelet

Happy mood

The aurora crystal bracelet has the effect of pleasing mood. The aurora crystal bracelet is rich in color. Wearing it on the body can show the wearer's sense of fashion and atmosphere, and let people regain their state. To a certain extent, it plays a role in regulating the mood.

Massage wrist

The aurora bracelet also has the effect of massaging the wrist. The aurora crystal bracelet is worn on the wrist. The friction effect between the bracelet and the wrist can stimulate the muscle tissue on the human body, relieve the fatigue of human muscles, and relax the body.

Decorate yourself

In addition, aurora crystal bracelet also has the effect of decorating itself. Aurora crystal bracelet is a naturally generated mineral crystal, which contains a variety of minerals and trace elements, and can play a good decorative role when worn on the body.

[macgyvermedical]

Hi! Quick question for you: If someone experienced severe hypovolemic shock (in this case a leg wound that bled profusely) but was treated promptly, barring any complications what would their recovery timeline look like/in what order would the shock symptoms resolve? I tried to look this up in a number of places but haven't had much luck, and while I have theories about it I would like to be close to accurate if at all possible. Thank you!!

When hypovolemic shock is caused by blood loss, the first aid is to stop the bleeding. This is done either with direct pressure or by applying a tourniquet at least 2 inches above the bleeding part.

In the leg, the most deadly artery to cut would be the femoral artery, but there are several others. The femoral runs along the inner thigh near the bone. The popliteal artery runs behind the knee, and the tibial artery runs along the back of the tibia in the lower leg. Either of these could cause also life threatening bleeding, just slightly slower than the femoral would. Severing or tearing any of the mentioned arteries would cause bright red, spurting blood. Severing a vein would cause a steady stream of darker blood and is much easier to stop and substantially less dangerous.

Pressure would be directly over the wound, perhaps after packing the wound with gauze or cloth to increase the pressure specifically on the bleediest part. A tourniquet, as mentioned above, would be placed either two inches above the part that was bleeding, or somewhere on the upper leg (if a lower-leg injury). It would be tightened until the bleeding stopped.

But that's just the first aid- tourniquets and direct pressure stop bleeding, but they don't do anything to solve the hypovolemic shock or treat the injury itself.

Hypovolemic shock occurs when the circulatory system doesn't have enough liquid in the blood vessels to maintain blood pressure. When blood pressure drops, the heart rate increases to try to compensate by moving what blood there still is faster. This helps get oxygen to the tissues that need it, but is very energy intensive and cannot be sustained for long. Eventually, the heart rate can no longer compensate, the blood pressure drops further, and certain organs (usually the digestive system and kidneys first) begin to starve for oxygen and die.

Replacing the lost blood cells and volume is a top priority, and assuming the bleeding has stopped completely, is really all that's needed. If it happens quickly, there may not be any long-term repercussions.

The blood is replaced by IV fluids and either whole blood or a combination of different specific blood components like albumin, platelets, and packed red blood cells. The albumin helps maintain the blood pressure by keeping fluids in the blood vessles, the platlets help control bleeding, and the red blood cells replace the cells that were lost to bleeding and maintain the blood's ability to carry oxygen.

Prompt administration of IV fluids and blood will very, very quickly resolve symptoms of shock. Essentially as soon as those blood cells get in there and start doing their job, the patient's color comes back, their heart rate and blood pressure go back to normal, they begin to think clearly again, and can sit up and move around again with less dizziness.

Now, the leg is a different story. The leg needs surgery to repair the artery. If that doesn't happen, the leg will die and need to be amputated. There is essentially a 48 hour window from tourniquet application to completed surgery where it can be expected that the leg will be useful again. Even within 48 hours, the leg is dying and the dead muscle bits are falling into the blood. When circulation is restored, those muscle bits (along with waste products and electrolytes from inside damaged and dead cells) return to circulation, and can clog up the kidneys and other organs. A minor version of this can be mitigated by giving a lot of IV fluids. A more severe version might need dialysis to help the kidneys get rid of the waste products before they are damaged by them.

This is at least a several-day hospital stay and at most a week or more hospital stay even without serious complications. After surgery, the patient would be taken to a floor with the ability to monitor their heart function due to the probable electrolyte problems- either an ICU or a tele floor depending on severity of electrolyte abnormalities and bed availability. There he would be assessed to make sure the leg was re-gaining motion and sensation appropriately, provided pain and nausea medication as needed, have physical and occupational therapy assessments, and electrolytes and blood counts would be monitored to ensure there was no continuing bleeding (you can hide up to a liter of blood in a thigh until the pressure gets to much and it essentially self-tourniquets).

