#this would be a normal sentence if not for the fact that Crab is the name of an adult genasi

[livefromsummerview]

Crab bit me

[dearlyfictitious2]

Prompt #2

Physical description of Pallas

I was a little hesitant posting this, but seeing Rick Riordan announcing the newest PJO installment got me all excited.

Also, someone recently wrote really kind feedback and gave me the little push I needed to post this :)

Enjoy this non-beta'd drabble of mine.

"What was she like?"

Triton was wholly unprepared for that sentence to be uttered from Perseus' mouth. Even without mentioning who 'she' was, he knew exactly who he was talking about.

They were currently lounging in the recently repaired basking grounds and laying on velvety soft seagrass and moss covered slabs of stone. Their day had started off relatively slow, and they needed no other prompting in keeping it that way. Tranquil relaxation time wasn't something he normally indulged himself in, but with said company, he found himself bending to his whims more often than not.

Triton propped himself up on his elbow and grabbed a crab puff from a plate near them.

"Who Perseus?" It wouldn't hurt to confirm his suspicions.

His demigod brother looked surprised that he even responded in the first place, his shimmering tails twisted around each other in a display of nervousness before settling down again around him.

"Your daughter Pallas. She was a nymph right?"

Triton stared at the treat between his webbed fingers and let himself drift softly in a stream of bittersweet memories.

"Yes, she was."

...

Pallas was almost always depicted to have looked similar to Athena.

The very thought of that grated against his nerves, but he wasn't one to publicly lament his longstanding miseries so unfortunately for the records, that's all they had to go on.

His Pallas didn't resemble her at all.

She was quite the anomaly amongst her fellow nymphs. She was very loud and outspoken. Standing as tall as a cyclops and just as strong as one, with a ruddy face, and muscular limbs and torso; she looked more like a giant than a naiad. She had dark brown hair that was braided down her back, was dressed in furs and skins, and a spear was almost always in her hands.

Her very presence was an enigma.

But to him, she was perfect.

She was born to him and a dying nymph in his lake, he was passing through his forest when he heard a soft prayer spoken to him. He followed the source of the weak voice to the edge of the coast and he saw a grievously wounded naiad barely holding on to the remainder of her life. He had little care of what had caused such injury, but she was one of the most dutiful caretakers of his lands; the least he could do was hear out her final plea.

The naiad cried that she'd always wanted a child and begged her lord to sire one from her.

Even then it had been a strange request, but one he had no reason to turn down. He agreed and as she took her final breath, he gathered her fading remains and spilled his godly seed into the lake, he took great care mixing their essences until a rich foamy lather frothed vigorously upon the surface of the lake.

He remembered waiting patiently on the banks, he was curious to see what would spring forth from their unorthodox union. And when he saw a round dimpled face framed with chocolate brown hair finally emerge from his waters...

It was love at first sight.

...

Triton sighed softly and let the rest of the memory pass through him. He looked towards his demigod brother and saw that he was waiting for him to elaborate.

"She didn't look like your typical naiad, she was very large, so much so that I had to crane my neck to look her in the eyes."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was also very loud, much like our Father. She had my eyes too."

Perseus leaned in with rapt interest, his swaying duo dorsal fins betraying his eagerness.

"Were you and her mom close?"

Triton actually snorted, "Close? I don't even know her name. In fact, I barely even knew she existed until the day Pallas was conceived and born." at his brother's puzzled expression, he added "Does it bother you?"

Percy curved his tails around himself and leaned his head and arms on them, "Not really. I just wasn't expecting that from you."

Triton shrugged his shoulders, "As you might put it: it is what it is. Although, it seems you have something much more pressing you want to ask."

His brother scrunched his face, "Like, don't get me wrong here, and I want as little personal details as possible, but how was she conceived and born on the same day?"

"Oh, that. It's quite an interesting tale, with little to no 'personal details' at all." he added with a slight smile.

"Okay I'll bite. Will you tell me the story?"

"Yes of course. It all took place many eons ago on one of the islands residing in my lake....."

Both sea Princes spent the rest of the day enjoying each other's company while exchanging stories of the past.

I hope you guys like my take on Pallas and her conception. I feel like Triton would be the type of being to spawn his offspring just like salmon and frogs do. Lol, like, he barely knew her and she was already dying, so he doesn't really wanna touchy!

[cosmicpines]

code july day 1 - future

au where jeremie's anti-xana program didn't work, taking place half a year after.

“Do’ya think we should start future-proofing our whole situation?” Odd was the first one to speak out loud in at least a half an hour, his voice echoing around the computer lab.

It was late. Not just “it’s a school night, we should turn off the Playstation” late, but “sunrise is in an hour” late. Ulrich, Jeremie, and Aelita were crowded on the couch – a fairly new addition to the lab that William and Odd had dragged over a mile to the factory after finding it on the street, a several-hour long affair that left them both sore for a week – blearily staring at chunky school-loaned laptop screens with piles of overdue library books on the floor in front of them. Odd and William were across the room, hunched over an oversized posterboard, surrounded by an accoutrement of Odd’s art supplies and printed out sheets of paper. What was keeping them up was potentially world-ending, but not in the usual way; instead of an evil AI, it was a history project due at 10 AM.

It wasn’t entirely their fault they didn’t start earlier – saving the world was a full-time job, afterall – but it’s not like they could give an excuse to Mr. Fumet that he would have believed. As the clock ticked over to 4, the prospect of having to pull the trigger on a return trip to finish loomed over them. They had already done it once, blearily uploading PowerPoint slides to the supercomputer to save them, giving Yumi an apologetic phone call in the morning. She was used to the disorienting resets at this point, having done them for half a year after graduating and moving across the country, but they usually texted ahead of time to warn her. She was sympathetic over the phone – she always was – but she was definitely irritated about having to retake an exam. They didn’t want to put her through that again and, besides, they couldn’t exactly keep the poster board from getting erased to time.

“Future-proofing the fact half of us might fail history?” Ulrich grumbled in response from across the room, leaning against the armrest of the couch. His eyes were glazed over in a stupor as he clicked idly around on the screen.

“Ulrich, are you done with your slides yet?” Aelita spat at him, now that the silent spell was broken, “I want to start stitching them together.”

“Uh… no.” Ulrich glanced at her, subtly turning his screen away from her piercing gaze, “Gimme ten more minutes? I’m almost there.”

Aelita clicked her tongue, probably remembering the last promise of the slides “in ten minutes.” She turned to her left and nudged Jeremie, “How about you – oh my god, Jeremie, can you focus?”

“Huh?” He looked up, and guiltly alt-tabbed back to a blank PowerPoint slide. “Sorry, I was just… I had a breakthrough about the bug in the Skid and I was…” He trailed off under her glare, “Sorry.”

Aelita clutched the side of her head, groaning. “Is it too late to go back to living on Lyoko where I don’t have to care about World War I and don’t need sleep?”

“Me too, thanks.” William muttered at Odd’s side, aggressively erasing a sentence on the poster, “Being XANA’s slave was less painful than this.”

He let out a bitter laugh, then raised his head, half smirk fading at the frozen-in-terror looks on his friend’s faces, “Sorry. Too soon?”

Odd, as he so often did, interrupted the awkward silence before people could make it worse, “Future-proofing us, is what I meant. Thanks for asking!” Nobody humored him as the typing across the room started back up and William started writing again, “Look, I’m just saying; we’re not getting any younger.” He brandished a red marker, filling in bubble letters on the top of the poster, “Yumi graduated. We’ve only got a semester left at Kadic –,”

“Could just all repeat a year like I did.” William grimaced. “And might again.”

Ulrich snorted, “Odd and I are probably on track for that.”

“Cheers,” William said, raising his pencil like a glass, without looking up, “Join the failure club.”

“BUT,” Odd interrupted, “Assuming we don’t! Because this presentation is going to be incredible,” That one earned a snort from everyone in the room (which was fair), “We’ll need someone who can do our jobs if we have to leave the good fight. Lyoko Warriors, the Next Generation! Kadic’s Next Top Lyoko Warriors!” He chuckled at himself, standing up, “We should put an ad in the paper: ‘Want a challenging, world-altering job? Come down to the abandoned factory!’” He hummed to himself, tapping his chin, “Our criteria would have to be strict. Can you imagine getting someone like, I dunno, Johnny? So, Johnny. Please, tell me: what’s your greatest fear? Giant crabs, you say? Why yes, that’s both oddly specific and also a dealbreaker. Next!”

Odd looked up, laughing, waiting for his friends to join in – Ulrich telling him he was being dumb, Aelita offering some other students and joking with him about their interviews, William making a snide remark about how he didn’t get an interview, a silent, but appreciative smirk from Jeremie – but got nothing. Jeremie’s head was buried in his laptop, and Aelita was – Aelita was glaring at him?

“What?” He asked her, but she said nothing, just raised an eyebrow in a you know what’s wrong look. Odd clearly didn’t, and turned to Ulrich for a clue, but Ulrich wasn’t giving him anything; he was just back to sulking, staring at his laptop. Odd ran through what he said again in his head, trying to find the offending phrase, when William punched him in the leg. “Hey –,” Odd started, ready to give a snappy retort, before seeing William was urgently tapping at the poster, where he’d just written something. Odd crouched down to read it.

you’re upsetting jeremie.

Odd glanced back at Einstein across the room, whose face was impassive, just typing away. Looking closer, though, he could see Jeremie had all the appearances of someone trying valiantly to pretend they weren’t upset – hunched shoulders, scrunched up face, not a single glance away from the screen. Aelita had stopped glaring to put a hand on Jeremie’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

Ugh. Odd sighed, wondering if he would have to apologize for just trying to lighten the mood. How was anything he said upsetting to Jeremie? He reached over for a pencil to respond to William, scribbling down on the poster.