[moonlight-prose]

EPIPHANIES IN DISGUISE

→ 02. LUCK BE A LADY TONIGHT

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be shorter, but i tend to ramble so here we are. it's also unedited fully so there are probably mistakes. if you recognize the title then yes it is based off that song, but also i figured it was ironic. this chapter is a tiny step closer to figuring out who the killer is, but also the start of something else.

summary: after sitting in a small interrogation room for hours on end, they bring in the only person who believes your innocence.

word count: 4.5k+

pairing: javier peña x fem!reader

warnings: not explicit (but still contains dark content so 18+) cussing, anxiety, talk of death, some sexual tension, lots of crying, mentions of vomiting, tw grief, tw depression, heavy conversations. i think that's it.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Even you had to admit the police officer was funny.

“If you don’t start telling us what happened, we’ll have to go ahead and sentence you,” he said, leaning back in the creaky metal chair. How old was everything in this room? You had noticed the slight rust on the table when you were seated.

“You’re going to convict me either way,” you mumbled.

They hadn’t let you wash your hands. Each officer claimed that you were to be questioned before anything could happen. So now you were stuck feeling Jasper’s blood slowly dry along your skin – staining the color of your nails. The color red would be washed from you for years to come; a heavy reminder of what you’d done–what you couldn’t do.

Was saving him even an option you held in your hands? You felt like everything came to one final catastrophic conclusion–the end of your life finally amounting to nothing. Sure, it used to be one of your greatest fears but this…this outdid everything your nightmares could procure. You were being convicted for your best friend’s murder; an act you didn’t commit. 

Yet somehow that minute detail never occurred to the man sitting across from you.

The handcuffs scratched along the skin of your wrists, turning them raw the longer you fidgeted with your hands. What were you supposed to do? Pretend like everything was okay? All of this had to be a joke; which is why you were now constructing your own reality within the crevices of your mind. Jasper wasn’t dead–he couldn’t be–and this…act was just another way for him to trick you.

He did love pranks.

“Look, the longer you drag this out–the worse it looks for you.”

The dark almost black color of Jasper’s blood had dried into a crust at the base of your thumb nail. Dragging your eyes along that small spot, you felt like the universe itself punched you in the chest. Nearly stopping your heart in the process. Your breath stuttered, catching in the base of your throat, as you felt the sharp sting of tears again. They hadn’t stopped since you walked into his apartment.

“Great.” The officer dropped his hand to the metal table, causing you to jump at the loud noise. “You’re crying again.”

The door opened at just the right time, showing a female officer who seemed to be the only person in this building with any sense of empathy. You barely caught the sight of her glowering at the man through your blurry vision. Apparently you weren’t the only one who held apathetic feelings towards him. In all honesty–he was a dick.

“There’s someone here to talk to you,” she said, gesturing to someone who stood in the other room. You couldn’t see anything but silently thanked whoever was in need of Officer Dickwad. They just saved you another hour of brutal questioning.

“Yeah alright,” he declared. “Bring this one more tissues while I’m gone will you?”

You heard the distaste in his tone–the malice prominent in his gaze. He thought you were guilty. Not only did he think that, but he was looking forward to watching you take the fall for this. The door shut with a bang as you remained there, chained to the table. You had moved past formulating a plan to get you out of there.

As of late you had no lawyer, probably no longer had a job, and felt like you were stuck there for a while. You couldn’t tell how much time passed since you were led into this room–the lack of windows stopped you from keeping time. All you knew was that your body felt sore and you finally lost feeling in your right hand. It looked like you would be there for a few more hours, so you shifted around–hoping to find a comfortable spot on the metal chair.

The door swung open just as you were attempting to lean forward. Your head snapped up, watching as a man wearing a blue button down–sunglasses hanging on the front–walked in. He didn’t say anything, merely nodded his head, before taking the chair Officer Dickwad had occupied. The file in his hands was tossed on the table, creating an audible echo in the rather empty room. You knew there were people peering through the mirror behind him–having seen enough detective shows to know where this went.

“Hello,” he said, startling you slightly with the simple greeting.

So far you’d been asked all manner of questions, some completely inappropriate, but none had ever started like this.

“H–Hi,” you faltered.

He cleared his throat, leaning forward to flip open the file. “My name’s Javier Peña I’m a former agent with the DEA.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “DEA?”

A nod was his only response. You understood why they usually brought in the DEA to work certain cases, but those usually included drugs–hence the name. Jasper never got involved in that–so you couldn’t fully comprehend why a former DEA agent sat in front of you. Peering down at the file, you watched him flip through images and information they had collected from his apartment.

Now you felt sick to your stomach.

“Can you tell me what exactly happened?” he asked, glancing up at you.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself then, but the brown of his eyes made you feel different under his gaze. The previous officer intended you to feel small–feeble enough to crack under the pressure. Not this man though. He was asking softly, as if approaching a wounded animal. You nearly scoffed at that thought. At this point you most likely resembled a wild animal, the events leaving you frazzled and destroyed beyond repair.

How would you ever be the same after this?

“Why are they bringing in the DEA?” You winced as the question practically fell out of your mouth.

The image of Jasper had your heart twisting violently in your chest, the pain you managed to push down resurfacing within seconds. He shouldn’t look that way. He shouldn’t be dead. The tears you managed to get rid of returned, filling your eyes faster than you could blink them away. You didn’t see him watching you, a somber look in his eyes. At this point you could care less who saw you cry, because the situation was too painful to handle silently. You felt as if someone was repeatedly stabbing you with every new image and rude question they threw your way.

Without a word, he tucked the image of Jasper back into the folder, leaving you with nothing but what looked like a suspect list. Ria’s name stood out to you quicker than anyone else’s.

“She didn’t do this,” you said, sniffling through your words until he handed you the tissue box.

“Before you she was the last person to see him alive. How do you know that she wasn’t involved?”

You met his eyes. “Ria vomits at the sight of other people’s blood.” The expression on his face remained the same, but you could see it in his gaze that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh at you or believe you. “I know it sounds strange–”

“Why only other people’s blood?”

“She had something happen to her as a child that was really gruesome. Since then she pretty much loses it at the sight of blood that’s not her own.”

He nodded, writing down in the kind of handwriting that could only be construed as cursive but not quite. “We’ll still have to question her. It’s standard procedure.”

“Are you a detective?” you blurted out again. Thankfully he seemed unbothered by the question.

“No. I’m simply helping the officers on the case.”

You quickly ran down the list of what you knew about the DEA and last you checked they didn’t really involve themselves in cases like this. Which only meant that he was lying or that you weren’t being told the full truth about what happened. You didn’t want to believe that Jasper was possibly doing drugs, but the longer Javier sat there the more you finally settled on the conclusion that maybe he just never told you. Maybe you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did.

“Jasper didn’t do drugs,” you whispered, eyes cast downwards–tracing the scratch marks on the table over and over again.

Javier cleared his throat, flipping through the file. “The police have reason to believe otherwise. Now–can you tell me what exactly happened?”

“What evidence do they have to prove that belief?” Your voice didn’t sound like your own; almost as if you were dead–numb to everything around you.

“Someone came forward with information about the case.”

He was giving you simple answers on purpose. Which meant only one thing; they didn’t know enough to fully convict you yet. Forcing your brain to focus, you ran through everything you remembered about the night down to the smallest detail of you recognizing the knife. You took a forensic class back at college in the hopes that you’d find your purpose and wound up skipping half of it. What you remembered was that in the time you were sitting in that room–they should have found something by now.

“Who?” you pushed.

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Can you tell me anything?” You wanted to go home, wash the blood and grime off your skin and drink until you blacked out.

His eyes regarded you with a look you’d seen before, but couldn’t place; not when you were past the point of break down. “I’ll tell you what–” He flipped to a fresh page on the notepad in front of him. “You tell me what happened and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

You gaped at him. “But you just said–”

“They can’t fire me if I don’t work for them,” he replied, flicking the top of the pen off and settling in to write down the details of that night.

There was no other option for you. Either you tell him everything, down to the last words Jasper told you, or you get convicted for a crime you absolutely didn’t do. Letting out a breath, you focused your gaze on the table as he watched you intently.

“Jasper is–was–my best friend,” you murmured, giving in to tell him the events of the night.

“What time did you get into the elevator?” Javier asked, scribbling down practically everything.