Can’t he take a joke?

idk. Guess he thinks you’re blaming him.

Blaming him?? For what???? bro when did I even say anything like that??

you didn’t. don’t bro me bro. not my fault

Odd underlined his first bro, giving William a smile. William rolled his eyes before rubbing out their conversation with an eraser. Odd turned back to his coloring job and took a breath, surprised to see it come in shaky. It’s not your fault he’s upset, he thought to himself, pulling the cap off his marker. It’s fine. He leaned over to finish his coloring before noticing his hands were shaking. He clenched them, angrily. It wasn’t his fault Jeremie was upset. He was fine. Not his fault if Jeremie wanted to over-react. He’ll get over it and… where were the scissors?

He dug around their supplies for them, then, picking up a pile of pictures of historic figures, streaked from the bad library printer, took a pair of trembling scissors to extracting them. They were nearly done. One more section and they’d be done. One more and they could go to bed and Jeremie would get over whatever he was upset about and it was fine and it would all go away and it was fine it wasn’t his fault and –

“I’m working as hard as I can,” Odd felt a bit in his stomach open up as Jeremie spoke in a quiet, bitter voice. Odd stared pointedly down at the poster, blinking rapidly to try and assuage the pressure building behind his eyes, “I know we screwed up by not finishing before Yumi graduated, okay? I’m just… It’s a lot to figure out and I’m trying?! Is that not enough for – No. No, I know it’s not enough – I know I’m keeping us from having a normal life and it’s my fault William had to repeat a year and… and I –,” Jeremie’s breath caught, and Odd finally dared to turn his eyes to him, seeing his friend aggressively rubbing his eyes under his glasses, “I – I don’t mean to – look! It’s hard, alright?! It’s hard and I – I’m just so tired all the time and I’m sorry that we’re still awake for this too and that I –,” His voice finally broke as he started crying in earnest, his fist coming down on the side of the couch. Odd wanted to turn back to his work and brush it off, but the guilt clenching his stomach wasn’t letting go.

Hesitantly, Aelita put her hand on his shoulder again, “Jeremie…” but he shook it off again, turning away from her. She persisted. “It’s not your fault. We know you’re working –,”

“And it’s not enough! I’ve been working at this for years and I just I can’t come up with anything to defeat XANA –,”

“You had a lot of other things you needed to do first.”

He didn’t mean to, Odd was sure, but Ulrich’s eyes flickered to William for just a moment, and William’s eyes narrowed.

“Oh, are we doing this now?” William grumbled, dropping his pencil. “Jeremie, you’re fine. Look, I’m sorry. Again. You don’t think I don’t regret every moment that I didn’t listen like a fucking idiot –” Jeremie, despite being wracked with tears, winced at the swear, earning a brief hint of a smile from Odd, “ – and got myself captured? Who then was a thorn in your asses for months? No. I get it. You’d probably be rid of XANA already if it wasn’t for me; you’ve made that crystal clear.”

“That’s not what I –,” Aelita glared at him, “You of all people should understand that I would never blame you for being trapped on Lyoko.”

“It’s not you that is. It’s him.” He jerked his thumb at Ulrich, who glared back at him.

“I’m not,” Ulrich muttered, “Cut it out.”

“Oh yeah? What did that look mean then, huh?”

“I didn’t –,”

“You blame me, and we all know it. You’re just butt-hurt over Yumi still, even though you had plenty of chances –,”

“Okay, that’s it.” Ulrich sat up straighter, “Maybe you’re still using Yumi as a scapegoat in all our arguments, but I’m done with that. Maybe I was an ass to you before because of her, but I don’t blame you for XANA, William. I never have. I was over it before you even joined,” He scowled at the ground, Jeremie’s crying filling the brief silence. “It was probably my fault you got captured in the first place. I wasn’t there because I had to talk to my stupid Dad and it was my job to tell Odd and I didn’t make sure – hell, even before that! Who was it that couldn’t protect Aelita back when XANA escaped from the supercomputer in the first place? If she hadn’t been alone, the Scyphozoa wouldn’t have gotten her, and XANA wouldn’t have escaped, and we would have been done.”

“Come on,” Aelita crossed her arms, turning away from Jeremie to the boy on her other side, “You’re being ridiculous. Half of that isn’t your fault.”

Odd wanted to chime in that it was Sam’s fault she didn’t listen to Ulrich, but his voice was still missing in action, his throat tight and unresponsive.

“I should have been able to protect myself,” Aelita continued, “It wasn’t your responsibility –,”

Jeremie laughed suddenly, hurt and bitter, “Protect yourself how? You couldn’t protect yourself because I was dragging my feet on giving you a proper weapon –,”

“We’ve talked about this!” She said, “We agreed it was more worth your time to work on an antivirus!”

“For a virus that didn’t exist! If I had just double checked –,”

“Double checked what? The faulty data you were being fed? There was nothing you could have done! If you want to blame anyone, blame me. Maybe it – maybe helping me made sense at first, when things were able to be stopped at a moment’s notice. But then even when you got me to Earth it wasn’t over, and things got worse, things got more dangerous – when we realized XANA could escape? That we couldn’t just turn it off with a switch? That – that should have been it.” Her voice dropped as she took a shaky breath, “You should have just let me turn the supercomputer off.”

“You were ALWAYS worth the risk, Aelita!” Odd finally snapped, terror shooting through his heart at the broken look on her face, the implications of her words, “You… you matter to us more than anything! Look, I’m sorry for bringing this all up, alright? I thought we could just joke around about running Lyoko Warrior interviews! I didn’t mean to get everyone upset. And speaking of! Jeez! All of you are such downers on yourselves! There’s like, a billion different things that could have happened!” He held out a hand, ticking them off, “Maybe William might not have gotten captured and instead XANA got Yumi or anyone else! Maybe, I dunno, Ulrich saved Aelita temporarily but then XANA tossed him in the digital sea! Maybe Jeremie could have noticed that Aelita didn’t have a virus sooner, and XANA just made a move sooner! Maybe – maybe – maybe if you had just let Kiwi be virtualized normally and not fuse with me he would have been a great Lyoko Warrior and would have bit the Scyphozoa and killed XANA! We don’t know, alright? I’m just trying to say that – ugh, forget it! Sorry! Jeez!”

Odd rubbed at his eyes, surrendering to the frustrated and exhausted stream of tears that leaked out of them. All of them, all of this – he kept trying to play superhero, to pretend that everything was going to be alright like in the movies, but in his heart he had to admit that this was starting to feel futile. Aelita’s virus, XANA’s escape from the supercomputer, William’s capture, Jeremie’s first botched attempt at his anti-XANA program, Franz Hopper’s sacrifice, Yumi’s graduation, their failure to stop space station from falling, Jeremie’s second anti-XANA program getting stolen by the AI, and now the looming threat of their own graduation… he wanted to be joking about needing to interview new Lyoko Warriors, really, but if graduation took them away from the factory… away from each other…

A hand landed on his shoulder, he realized he didn’t need to know who it was to press his own on top of it, to squeeze it and feel loved, as more hands, more friends, found their way to his other shoulder, to his back.

“I’m sorry, Jeremie,” he said, “And everyone else. I didn’t mean to –,”

“Don’t,” came a muttered reply from Jeremie, “We’re all acting tired and stupid. I shouldn’t have yelled. I knew you didn’t mean it.”

Odd let out an exhausted laugh, rubbing his eyes of the last of the tears, looking up and seeing his friends around him, “How late is it?”

“Too late,” Ulrich replied, pulling his phone out of his pocket, “We’ve got… three hours until classes start.”

A collective groan broke the spell over the room. Odd looked under his feet to the almost-finished-poster. Silently, all of them returned to their working positions. Odd kneeled down to finish gluing down the last of the faces to the poster. As the lull of busy work started taking over his mind, William nudged him.

“Sorry, I, uh…” William looked uncharacteristically bewildered, “This must have happened while I was – did you say Kiwi fused with you?”

[flowerflamestars]

okay i’m still obsessed with your idea of nesta and tarquin together!! would you mind giving us a little more on that, like how would they first interact, what would nesta think of him, all of that? thank you so much!!!! 💚💚

I would love to!!!

The important thing to remember about the Tarquin Draft is that is has the same main story as Daylight: Nesta in Day, Nesta the Library, Helion’s grumpy best, best truest friend ride or die companion.

So Nesta doesn’t actually meet Tarquin again until she’s halfway to okay. It’s plotwise timeline closest to where she is in the most recent chapter- feeling at home in her body, really hitting her stride as Librarian, gaining a reputation as just an absolutely formidable force who helps anyone who asks.

There’s been correspondence between the Library and Summer- Nesta, acting as a go-between for Kallias- but remember, no one uses her name. 

So it’s a big surprise when the Librarian arrives in Summer, pulls down her black and gold hood and...there is Feyre Archeron’s face, like a nightmare. Except not- wearier, sharper, older, devastation and salvation like the sunrise after a storm at sea- Nesta, who laughs in Cresseida’s face when the Princess of Adriata calls her a Night Court spy.

Nesta: wouldn’t that require belonging to the Night Court? Try my baby sister, if you’d like to yell about idiotic plans. Where are the books that keep eating people?

Cresseida is so wary, but Nesta, of course, isn’t actually going to leave before handling the cursed trove some Summer sailors pulled from the sea. She’s the Librarian.

Tarquin just...doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want to be proved inexperienced, that he can’t act for his people’s good by a beautiful woman again. But Nesta aggressively wants to help, and ultimately, he lets her.

And Nesta acts nothing like Feyre.