For an hour you’d been spilling your guts in between the tears. Much to your delight he didn’t acknowledge the fact that you were sobbing; other than to hand you fresh tissues every few minutes. You did have to hand it to him. He was more sympathetic than the last cop that was in here–his actions in gaining information far calmer. Maybe that’s why you told him everything

“Well–I got off around 5pm and it took me an hour to finally head out to his place. So…6:30. Around there.” The tissues were coming away stained red. “I talked to his neighbor before getting out. She said he had a girl with him when he came home.”

Javier’s head snapped up. “A girl?”

You nodded. “Said she was blonde. I tried not to think anything of it, but Jasper usually tells me or Ria about stuff like that.”

“Did she sound familiar?”

Shaking your head you fought the urge to yawn. The lack of a clock in the room kept you from actually knowing what time it was, but you wanted to bet it was heading towards midnight. Eventually they’d have to either put you in a holding cell or let you go. The latter might not be a feasible option on their part though; which meant you were stuck.

“How long will I be here?” The expression he wore you knew instantly; you’d be here until they found you guilty. “You can’t be telling me that you actually think I killed my best friend?”

“It’s not up to my opinion–”

“Yes but I’m not asking for their opinion. I’m asking you for yours.”

He pushed against the table, leaning back in the chair–silently. There was no doubt in your mind that people still resided behind the mirror, watching your every move; listening to every word you said. Whether or not you looked guilty was their opinion, because you knew the truth. Instead of finding who murdered your friend, you were stuck there–waiting for them to condemn you for the remainder of your life.

“How do I prove that I didn’t do this?” you begged, clasping your hands together. “I–I got off work, went to check on him after I heard he wasn’t doing so well, and found him stabbed. I didn’t kill him.”

Exhaling, Javier leaned forward, his hands inches from your own. “I know.”

You had never experienced relief so sweet it made you want to cry, but this must have been it. He…believed you. Out of everyone you were interrogated by today, he could see that the words you spoke weren’t lies. You weren’t sure if your sobbed out explanation is what convinced him or if he actually possessed common sense; whatever it was you were grateful for it.

“You believe me?” you asked breathlessly, a fresh wave of tears filling your eyes. “Why?”

He nodded slightly. “I’ve met real killers before–” Another tissue was handed to you gently. “You’re far from one.”

“Then why am I still here?” Desperation to leave bled into the air until you could practically taste it on your tongue.

“They want to convict you, but don’t have any evidence against you. They’re running the fingerprints they pulled off the knife as we speak–” he whispered, keeping himself as quiet as possible to prevent the others from hearing him.

Opening your mouth to speak, you thought against it, quickly snapping your lips shut. If he wasn’t meant to tell you this then you had to act like you didn’t know anything. Instead, you dropped your head down slightly, keeping your eyes trained on his hands as he continued to talk fast. They didn’t have anything to hold you here and since you had no lawyer to call–you were practically trapped here.

“You arrived too late to be the killer–”

The door slammed open, Officer Dickwad glaring at Javier as he sauntered in. What the both of you hoped to be inconspicuous turned out to be the reason why Javier was now being asked to leave the room. He nodded, collecting the paper slowly before sliding something across the table when Officer Dickwad turned his back to leave. It was a small card with his handwriting scribbled across it.

“My number–” Glancing towards the door, he watched as people walked back and forth. “Call me if you remember anything that you didn’t tell me.”

Before you could respond, he was called to leave the room; the loud sound of the door shutting left a sinking feeling in your chest. Out of everything you could go through, you didn’t quite expect to stumble into this situation. You clutched the card in your palm–doing your best to even out your breathing to prevent yet another panic attack.

Shutting your eyes to rest for a minute or two wouldn’t do it, because the image of Jasper’s dead body remained. Tattooed on the inside of your eyelids for the remainder of your life. Your breath stuttered, a cold sweat beginning to spread along your skin until you truly felt sick to your stomach. For hours you’d been holding back on actually vomiting but you weren’t so sure you could keep going.

Just as you were about to lean over the table and heave up your lunch, the door slammed open again.

“Don’t fucking vomit in here,” Officer Dickwad sneered.

“I’m–I’m sorry–”

“Yeah yeah.” He reached for your hand, shoving the key in them. “Your story checks out sweetheart.”

You were nearly one hundred percent sure that you were stuck to the chair. “Does that mean I–I can go?”

He sighed, the distaste in his expression coming back. “Yes. You can go, but you’re to remain in the city until this case is closed.”

It’s not like you were planning a long distance trip out of the country anytime soon. Stumbling to your feet, you were led out of the room; the rawness of the skin on your wrists a reminder of how you spent your night. They shoved a clipboard in front of you with a bag of your belongings alongside it and you barely had time to catch Javier’s gaze before they were forcing you out of the station.

Checking the battery life on your phone, you tried to keep your head on straight. Somehow the fresh air outside stung the inside of your lungs with each deep inhale; the shakiness in your body still prominent. Calling Ria should have been the first thing you did. Except you couldn’t shake the feeling that you missed something. If you headed back to Jasper’s place you’d look guilty as sin, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t go to the one place the both of you enjoyed.

The city looked different at this height.

Clutching the bottle of semi-cold beer, you watched the city skyline–waiting for something to happen. You’d never experienced real heartbreak before. Each man you loved somehow turned into a disappointment before they could destroy your heart. Except now you understood. Jasper had ripped your heart from your chest without meaning to and there you were–left to pick up the pieces.

They say time heals all wounds.

But would it heal this one?

Glancing down at the card you’d pulled out thirty minutes ago, you figured what was the harm in calling him. Sure, you didn’t have anything new to tell him, but you could feel the impending hollowness of being alone starting to creep up the back of your spine. Perhaps sitting on a rooftop alone wasn’t a good idea. Only you couldn’t shake the feeling that this is where Jasper would want you to go; this is where he would have gone if the situations were reversed.

The number was dialed before you could rethink it. You’d deal with the consequences later.

“This is Peña.” His voice came through the line, soothing the ache that spread from your chest to the very tips of your toes.

“Javier?” Your voice was a timid echo of a broken person–this couldn’t possibly be you. “I was the woman you interrogated–”

“Did you remember anything?” he asked; sounds of a bar echoing in the background.

You were probably disturbing him. “No–I just–I’m–” Taking in a breath, you felt another piece of your heart break off. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

Stuttering through your words you tried to get your mouth to cooperate. “I’m sitting on a rooftop–not like I’m going to jump off kind of way–but I’m alone and I don’t–I don’t have anyone to really turn to–”

“Which building?”

“An old apartment building two blocks from Jasper’s place.”

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll meet you there.”

The line went dead before you could respond; the finality of your actions finally settling into your bones. Shit. You knew you shouldn’t have called him, but somehow his kindness earlier made him much more of a friend than a foe. Downing the last of your beer, you did your best to ignore the cold breeze that swept across your skin. The sweater you wore earlier was soaked in Jasper’s blood; which meant they kept it as evidence.

“That was my favorite sweater Jasper,” you muttered, digging your nails into the skin of your palm in an attempt to feel something.

For hours you were numb to anything and still you couldn’t shake that feeling. You’d say you were still in shock, but how could you actually tell? Would you magically begin to feel things again after a certain amount of time? Or would this stay with you. You didn’t want to stress over it, however that seemed to be the only thing you were good at.

The clatter of the metal door opening behind you dragged you out of the relentless thoughts that caused you to spiral. You didn’t turn, still focused on the skyline and the hints of the sun possibly getting ready to creep out of its hiding place. His boots scraped along the floor, a soft grunt escaping him as he sat on the floor beside you. Still you kept looking forward.

“He used to joke that he’d never reach thirty,” you said–your voice raspy and nearly gone. “I guess he was right in the end.”

Javier pursed his lips, reaching beside him for a bottle of what looked like whiskey. “I brought you this. Figured you might need it after…everything.”

You didn’t thank him, didn’t say anything to him. The constant talking earlier wore you out–draining you dry of any words. Instead, you watched him open the bottle, taking a long swig and relishing in how it burned on its way down. Finally…you could feel something.

“What did you mean earlier?” he asked, swallowing down straight from the bottle just as you had. “About his last words.”

A part of you wanted to forget about that moment. Only you couldn’t–you never would. Smiling ruefully, you watched the sky begin to shift from a black to a light blue. You couldn’t count how many times Jasper had dragged you up here. The nights turned into days as you, him, and Ria talked about anything and everything. Back when the three of you lived together in this very building.

Funny to think that the three kids, trying to figure life out in their early twenties, would one day come to this.