She takes off that cloak of office (listen, I’m picturing like, the coolest wide-legged, sleeveless white linen jumpsuit that has EVER existed, chic but functional), puts on a sunhat that she...magicked into her hand? and stomps into the shallows. Starts pulling sailors souls out of the treasure and hauling them to shore.

It’s terrifyingly efficient. And listen, Tarquin doesn’t give a shit about rank, so he, after some very blushy surprise because no, he did not know he had a competency kink and Nesta Archeron has tiny adorable little freckles on her shoulders- gets in the waves to help.

Nesta doesn’t even look at him.

What she does is save the lives of twelve of his men, pick up the faintly hissing, utterly cursed chest of books that started all this, and ask Cresseida is there’s a room where she can work. 

So they take her to the palace. 

The beautiful ambassadors rooms, windows and silk and the sound of water. 

It becomes clear that the curse is in fact, just a curse, but one that can only be broken under the full moon, which is two weeks away. So Nesta stays, being the only person who can keep that magic from spreading. The only payment she wants is to take the books back when she goes which leaves Tarquin, arms full of the traditional gift of pearls, VERY embarrassed.

But he gets over it. Tarquin is genuinely chill- he has baggage from the weight of his responsibility, of being fooled by the Night Court- but he’s also so, so young. Kind. Curious. He doesn’t want to judge Nesta on the actions of people related to her, and once she proves herself, he doesn’t.

And meanwhile Nesta is like, cool. Cool, cool, cool- I can’t sleep while I’m here, I can’t winnow home and sleep because the Library can’t suppress a curse from hundreds of miles away, I’m not going to steal the books like a fucking thief in the night like Feyre-

So Nesta does a lot of exploring. 

Tarquin comes into the harbor one morning, pink still streaking the sky. He’d been up in predawn doing Manly Boating Things with his navy- he walks through the harbor, lets the sounds his happy people sooth the rush of magic that still surprises him- to shape the sea, to cease the waves, to bend the world, to call the tide- and goes looking for breakfast.

Instead, he finds Nesta.

In line a line waiting for fresh bread and pastries, in another insanely attractive white outfit, looking at the sky. She’s alone- he’d given her guards, servants, knew damn well Cresseida was watching her- holding a basket, drinking coffee with her free hand.

So Tarquin joins her.

It cannot be overstated how genuinely charmed they both are with how normal it is. No death and war between them. No magic drawing them together. No real history- Nesta isn’t Feyre in the slightest- just a man with salt drying in his hair and a beautiful grin, asking if he can buy Nesta breakfast. 

Just Nesta, and the only High Lord she’s ever met besides Helion who isn’t aggressive. As she says, Nesta has as many problems with High Fae men as they tend to her- the siren song of power, challenge called to challenge by her very primordial being.

And listen, Tarquin is a huge, very physical dude. Summer faeries are touchy, in a friendly way. But he also, like Helion, is smart enough to pick up on how screamingly uncomfortable men make Nesta. He doesn’t know why, and noticing it made him feel a little sick- but he’s careful. Kind, funny Tarquin, whose managed in knowing her just a few days to figure out how to approach her without triggering her.

So Nesta says yes. Nesta probably says something snarky as hell about his High Lordly hospitality.

And Tarquin laughs- genuinely, beautiful.

He’s still laughing when they get to humble little window, and Nesta goes still. 

Tarquin clocks it- handles what they’re doing, gets Nesta out of the line of people without unnecessarily touching her. He sort of thinks she’s having a panic attack?- finds a nice quiet bench under a tree. He’s also pretty sure he’s making it worse just by being present, but he’s not going to leave her alone like this- so Tarquin just like, sits on the ground.

Which startles Nesta. She looks up- he doesn’t know her well enough to know what’s going on, so he’s extremely confused when Nesta goes: why is she here?

Tarquin: ???

Nesta: the HUMAN

There’s part of Nesta thinking the worst possible scenarios- what her past and the Night court taught her. 

But Tarquin just like, blinks? Sets down the pastry bag on the bench for Nesta and is says well, she was shipwrecked. A whole passenger ship from the continent last summer- she was going to the North, to start a new business. But she liked it here, and decided to stay. 

Nesta: that human woman, owns a business? Here. 

Tarquin, who’s starting to get what is happening here: Yes. She’s a Summer Court citizen.

Nesta eats a pastry. Nesta, face wry, eventually hands a pastry to Tarquin, who’d seemingly decided she needed them more than he did. Tarquin wolfs it down in three bites, just enough time for Nesta to grumpily confess: I’ve never seen a free human, above the Wall.

Tarquin, haltingly, shyly is like: well, I want it to be different. We all share the same world. Acting like we’re not all the same is how Hybern almost took over- 

By the end of the sentence he’d managed to look up. That was the voice a High Lord, a man who had power and would use it.

So they have this truce, a spark of very real, pretty damned charmed interest. They walk back to the Palace across the whole city, talking.

The next day Nesta is deep in working Librarianing while she’s there- and Tarquin just pops up. Draws as little attention to himself as possible to be like, here. I noticed your hat blew away yesterday? So I brought you a new one. And some coffee. Do you like it cold? Don’t let me get in the way, what you’re doing is important.

What he means by important: incredible. 

It had taken him ages to find her, because Nesta is apparently spending her spare time- does she sleep??- winnowing all over his territory, solving any problems anyone asks of her, bringing books to schools. Talking to regional leaders about what their educational needs are. Chatting with sea monsters so the fishermen understand they’ll be totally safe, so long as they always throw back in that one kind of crab that the baby krackens exclusively eat.

And look, it is a coping strategy. Nesta CANNOT rest by the sound of the sea- but she’d also realized this kingdom her sister had fucked with had been hit so, so hard by Amarantha, and then the war. That she can help, so she will.

But she just kind of stops. Tarquin left as quickly as he came she’s just there like- coffee. hat. BEAUTIFUL RESPECTFUL MAN. It’s not the vibe of her and Helion. It’s flirty but not...pressing? It’s nothing like how any faerie man (see: Cassian) who wanted her has ever, ever treated her and it’s just...so, nice.

He’s nice. Gorgeous. Easy to be around, which Does Not Happen to Nesta ever.

Nesta breaks the curse and leaves. 

Keeps her promise to the schools, visits to sit on the shore and talk to sea monster babies, so much more prodigious now that they have enough food.

Tarquin thinks she’s amazing, and he starts writing to her. For real Lordship reasons, but also just to see what she’ll say- he wants to know how humans live. How his cities could integrate them. Can they use magic? Will they, if it’s available to them?  

Tarquin finds someone- witty, beautiful, so intriguing- who believes in the value of his most difficult dreams. Nesta finds someone who looks at the most fraught, hurt parts of her- humanity lost, a terrible human life, that she still, even now, asks herself sometimes if she can belong, and treats those things as important and integral.

And they fall in love.

It’s a story about a lot of things- Nesta, who drowned to become, learning the whole seas of world will still for her, protect her. Tarquin who does revolutionize his kingdom, and spend centuries counting Nesta’s freckles as they peel and disappear. 

Love of choice. Nesta, in the sun, being adored. Tarquin, who so many people think is foolish, a reckless dreamer, defended by the most loyal person on earth. 

There’s small details i love so much it makes me want to go to the extremely troublesome work of writing them their own story- Nesta inviting the mermaids from the Night Court waters to live in a place no on is afraid of them. Tarquin who is both sort of a golden retriever but ALSO a proud, petty bitch when tried, draping Nesta head to toe in rubies for inter-court events. 

With Tarquin the story really embraces the idea of eternity- of possibility. They’re young, they’re equals in this eternal life. There’s so many years ahead of them, so many things they can do: they have time to go slow, to make changes, to learn each other inside and out as they become the people they want to be.

[spaacegaays]

ghosts (bbc) // season 1 // sentence starters

episode 1: who do you think you are?

“Well, there are worse ways to go.” “What's going on? All I can see is shoes.” “I wouldn't want to live here either.” “Do you know what an owl sounds like?” “The garden view comes with the screaming woman.” “Oh, for heaven's sake. Throw yourself out of your own damned window.” “Maybe try jumping out of the window before bed, get it out of the way.” “Staying hush whilst falling from a height? Tush and flops.” “Look at her. She's exposing her knees and she's got a tattoo.” “Kill them.” “I'd rather kill them.” “I couldn't get any water in the kitchen and I couldn't find the other kitchen, so I ended up using the garden tap, and then there's no electric in the kitchen, so I found a plug that works in the library. I don't know if the water's drinkable, but I boiled it twice.” “Tis a most noxious stink.” “I found a guide on how to tame an eagle.” “She spoke to me! She spoke to me! She saw me! She spoke to me!”

episode 2: gorilla war

“Well, that seems pretty conclusive.” “What sort of heathen just barges in on a lady while she's sleeping?” “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” “Clearly this changes things.” “Well, conversing with the dead be witchcraft. People been burned at the stake for less.” “[Pronoun] may give ear to my overtures, but alas [pronoun] is yet to respond. “I don’t think that’s a word.” “What’s wrong with a nice ‘hello’?” “You couldn’t negotiate your way out of a corn maze.” “Looks like some idiot’s taken a hammer to it.” “If you were dead, I would thrash your bottom.” “A lady does not hold a carrot like that.” “I’m too bold, forgive me. Accurse my impetuous loins!” “I’ll wait for you, my comely nug.” “Well, there’s only one thing for it, isn’t there?” “Who you gonna call?” “I just wanted to say hello!” “So you just spent— You just spent the last three days hiding in every little tiny little dark corner in this entire house, scaring me out of my mind, for no reason?!” “Okay, so I’ve just googled ‘psychotic break’ and I’m not saying that this is one but this is an article that I think you should have a look at.”