“We used to live in this building,” you said, drinking more whiskey and feeling your tongue begin to loosen. “I went to college with Ria and Jasper. An art school funnily enough. The dream was that he’d become a screenwriter and a director, and Ria would be a singer.”

“What about you?” Javier wasn’t looking at the sky–he was watching you. Focusing on the tear that streaked down your face, falling onto your hand.

“I wanted to be an artist. A painter actually, but you know…not all dreams turn out the way you want them to. Ria didn’t become a singer, Jasper wasn’t a director, and me–well…yesterday I was working in a dead end office job.” 

That was the thing about life. It never panned out the way you hoped; leaving you bitter in the end.

Regardless of the tears that fell or the hitch in your breathing, you continued. “There was one night he and I were up here listening to music. One song by Jimmy Durante–if you’ve heard I’ll be seeing you–came on and Jasper being Jasper asked me to dance. So I said yes and right as the sun was coming up he asked me to make him a promise. That one day when we had to say goodbye to each other for good–we’d never say the word goodbye. We’d say instead…I’ll be seeing you.”

“Why?” he breathed, feeling his own heart twist.

You glanced at him, shivering at the cold. “He believed that–to say goodbye was permanent. And with us it would never be permanent.”

He could see the way you were practically shaking and without another thought he stripped off his jacket, laying it over your shoulders. “You really loved him.” Javier had seen people broken, he’d seen the same look in his mirror before, but this–he’d never seen someone look the way you did right now. Completely and unequivocally lost.

You smiled, nodding as you shut your eyes. “He was my family.”

The darkness was fading much quicker now; light broke through and filled all the cracks and crevices of the city. Waking up everyone to begin yet another day. Only somehow the day felt endless. You may not have been trapped in a police station anymore, but you were still stuck in yesterday. Forever reliving the moments of your past to keep a piece of Jasper alive. You weren’t sure when–or if–it would ever end, but for now you were happy to remain there.

Watching as he danced with you on this very rooftop.

Glancing at Javier you watched him already watching you. His eyes slightly glassy as he processed everything that happened to you. Heartbreak was hard to witness and yet somehow it was even harder to hear about from the one who was broken. You knew it was the whiskey that had begun to make your thoughts go hazy. Yet no matter how much you fought against you, the liquor won the war.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He shrugged, leaning closer without realizing it. “You needed someone to talk to.”

“Not just that. For believing me when the others didn’t.” You shouldn’t have shifted closer; his breath now hitting your face lightly. “You didn’t have to but you did.”

“You’re welcome.”

Neither of you knew who initiated it, or even who moved first, but somehow he found himself kissing you. Inhaling a sharp breath you reached up to clutch onto the front of his shirt, the taste of whiskey prominent on both your tongues. It was wrong to do this. Kissing the person who was interrogating you only a few hours ago. But you couldn’t stop even if you wanted to.

His hand slid to grip the back of your neck, angling you closer, his tongue sliding along your bottom lip. The whiskey was the cause of this. He was sure of that. Only the longer he kissed you, panting into your mouth and groaning when your nails scratched at his scalp, he grew more convinced that something else entirely caused this.

Thankfully the shrill ringing of your phone jolted the both of you out of your lust ridden thoughts faster than you fell into them. He practically leapt away from you, trying to slow his heart as you fumbled for the device.

“Hello?” you asked breathlessly. He cursed at the way you looked–thoroughly kissed and frazzled. “Yeah Ria, they let me out a few hours ago. Where am I?” Daring a glance at Javier, you saw he looked the same, his hair mussed from your hands running through it. You shouldn’t like seeing him that way. “I’m at home, but I’ll meet you at your place.”

Ending the call, you got to your feet. The half empty bottle of whiskey was still on the ground. Neither of you reached for it; neither of you moved closer to the other. Too afraid of your own urges that caused this whole predicament in the first place. So, you slipped his jacket off and handed it back to him with a smile.

“I’ll–uh–see you later,” you said.

“See you,” he replied.

The sun had risen fully, echoes of the morning world now hitting your ears and reminding you that you still had a life to get back to. Without another word you headed towards the door, leaving Javier behind you. The taste of him, still on your tongue. The kiss shouldn’t have happened, but you were grateful for one thing. For a moment you forgot about everything; sweet relief from the reality of your life.

For a moment…you were free.