episode 3: happy death day

“I'm panicking. Right.” “You don't want to see this in your dreams.” “Oh, yes, very good, ______. We'll just sigh at them.” “Oh, it’s far more complicated than that, damn your eyes.” “You don't know what I'm talking about, do you?” “We're burning through money quicker than actually burning money.” “Well, I mean, there's being nice, that's one thing, but that's just weird nice.” “I just wanted to lighten the mood, and it hasn't worked. Sorry.” “Anyone dead in here?” “Don’t worry, it’s only a matter of time.” “Stop sneaking up on me!” “You know nothing of poetry!” “Of course I'm not going to kill your wife, ______, that’s a terrible idea!” “Do you mock me, sir?” “That one be Lucifer's lackey for sure.” “I also saw a goose.”

episode 4: free pass

“They sounds like tiny people.” “Cornflakes were actually invented to stop people from touching themselves, apparently.” “I never did like cornflakes.” “Sorry! Got carried away!” “When I have control of the hands, I am going to punch you so hard.” “Is this meant to be 1820s? Those are Rococo chairs and tables. You can tell by the legs; they’re Rococo legs.” “A pox on all of them apart from ______.” “I have a lot of dreams, and most of them are about [women], apart from the one where I have the body of a crab and I cannot hold my pen.” “You are on a sinful path.” “Bigger boy made me do it.” “It’s back to boredom I suppose.”

episode 5: moonah ston

“Me speak good.” “I don’t want them thinking that we're the sort of that people that we are.” “I don't think it means what you think it means.” “What do posh people wear?” “Sorry, I just need to go and have a word with myself.” “Bright as thine eyes, round as thine eyes, yet too far apart, like thine— No, I don’t mean your eyes, I mean—” “I’m having a dinner party which should be clear from the fact that I’m having a dinner party.” “Well, he held his hand out. What was I supposed to do? Not shake it?” “If someone puts their hand out, I always shake it.” “Yeah, I’ve got to be honest, I don’t know what ‘reduced’ means.” “This place is weird.” “I mean, I didn't like that pigeon, but that is no way to go.” “Ugh! Could that BE any more vexing?” “Pray tell, how you doing?”

episode 6: getting out

“Bum.” “You’ve become worse and worse and I’ve had enough to be actually honest.” “This isn’t the army. Sir.” “It's perfectly absurd to dip individual pieces of bread when one can hold a full slice in one's hand!” “It's not about the cheese! It's about the fun!” “I don't suppose you could move me away from this large hole?” “We are having a little break from each other, actually.” “You're not there any more, are you?” “She’s a witch, and I should know.” “Why are you here?” “It might be a plague pit but it’s our plague pit.” “When you first came here, I thought you were a prostitute.” “This isn’t how normal people live.” “Actually, I don’t do anything wrong, do I?” “Come to gloat, have you?” “The question is, what do you care about more? Keeping ______ here, or letting [pronoun] be happy?” “I’d hug you if I could.” “I need to get out of here immediately.” “Hang on, you made me do something horrible.” “You are beautiful when you’re sad.”

[kbuggg3]

~S u p e r n a t u r a l~ CasxReader: “Crazy In Love”

IMAGINE: After risking their lives for a mysterious piece of clay, Sam, Dean, and (y/n) get a call that something happened to Cas at the hospital (s7 e21).

“Well, c’mon Meg! Give us more details! Can you at least tell me if he’s ok?... What do you mean you don’t know?” Sam angrily spoke into the phone and (y/n) and Dean exchanged scared looks as they anxiously waited to hear about the news of their best friend. Approximately an hour before all of this stress and anxiety appeared the Winchester brothers and their closest companion (y/n) Singer were hiding out in an old, abandoned jail staring at the block of clay that lay on the dust covered table.

“So what I’m getting from this is… we risked our lives for a lump of clay?” Sam looked at the girl and shrugged with a reply, “There’s gotta be more to it than just that. I mean, the Leviathans were treating it like Dean treats his car!”

“Hey!” Dean snapped. “Don’t judge me.” Sam just rolled his eyes while (y/n) continued to think aloud. “Maybe there's something inside?” This earned an odd look from Dean and she huffed in frustration. “Wha- Well I don’t know! I’m running out of ideas. That’s all I’ve got goin’ on up here unless one of you can think of something better.” Sam and Dean shared a look then shrugged. “Worth a shot.”

Dean grabbed a hammer and Sam grabbed 3 pairs of goggles, handing them out to each person. After making sure everyone had their protective eyewear on, Dean brought the hammer up into the air and struck hard on the block of clay. The moment the hammer hit the clay, causing pieces to fly everywhere, a crack of lightning, a quick rumbling of thunder was heard, and the rusty building shook for a second. The three looked at one another without speaking a word and Dean soon continued on again. Once again, he struck the clay with the hammer and thunder rumbled and the building shook. “Um is it just me or is-”

“Ya,” Sam cut in, interrupting (y/n). “That’s not normal.” Dean debated whether or not he should continue. Whatever is in this block of clay was important enough that Leviathans were willing to sacrifice their lives for it. This could be something to end the apocalypse and put a stop to the death of mankind forever. With that, Dean repeated the actions of striking the clay with the hammer despite the loud thunder, bright lightning, and violent shaking of the building.

Eventually everything went quiet and all the clay was completely gone. (y/n) opened her eyes and released her tight grip on Sam’s arm while Dean let out a long breath that he didn’t even realize he was holding. The three stare down at what used to be a big pile of nothing and what now appeared to be a tablet. The tablet had golden writings or etching in it but neither one of them could make out what it was saying. It looked as if it were written in another language.

Before any of them could say one word, Dean received an urgent call from Meg that something had happened to Castiel back at the hospital and told them to meet her there ASAP. So that's what they did. Dean stuffed the tablet in a duffle bag and they got into the impala and drove off.

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After they arrive at the hospital and sneak past a few security guards, Sam, Dean, and (y/n) finally make it to the door of Castiel’s hospital room, where Meg stands chewing her finger nails and pacing back and forth. She heard multiple footsteps and looked at the group with a sigh of relief. “It took you long enough. He’s in here.” Meg opened the door and nodded her head, giving them the ‘ok’ to step inside. They walk in and see Cas staring out the window. “Hey, Cas?” The angel slowly turns around, faces them, and replies with a short “Hello, Dean.”

Castiel looks at Sam and smiles softly. “Sam,” he says with a short nod. “Hey, Castiel.” Cas’s eyes move from the tall man to the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen. That’s (y/n) Singer. Of course he has met her before. She is the daughter of Bobby Singer and an old friend of the Winchester family. She was there when Cas first connected with Dean and the taller brother and ever since then he has had feelings for her that he, as an angelic and Godly being, couldn’t quite comprehend.

To a regular human being this was a natural thing, but Cas has never experienced anything like what he experiences when he’s around her. When she flashes her perfect pearly white smile at him, he can’t help but stop mid sentence and stare at her and her beautiful eyes. When she accidentally brushes his shoulder as they pass each other or touches his shoulder as she speaks softly to him or takes his hand for comfort, his face turns color and his stomach feels like he just swallowed a bunch of butterflies. And her laugh… oh her laugh… how it makes him wish he could listen to it forever. The way she scrunches up her nose as she projects this beautiful human noise from her perfect lips makes the corners of his mouth turn up slightly in a way he isn’t all too familiar with. Cas has no idea what was happening to him. If anything, he thought he was sick. But a regular human being would classify that as love. Cas was in love with (y/n).

Cas struggled to find the right words to say as he approached her and stuttered an awkward, “Hello, (y/n).” The girl fought the urge to throw herself onto him and wrap her arms around his neck, breathing in his comforting scent as she embraced him in a big hug. Instead she put a smile on her worried face and spoke to him in the soft, calming tone that he was very fond of. “Cas.” They stared at each other for a while until Dean awkwardly cleared his throat to break some of the tension. “Look at you, walking and talking. That’s great right?”

Cas forcefully peeled his eyes away from the goddess before him and looked at Dean with a goofy smile on his face. The angel approached the oldest Winchester with his pointer finger towards him. “Pull my finger.” Dean looked from the outstretched finger to Cas with a very confused look on his face. “I’m sorry. What?”

“My finger,” Cas explained. “Pull it.” Dean stood there awkwardly for a moment before gripping Castiel’s finger. Cas raised his eyebrows at him as he waited for Dean to pull his finger and sure enough he did. The moment Dean did as he was told, all the lights in the room bursted and everyone jumped at the sudden noise. All of the shattered glass fell to the ground and the group stared at Cas in disbelief as he giggled to himself.

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“So let me get this straight. You said you remember who you are? What are you?”

“Yes of course,” Cas replied. He then gasped and turned around as if he were reminded of something he meant to say a while ago. “Outside today in the garden I followed a honeybee. I saw the welt of flowers. It was all right there! The whole plan! There’s nothing to add.” (y/n) quirked an eyebrow as she watched his gorgeous blue eyes twinkle with excitement like he just got finished riding a roller coaster or running a marathon.

“And he’s been like this for how long?”

“He’s been like that naked guy at the raver ever since he woke up. Totally useless.” Meg replied and the girl just nodded her head in response. “Well, Cas, how are you feeling? Do you feel any different from before?” Cas looked to (y/n) with a look of adoration as he spoke, “Would you just look at her. My caretaker.” The brothers looked to (y/n) with questioning looks as she gave the same look to the clueless angel in front of her. “All of that thorny pain. So beautiful.”

“You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy in love,” Cas said, sighing contently as he continued to stare at her sweetly. Of course (y/n) was flattered by this sudden affection from the angel she’s been crushing on since she first laid eyes on him, but he is obviously not in his normal Cas-like state. For all she knows this could all just be a misunderstanding and when (or if) they get him back to normal he wouldn’t even remember saying those things. After giving out long, awkward hugs and sharing random fun facts about cat penises, Cas revealed how exactly he became like this and that the tablet was The Word of God. “Ok well what does it say?” Cas crossed his arms and stuck out his lip. “No.”

“What the- Cas how old are you? Just read the friggin’ tablet!” Dean yelled frustrated.

“No.”

“Cas I swear on everything sacred if you don’t read this tablet right now so help me i will-”

“ Cas,” (y/n) spoke, cutting Dean off. Cas uncrossed his arms and straightened his posture as his facial features softened.

“Yes, my love?”

“Will you please try your hardest to read this tablet? It is very important that we find out what this says. You may even help save the world if you dooo,” (y/n) bribed, singing the last part. When Cas didn’t respond she pushed a little more. “Please, Cas? It would mean the world. Can you do it for me?” She ran a hand down his arm gently as she batted her eyelashes. Cas was sure his knees were going to give out on him any second now. He grabbed her hand off of his arm and clasped it tight with both of his hands, tucking the tablet under his arm. “I would do anything for you (y/n).

Cas held up the tablet and stared blankly at it for a while. Dean began to grow impatient. “Well?” Cas cleared his throat as he began an attempt in interpreting. “Uhhhh tree…” he looked around at everyone for a second. When no one responded and continued to stare at him, obviously expecting more information, he looked back to the tablet and continued. “Horse. Fiddler crab. I can’t read it. It wasn’t meant for angels.”

“Alright,” Meg cuts in. “This all sounds bad. What are you two idiots doing with the word of God? Let me see that thing.” She takes a step towards Castiel but is stopped when Dean tells her to back off. “C’mon Dean. It’s my life on the line too.” Cas froze and stared at the ground uncomfortably with wide eyes. “I said. Back. Off. Meg.”

“Dang it enough of this ‘demons are second class citizens’ crap!” Cas suddenly cut in saying “Don’t like conflict” and teleported out of the room, letting the tablet drop to the ground and break into 3 pieces. “What the h*ll was that?” Meg just scoffed and crossed her arms. “You heard him. He doesn’t like conflict.” She flashed a cocky smile causing Dean’s jaw to clench and his hands to ball into fists.

“You know what? We don’t have time for this crap. (y/n), you deal with the tablet, Sam, you do research on how to read this friggin’ thing, and I’ll go talk to Cas.”

“Actually, Dean.” (y/n) cut in making Dean stop at the doorway and look at her. “Maybe I should go with you to talk to Cas. You and him do have a special bond but I have a strong feeling that the little amount of patience you have isn’t going to be enough at the moment.” Sam and Meg chuckled slightly but Dean ignored them. “Ya I guess you’re right. Alright. You come with me. Sam, will you please pick up the… “Word of God”? And do not let that demon get the tablet.” Sam looked at Meg awkwardly and shrugged and she rolled her eyes in annoyance.

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After finding Cas in the main room sitting quietly at a table, Dean sat in front of him and tried to talk to him while they played a game of “SORRY!”, requested by the lost angel himself. “Alright, Cas, where can we find this ‘Metatron’ guy? Is he even still alive?”

“I-I’m sorry. I believe you have to go back to start.” (y/n) giggled, earning a glare from the oldest Winchester, making her cover it up with a cough. Dean looked at the board game in front of them on the table where Cas was pointing and begrudgingly moved one of his pieces back to start like instructed. He then proceeded in his attempt to reason with the angel. “Cas, this is important.” Cas once again pointed to the board, signalling that it was now Dean’s turn to pick up a card from the stack that was located in the middle of the board.

Dean angrily picked up a card, read it in his head, threw it down, and moved his piece to where the card told him to. “I think Metatron could stop a lot of bad. Do you understand?” (y/n) could tell he was growing angry and very impatient with Cas. She quietly stood against the wall, watching anxiously. “We live in a sorry universe.” Cas held up a card that said ‘SORRY’ on it and continued to explain.

“It is engineered to create conflict. I mean, why should I prosper from your misfortune?” When he spoke he moved pieces around where they belonged and carried on as if he were simply talking about the weather versus the end of the world as we know it. There was no concern or emotion or feeling in his voice as he talked- whereas Dean and (y/n) held on to every word he said as they listened intently. “But these are the rules. I didn’t make them.”

“You made some of them. When you tried to become God. When you cut that hole in the wall.”

“Dean…” The two sat there looking at each other for a while before Cas continued. “It’s your move.” At this Dean slammed his hand on the board game and swiped it off the table forcefully. “Forget the damn game!” Cas looked down at his lap meekly and (y/n) took this as her que to intervene. “Dean! Woah, woah it’s ok. Calm down.” She put a hand on his arm, soothingly rubbing up and down making Cas stare. His mood quickly changed from shy to jealous as he watched (y/n) comfort Dean instead of him. Dean shook his head and stormed off leaving (y/n) and Cas alone. (y/n) took the seat Dean had previously been sitting in and looked to Cas with desperate eyes. Cas took notice of this and sat up straight with his hands folded on the table, giving her his undivided attention.

“Let's forget the game for one second. Is that ok with you?” Cas cutely looked to the side for a moment as he thought about the answer then nodded his head. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile at him. Although he wasn’t his true self right now she couldn’t help but notice how helpless and adorable he was being. He looked like a lost puppy. “Is there any way at all that you can help us?” Cas sadly shook his head and replied, “I’m sorry (y/n). I really am.” She could hear the sincerity in his voice. “It’s not your fault, Castiel.” He noticed her slumped shoulders and sad expression and thought of ways to try and cheer her up.

“M-Maybe when this whole thing is over with I can take you to a park.” (y/n) laughed making Cas’s cheeks heat up. “The park?”

“Ummm yes? Wait, no. I meant to say the strip club. Or was it the bar?”

“Cas, what are you talking about?” she giggled. “Well, quite some time ago Dean told me that if I liked a girl I should take her out somewhere. That and to wear protection, which is why I bring my angel blade everywhere I go,” Cas stated as a matter of factly and (y/n)’s eyes went wide as she attempted to hold back a laugh. “But it appears to me that I’ve forgotten where exactly I’m supposed to take you.”

“Wait a second. You like me?”

“Duh,” Cas chuckled and snorted as if she had told him a funny joke. “(y/n), I have been very fond of you since the day we met. Over the years you’ve made me feel things that I'm sure no angelic being has ever had the opportunity to experience. At first I was scared I was becoming ill with all the odd sensations in my stomach when you’d laugh or the muscle pains in my cheeks from smiling so much when you’d speak to me or even my face getting hot when you’d accidentally touch my shoulder. But after getting some professional advice from Dean I realized that I am truly in love with you.”

(y/n) had no idea what to say. She couldn’t believe that the angel she had fallen for after all these years had confessed to being in love with her. “Well in that case, maybe you’d like to take me to the ‘Bow Tie Bar’ right down the street here sometime.” Cas looked up, surprised that she accepted his invitation and nodded quickly. He was like a kid in a candy store. “Alright then. It’s a date.” A big smile made its way to Cas’s face along with a red tint to his cheeks. “D-Date. Right. Yes.” (y/n) laughed at his nervous stuttering and they sat in a comfortable silence for a moment. She then watched as his smile slowly faded and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Um, (y/n)?”

“Yes, Castiel?”

“Why exactly does the bar have a bow tie?”

[sdv-mostly-shane]

Waves of Silk and Honey

Summary: Shane is interrupted from his normal bout self wallowing by a certain long-haired writer. He finds himself relaxing at every word that comes out of his mouth, and finds himself a little something more. Some slight suggestive content.

♡ this one goes out to a very special request- I hope you enjoy! Thank you for your ask. This was such a fun writing stretch for me, as I never thought to put these two together ♡

***very very *slight* spoiler for 1.5*** please keep scrolling if you want to go in completely blind.

Shane didn’t even know why he let himself get dragged to this new beach everyone was talking about. When the town was blabbing about a ‘resort’ that the farmer had built on an island they found, this was not what he expected.

It was cute, alright, but he hated the sun beating on his neck, he hated the way his shirt clung to his belly, and he hated that everyone was having fun, except for him. Shane watched Abby, Sebastian, and Sam at the waters edge, as he made his way to the closest shade, and sat down. As he drew his legs up to his chest and pushed his back harder against the cliff wall, he let himself sink into the dull greyness of his feelings, and he closed his eyes.

...

“Do you mind if I sit here? Its the best shaded area, and the close sea breeze helps clear my mind as I write. Would you be so kind?”

Shane’s eyes shot open at the sudden waking, but the soft, melodious voice soothed over his surprise. He looked up to see Elliot, pen and notebook in hand, and a gentle smile on his face.

“Mmph. Go ahead.” Shane really didn’t care either way, as long as he didn’t have to talk to him, but he did briefly think that he at least wouldn’t look so pathetically sad with someone sitting next to him.

“Oh, thank you,” Elliot sighed as he sat down, “what sweet relief to be in the shade. The sun is angry today... My skin is a bit too delicate, I'm afraid.” He turned to Shane with an embarrassed half smile.

Shane didn’t have to force out a reply, as Elliot immediately crossed his legs, opened his notebook, and started to write something down. If this is all he wanted to do, then maybe he could just close his eyes again ...

...

He drowsily peeked his eyes open sometime later to see Elliot looking at him, head resting in his palm. He normally would get embarrassed at this direct attention (as it was usually scorn or pity from the other villagers), but Elliots eyes were neither. Just clear, emotionless study.

“You must like being alone. The silence of solitude is something I searched for for many years before I moved here to The Valley-I need it for my writing, you see..... the sweet friction of pen and paper is the music of my soul. That's why I chose the beach as my home, so that I could have peace and quiet to do my work.... it doesn’t always work, however, so I thought maybe the change of scenery would help release this little block of mine that has plagued me all week.”

“So you went from one beach to another beach just to see the same thing?”

“It’s a little silly, isn’t it. You’re right, of course. No matter where we are, when we look outwards into the water, we are seeing the same rolling tides of the same sea. No matter which shore you are on, you are watching one ocean. It’s magic, in that way.” Elliot earnestly turned toward Shane, who’s eyes were already on him- “Breathe deeply,” Shane couldn’t stop himself-he filled his lungs with the salted air before he had even finished his sentence, “Do you notice it? That's the smell of the sea. Whenever I smell the sea, it reminds me of my youth. The ocean really impressed me as a child.”

Shane didn’t know how to answer him-which was probably better than his normal ‘f-off’ reply, to be honest-and instead just looked at the man. He had seen him occasionally at the saloon through the haze of amber on his tongue, remembering him sitting with one of the red headed girls, dressed in a coattail and tie, of all things. The very nature of posh, education, and sophistication poured out of him as languidly as the honey hued locks of hair flowed over his shoulders. Here, he could clearly see him, and met his eyes-he felt soothed, and remained quiet for a moment longer.

“Hmm... thank you, Shane.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I know.”

Shane, puzzled, furrowed his brows in response to the mans gentle smile. He turned his gaze to the ocean and ventured another deep breath of the crisp air. He watched the waves pull in and out, in and out, in.. and out...

...

“Shane, I truly appreciate your kindness to me. You’re one of the few people who have sincerely listened to my musings without brushing me off. I know that I am kind of an 'oddball'. I hope you don't mind.”

Shane couldn’t help but let out a small laugh-“hah, that’s usually what people say about me.”

Shane glanced over quick enough to catch the mans gentle face transform into defined angles and squinted eyes as his grin grew into a beaming smile. “We’re not all that different, are we. Just as the ocean-different sanded beaches, but the same sea... that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Shane. I do hope you’ll bless me with its presence again soon.”

Shane didn’t feel embarrassed by his forwardness, a welcome change from the shallow small talk of the rest of the townsfolk. He enjoyed letting the mans richly colored words replace his own grey thoughts. There was no judgement in his tone, only warmth-Shane felt more at ease from his voice alone than he ever did from the ‘relaxing’ ocean in front of him.

Shane finally responded, “You like talking to me? I guess I believe you... maybe you’re just as weird as I am.” Shane turned his head fully to smile at him, and was caught off guard by the sudden blush on the mans cheeks; he raised an eyebrow and a smirk as the man quickly turned his head toward his page, suddenly interested in his writing again.

Shane was amused watching the pink flush travel up the mans cheekbones, up to the tip of his ears. He found his eyes trailing over his jaw, down his neck, and onto his bare shoulders. Gone was the stuffy jacket, and Shane could see his actual body shape for the first time. His shoulders were quite broad and surprisingly bulky, for someone who Shane thought was a bit frilly. He caught Elliot’s eyes peeking past his veil of hair, and Shane laughed to himself as he watched the mans eyes dart back to the page in front of him, his blush blooming further into a deep red. Was he... flustered?

Shane grinned to himself, bemused. Why would a man so effortless and, you know, actually beautiful, be so nervous of *him*? He half turned his attention back to the waves, not wanting to full on ogle the guy. The waves were dropping further into the shore, and Shane watched as the bubbles of the wet sand fizzled and popped.

“I came to the valley to find the ivory tower from which my talents could reign supreme. But what I really found was a dungeon of loneliness. I hope we can grow closer, Shane. I enjoy your company.” He gestured to his notebook with his feathered pen, “plus, your nearness has seemed to open up my mind to some new inspiration. In fact-before I lose this-“ he brought his book close to his chest, and resumed fervently writing.

Shane remained silent, watching the dancing of the wisps of duck feather dance in the sea breeze as the man wrote. He wondered what it must be like to know that you were smart and to know your purpose in the world. He turned his attention back to the sand, where little creatures were popping in and out, his eyes only returning to the man when he noticed two sturdy arms lift above his head, gathering the honey silks of hair into a messy knot atop his head. Shane could hardly stop himself from peeking over his shoulder to the flexing of the mans back-that too, much more bulky and defined than expected. He did sometimes see him fishing, while on his daily walk from Joja, which would explain the tight muscles stretching and contracting across his skin. Shane forced himself to turn his attention back to the little crabs that were scurrying and dodging the tide.

Elliot looked up with a small gasp, and pushed himself off the ground. He made his way a bit up to the shoreline, crouched down, and gingerly reached into his shorts pocket, pulling out a tiny speck of red. He turned toward Shane with a little wave, gesturing to him with the baby crab- “I thought he would like to see the new beach as well.”

Shane, witnessing the most precious display of his life in front of him, had his own turn to blush, now, thinking about how much more he wanted to get to know this burly, poetry-writing, beautiful man with a tiny crab in his pocket. For now, he just returned the mans wave with a smile, and let himself sink into the vibrant reds, pinks, and honey-hued golds that were floating around in his thoughts, as he closed his eyes.

[anon-rebel-writes]

WIP Wednesday!

Hello everyone! I hope you are having an extraordinary Wednesday!

I’ve noticed a pattern in my posts; I feel like I always over-explain myself every single time I post anything. Whelp, today is no exception XD

So I don’t know if anyone realized that I didn’t post anything for “Six Sentence Sunday”, unfortunately that was not a mistake. I didn’t work much on anything for the weekend, so it didn’t make sense to post something.

My weekend was extremely exhausting and yet not productive at all XD I only managed to add about 300 words to “Potion Madness” (the title is also a WIP XP). Luckily, after a whole weekend (and a couple of extra days) of little progress, I finally worked on something!

Y’know, the more I write this story, the more I realize I may never be finished with it. A huge part of me wants to write a whole second act, but another huge part of me wants to work on the act I haven’t even finished yet XD

So... that’s my explanation for this post XD Does anyone even read these? I feel like I could say something here and no one would notice (Honestly that’s probably for the best, I read these posts days later and am always concerned for Past Rebbie XP) 

(Also quick side note before I move on to the good stuff, I want to quickly apologize for not being super active on here! There’s so much great artwork and fics that I haven’t been able to reblog or read or anything yet. I swear I want to, but college is starting up again soon and that’s been my main focus. Just wanted to keep everyone updated! Life is hard, so make sure to touch the grass every now and then! :D)

Anyways, the snippet begins under the cut! <3

The crystal ball finally cleared up and Juleka appeared, looking extremely bothered.

“Mari, you’re my friend and everything, but I’mma be honest, now isn’t a great time.”

Deep groans and sighs of pain could be heard in the background. A cold chill ran down Marinette’s back as she remembered the last time she interrupted Juleka’s spells. Her magic was a lot more dark than anything Marinette ever tried.

“Sorry, Jule. It’s just... well uh...”

Her eyes moved above the crystal ball and met Luka’s eyes. He quickly shook his head and moved his arms into an ‘X’.

“It’s what? Marinette-”

“You wouldn’t happen to have any hawk feathers lying around, would you?”

Juleka’s eyes squinted as her arms crossed over her torso. “That depends, what are you mixing them with?”

On one hand, Luka needed to be turned back to normal, and not just for his benefit. Having the guy you like wrap himself around you sounds a lot better in theory than in practice. She honestly didn't know how much longer she could take this.

On the other hand, Juleka was evil. Her finding out Luka got turned into a half-snake person would result in lots of intense tormenting. Juleka was extremely sly when she wanted to be. Marinette could already see the trauma Luka would go through if she found out.

All this to say, this made telling her the second ingredient very hard, it would be obvious what potion she was making. It didn’t take a genius to know that mixing a hawk feather with crab claws would make a simple curing potion.

“Wait a minute, wasn’t Luka supposed to be with you today?”

Marinette’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Her eyes snapped to Luka. His hands raked through his hair, making it look extremely soft and fluffy. If his dignity wasn’t on the line (and the situation wasn’t so strange) she wanted to run her fingers through those beautiful blue tips.

Honestly she almost forgot what was happening until Luka quickly started mouthing to her, ‘Change the topic!’ She stared back at Juleka and gave her best fake smile.

“Luka? Who’s Luka?”

Why was she like this?

“Uh-”

“NECROMACY! I’m trying to make a simple necromancy potion but Luka forgot to bring the hawk feathers needed for it! That's why I need you to send some over! No other reason!”

Juleka slowly blinked, it seemed like she was trying to piece something together. Her dark eyes turned sharp as her gaze wandered over the crystal ball, as if Marinette was being interrogated (which she kinda was).

“You, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, want to learn a necromancy spell? Huh... Honestly, I’m kinda offended you didn’t ask me to help you since I literally major in Necromancy. But fine, I’ll send over a box of Hawk feathers.”

Both Marinette and Luka visibly relaxed. At least now they were one step closer to fixing Luka. Marinette leaned towards to crystal ball to kiss the glass, “Thank you, Jule! You’re a life-saver!”

“Yeah yeah. Also, can you do me a favor? Tell Luka that if he was trying to hide the fact that he’s naga, he should’ve hidden his tail better.”

The crystal ball quickly dimmed as the connection cut off, leaving the two teens alone once again. Luka groaned and leaned against the back wall, covering his face with his hands. “I’m never gonna live this down.”

“Wait a minute, sneeple are called nagas?”

[shadowhuntertrash]

"Hold Me I'm Cold"

Kit x Ty

Characters belong to Cassandra Clare

 Ty and Kit were standing on the beach watching the sunset. It would be very romantic if they were together, Kit thought before correcting himself. It was still romantic even if Ty didn’t like him that way. 

   Kit watched Ty as he ran around picking up crabs and pointing out fish. Ty always got a spark in his eyes when he talked about animals. Kit loved it more than anything. Whenever Ty talked about anything he was passionate about he would take on the biggest smile and talk until you told him to stop.

   Kit had made it a point to never tell Ty to stop, after Ty had told him one day that he was confused as to why Kit didn’t stop him like everyone else. Kit could understand why some people would ask him to stop, but this was Ty and Kit would never have the power to do that. He couldn’t even be upset.

   Kit sighed as Ty brought him a sand dollar. He had absolutely no idea where Ty had gotten it from since they were mostly found away from the shore as Ty had informed him earlier. Emma always joked that Ty should be Kit’s teacher instead of Julian and Diana because he seemed to retain every piece of information Ty threw at him.

   Emma, Christina, and Dru all knew how smitten Kit was with Ty. When Kit had asked Emma how they knew she just stocked it up to “feminine intuition” Kit would’ve called BS but Mark, Julian, Jace and Kieran were all oblivious to it. The only male he knew that had figured it out was Jem, and Kit didn’t count Jem because he knew everything.

   Kit shuddered and realized that without the sun it had gotten very cold very quickly. Ty, who was always prepared, was wearing a sweatshirt and pants which is appropriate for this weather. What wasn’t appropriate for this weather were the ripped black skinny jeans and sleeveless ‘Fight me I dare you’ shirt Kit was currently sporting.

   Kit groaned loudly, accidentally cutting Ty off mid sentence. Ty looked over at Kit with a raised eyebrow. Kit blushed. “S-sorry keep g-going.” Kit stuttered out, his teeth chattering embarrassingly loud. Ty’s eyebrows furrowed. “Are you okay?” Ty asked him sincerely. Kit shuddered again and suddenly wished he was wearing Ty’s sweatshirt. He didn’t want to tell Ty he was cold because he didn’t want this moment to end yet.

   “Yeah-h I’m f-fine.” Ty looked at me curiously. “No you’re not.” Kit nodded, giving up on the ‘I’m fine’ facade quickly. “No I’m not. Hold me I’m freezing.” Kit said, making grabby hands at Ty. Something he had rather unfortunately learned from Mina. Ty smiled and came to sit next to Kit.

   As soon as Ty sat down next to him, he was acutely aware of exactly how close they were. Ty took his sweatshirt off and Kit avoided, with great difficulty, looking at Ty’s stomach when his shirt rode up. Ty handed him his sweatshirt and Kit put it on quickly embarrassed. Ty’s arms were longer than his so the sleeves were over his hands, not that he minded because his hands felt like ice.

   Kit tensed slightly as Ty put his arm around Kit’s shoulder pulling him into the embrace. Kit blushed and had to try really hard not to cover his face with his hands. He was still shaking but all the tension fell away as Kit melted into the embrace.

   Ty was often cold but physically he was a human heater. His hands were warm and Kit felt himself leaning into them. He could feel Ty chuckle against him and he buried his head in Ty’s neck. His face was hot but he wasn’t sure if that was Ty’s doing or if he was blushing.

   Well technically either was Ty’s doing. He felt Ty run his hands through his hair and smiled. This was Ty’s way of comforting people. He often didn’t know how to comfort people and he opted to just comfort them the way he liked to be comforted.

   Kit was aware of this and found it very calming that Ty was running his hands through his hair, it was something Ty had picked up from Kit. 

   Kit, completely relaxed, picked up the book Ty had brought with them. It was Sherlock Holmes, one of his classics, The Hound Of Baskervilles. Normally Ty would read to him, when he couldn’t sleep or if Kit wandered in when Ty was reading in the library by himself. Kit didn’t often read aloud because it left him with an odd sort of embarrassment, but he found himself reading now, if only to put his mind on something that wasn’t how close Ty was.

   He had read two and a half chapters before Ty interrupted. “Kit, can I do something?” He sounded unsure of himself which was so uncommon that Kit twisted so he was facing Ty and raised an eyebrow, his heart beating dangerously fast. “Sure.” He said hoping his voice didn’t betray his racing thoughts. 

   Ty started leaning closer to Kit and Kit’s eyes widened. No way was Ty about to kiss him. Ty didn’t kiss people, certainly not Kit at least. Kit found himself leaning forward unconsciously.Ty paused right before their lips touched and Kit held his breath. Ty just stared at Kit’s lips as if they had asked him a very difficult question until he leaned in and closed the small gap between them.

   Kit felt like he was drowning in the ocean. The desperation was flooding him but he held himself back because what was Ty doing? Was he doing some test and using Kit because they’re friends? 

   Kit was thinking too much and decided to just kiss Ty while it lasted. Ty’s hand came up and started pulling gently at Kit’s curls. Kit let out an embarrassing sound and brought his hand up to cup Ty’s face. Kit honestly thought he might die if Ty kept kissing him like that.

   When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily Kit rested his forehead against Ty’s. Ty closed his eyes and shifted his face slightly so he could nudge Kit with his nose. Kit laughed a little. “Am I allowed to ask what that was?” Kit asked quietly, staring at Ty’s face, searching for anything that would indicate what was happening in his head.

   “I kissed you.” Ty said simply and Kit smiled fighting the urge to roll his eyes and Ty’s endearing bluntness. “I’m aware Tiberius but why?” Ty smiled at that and opened his eyes and met Kit’s stare. 

   The grey of his eyes took Kit’s breath away. Ty very seldom made eye contact with people and the fact that he was doing it willingly and keeping it with Kit made Kit’s heart flutter more than ever.

  Ty smiled widely and brought his hand up, rubbing his thumb along Kit’s cheek. Kit closed his eyes and sighed contently, leaning into the touch. “Because I wanted to and I didn’t want to wait anymore.” Ty said quietly. Kit froze and slowly opened his eyes again. “What?” He asked in a whisper, not able to make his voice any louder in fear it would break the moment.

   Ty smiled and pressed his forehead against Kit’s again. “I like you and I wanted to kiss you.” Ty said as if it was the most simple thing in the world, to Kit however it was immensely complicated. Kit stayed silent for a moment before pulling back so he could watch Ty’s face.

   “I honestly really like you and if you aren’t one hundred percent sure this is what you want please don’t lead me on.” Kit said seriously. Ty frowned, shaking his head. “I’m not leading you on Kit. It took me a while to realize.” Ty blushed and flickered his eyes down. “Well actually it took a talk with Julian to realize but I’m going to skip that because that was terribly awkward. Anyway I really like you and we don’t have to do anything else. I don’t really want to do anything else right now escape maybe date. But obviously you can say no.” Ty looked at Kit, his face one full of determination as if he hadn’t just asked Kit out after kissing him.

   Kit was silent for a minute before he started laughing loudly. Ty frowned and cocked his head to the side. “Why are you laughing?” He asked slowly as if he couldn’t wrap his head around it. Kit supposed he couldn’t, his reaction was far from sane anyhow.

   “Tiberius Nero Blackthorn, you oblivious idiot I’ve been simping over you for a year and a half.” Ty looked confused. “What does ‘simping’ mean?” Kit burst out laughing again before leaning forward and wrapping his arms tightly around Ty, Ty returned the gesture pulling Kit closer. “It means I have been utterly irreversibly in love with you for a year and a half.” Kit purposely reworded this, slightly embarrassed by having said simping. Kit knew Ty would probably ask Dru later so he just settled on holding off his embarrassment.

   “I’m glad it wasn’t just me.” Kit said softly. Ty pulled back smiling at Kit and shaking his head. “It definitely isn't.” He said before capturing Kit’s mouth with his own again.

[alarawriting]

52 Project #26: Marc Snowfrolic and the Quest for Biscuits

Look at him. Isn’t he the most dumbass-looking wolf ever? I love him. He’s the perfect faceclaim for Marc Snowfrolic.

I published part of this about 3 years ago. Finally done!

***

Marc Snowfrolic wanted biscuits.

It was really odd for him to want biscuits at a time like this. Also, very inconvenient, because he was a wolf, and couldn’t bake his own biscuits like he could have if this had been last Thursday. Not that he actually knew how to bake biscuits, but on Thursday he could have read a recipe book, and used his bipedal stance to stand at a kitchen counter and opposable thumbs to use tools and pour ingredients and put cookware into the oven and take it out, with appropriate oven mitts on. Today, and for most of the rest of the month, he couldn’t do any of those things, because he was a wolf.

If anyone in the town of Rema had been able to bake biscuits right now, Marc could have gone to that person and made his desires clear. He could read the Bisquick logo even though he was a wolf. There wasn’t any in his own pantry, but he was sure someone in town had some, and had some guesses as to who. And if, say, Heather Digswell or old lady Janice Eyehowler had some Bisquick in their pantry, he could go to their houses, knock on the door, walk into their kitchen when they let him in, go grab the Bisquick out of the pantry with his teeth, bring it to them, and point to the picture of biscuits on the back, and they’d get the idea. They’d be happy to make him some biscuits. If only they weren’t wolves too, right now.

Normally, he didn’t want biscuits when he was a wolf. Bread products were not usually the favored cuisine of wolves. He liked steak, and venison, and chicken, and elk, and pork, and mutton, and swordfish, not that he got much swordfish because Rema wasn’t particularly near any oceans but when he and his pals pooled their money and special-ordered it with 2 day delivery so they’d get it while they were still human, it was still delicious a few days later when they were wolves. About the only kind of meat he didn’t like when he was a wolf were crustaceans, because it was just too damn hard for a wolf to get the good meat out of a crab, or peel a shrimp, and honestly if he wanted to eat bugs there were plenty in Rema just waiting to be hunted. But today, he was really jonesing for a biscuit.

He trotted over to Ken Mayor’s house. The wolves didn’t generally spend a lot of time indoors, but Ken was an exception. Inside, the older wolf had a large flat-screen television, and a gigantic keyboard that he was typing on. Marc could almost make out the words on the television, but trying made his head hurt. He could see well enough to tell that Ken was writing an email, though.

Originally, the town of Rema had been fully self-sufficient. Wolves didn’t need much in the way of shelter or clothing and were quite capable of finding their own food. What little they couldn’t supply for themselves, they traded for with the humans, offering meat and pelts in exchange for things like nails to make the houses they built for their human days sturdier. But once the humans invented the automobile, it had been only a matter of time before they brought a road to Rema. And with roads had come salesmen, and more exposure to the modern conveniences the humans loved, which the people of Rema found pleasant for themselves on human days as well. Freezers, for example. Freezers were great, but they needed electricity, and both the freezer itself and the electricity that ran it needed to be paid for. Then there was the government, demanding that everyone in Rema pay taxes. And so forth.

Pelts and meat weren’t going to pay for all of that. But the citizens of Rema could get to places in the mountains that the humans couldn’t, and never had been. They mined for gold in places the humans had never managed to mine out. Wolves could dig, and humans could put up structures that would keep wolves safe while they did it. Everyone in Rema did shifts at the gold mine, and of course, they supplemented their income with their sales of meat and pelts from their hunts. All of the funds that anyone in the town owned were pooled to make them easier to manage. Wolves were not good at math.

Ken Mayor was the mayor, and had been the mayor for twenty years, not because he was a big or powerful wolf – he was actually smallish, and rather quiet. But he had a remarkable talent. He could read, do math, and, on a sufficiently large keyboard, even type, in wolf form. Back in the old days he’d used a typewriter, carefully, and sent a lot of letters, but he’d taken to this new Internet thing like a duck to water. He managed the town’s funds, paid the electric bills and things like that, and kept in contact with government officials via email to make sure they left Rema alone, or that if they had to come here they only came on human days. He had a teletype phone, like deaf humans used, but he’d made some kind of arrangements with the company that provided the service to make it clear to them that he was mute rather than deaf, because the wolves could understand human speech just fine even though they couldn’t speak it. Lately he was all excited about some kind of new software that would give him a cartoon human avatar when he talked to humans on the phone that ran over his computer, with a voice program that actually sounded human when he typed sentences into it. Mostly.

In the language the people of Rema used when they were wolves, Marc whined at Ken. “I really want some biscuits. Can I have money to go to a bakery and buy biscuits?”

Ken looked at Marc disbelievingly. “First of all, town’s thirty miles away. It’ll take you over an hour to get there if you run all the way, longer if you walk. Secondly, you can’t walk into a bakery and ask them for biscuits. Thirdly, if you act too smart, humans might get suspicious.”

“But I really, really want biscuits. Come on, Mayor.”

Ken growled. “Snowfrolic, you’re being an idiot. Which isn’t unusual for you, but you usually manage to keep your idiocy within a reasonable range. This is a totally ridiculous request. You understand that, right?”

“Absolutely,” Marc assured him. “I am being a grade A idiot here. But you can’t imagine how badly I want those biscuits. I will get in a car and drive to town if I have to.”

“How?” Ken asked flatly.

Marc stood up on his hind legs. He was a large wolf, six and a half feet long, so on his hind legs he was easily taller than most humans. “Trust me, I can reach the pedals and still see over the dash. And if I put my paws through the holes in the steering wheel, it’s not hard to steer the thing.”

Ken facepawed. “You’ve tried it.”

“Why do you think I have a 4 by 4? The snow in the mountains sticks around a lot longer, but you can’t bring warm towels to dry off in and those little hand warmer things for your paws and a nice blanket for sleeping in if you just run up the mountain.” His wolf name might be Snowfrolic for good reason, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate human conveniences for warming up after a good long day of playing in the snow.

“How have you never been pulled over?”

Marc shrugged. “I drive at night and I follow the speed limits. Not a lot of human cops around here anyway.”

“And if I don’t give you the money to go to town and buy biscuits, which you can’t do because no one will sell anything to a wolf, how does the fact that you’re willing to drive your car to town change matters?”

Marc grinned triumphantly. “Because no one will ever suspect a wolf of taking a getaway vehicle! So I’ll just steal the biscuits, and then drive off.”

Ken face-pawed again. It was a very human gesture; most of the people of Rema wouldn’t use it in wolf form. There were always rumors that Ken’s father was actually human, not one of the men of Rema. Marc wasn’t sure he bought it; half-human children were supposed to be human most of the time and wolf only on the change-days. But Ken making human gestures when no one else in Rema did while in wolf form was kind of hard to explain otherwise. Also, there was that whole reading and typing and doing math thing.

“Have you considered asking Jeff Leclair or Mandy Gruenwald or someone like them to bake you some biscuits?”

Marc had rather forgotten that there were, in fact, humans in Rema; human spouses were problematic in the sense that they produced kids who were wolf when Remans were human and vice versa, but they were very important for teaching Reman children how to talk like humans. Remans didn’t start being wolves most of the time until they hit puberty.

He whined a bit and pawed the floor, head down with embarrassment. “I don’t want to ask them for favors. Bob Pigeonchaser isn’t in town this week and everyone else with thumbs is someone’s wife or husband, and, well, you know…”

Remans were notoriously territorial. This often translated to jealousy. Saying hi to someone’s human spouse or inviting them over for barbeque on human days was one thing, but asking them to bake you biscuits was entirely too intimate a favor to ask. And right now, the only half-human in town, Bob Pigeonchaser, was out of town, because he was in human form when it wasn’t a full moon and he could drive wherever he wanted and buy his own biscuits.

“So you’re insisting that you have to go buy some?” Ken sighed. Wolves were not supposed to sigh; a huff, a snort, those were wolf expressions, but not a sigh. Marc didn’t mention this; Ken was oversensitive about his overly human behaviors. “I am going to have to go with you to keep you out of trouble, aren’t I?”

Marc growled slightly. “I’m not sharing my biscuits, dog. You can buy your own.”

“I’m a wolf. I don’t eat biscuits. Maybe you’d do well to remember that you are also a wolf. Wolves don’t eat biscuits. Or drive cars.”

“I’m a wolf and I drive a car, so why can’t I be a wolf who wants a biscuit? I mean, it’s not every day. I’m just really jonesing for one right now. One of those soft chewy ones with a ton of butter inside. Or maybe crisp and flaky. Man, I’m torn. No point in wasting honey butter on a wolf tongue but oh, man, can you imagine what a biscuit would taste like with bacon inside?”

“This is ridiculous but your mother would kill me if I let you run off in a car, and steal biscuits, and get your fool self thrown in a pound or shot by Animal Control or some overzealous human with a gun. So I guess I’m going with you.”

“As long as you don’t eat my biscuits, we’re cool.”

***

The thought occurred to Marc later that maybe, what worked really well in the dead of night when he was driving up a mountain nowhere near human habitation, just possibly, could have been expected to not work nearly so well in broad daylight as he drove toward a town full of people.

“Goddammit, Snowfrolic, that’s a cop! You just blew past a cop at 85 miles an hour!”

“Lots of people go 85 miles an hour around here,” Marc pointed out.

“Yes, but none of them are wolves. And I thought you said you drive the speed limit!”

“I really want that biscuit.” Marc kept his eyes on the road, not glancing back at the blue and dark yellow lights strobing on the car behind him. (He knew perfectly well that the dark yellow light was actually red, because when he was human he could see the color red, but to his wolf eyes it just looked kind of brownish.) “Anyway, he probably didn’t even see I was a wolf. He just wanted to make quota.”

“Yeah, well, he’s gonna see you’re a wolf now.”

“He’s gotta catch me first!” Marc sped up. He’d never tried to push the SUV past 100 mph. Maybe today was the day to do that.

“What? No! What the fuck are you doing? You can’t outrun cops!”

“How much do you wanna bet?”

“I don’t want to bet! They’ll call for backup and they’ll be out here with guns!”

“They won’t have silver bullets, though, I bet.”

“That doesn’t mean it won’t ruin your car and hurt like fuck!”

The cop was gaining on Marc. This was actually exciting. Like a hunt, although he was the one being hunted, which made it slightly less fun. It would be much more entertaining to be the one chasing the cop car.

Hmm. That was a thought.

“Marc, for gods’ sakes, slow the fuck down and pull over! We can both jump in the back seat and pretend the driver bailed on us.”

“Naah, I’ve got an idea that’s more fun.”

“I do not like the sound of that.”

Marc swerved around a rocky outcropping and brought the car to a screeching halt in the truck pull-off right on the other side. The cop car zoomed past, unable to stop or pull off in time.

“He’s gonna turn around and come back. You’ve pissed him off. Just watch.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m counting on it.”

Marc opened the car door, awkwardly – he always hated this part. Getting his paw under the lever to pull it and open the door was never fun; wolf forelegs just didn’t bend the right way. The door swung open and he half-tumbled out, rolled about in the dirt a bit, used his back legs to close the door, and then trotted around to the other side of the car, where he lay down in the dirt of the pull-off and watched from under the car.

The cop car, predictably, came back. Police shoes, attached to police uniform pants, approached the car. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!” the officer yelled.

This was Marc’s cue. He popped up on the other side of the hood and barked.

And then immediately ducked back under the car as the cop unloaded a weapon at him, human face dead white and smelling of terror. None of the bullets hit him, but a few hit the hood of the car. Dammit. Ken was right, as usual. The cop really had just fucked up Marc’s car by shooting at it.

This wasn’t fun anymore. Marc growled. He really liked this car.

Through the rolled down window, Ken barked at him. “Don’t do anything stupid!”

“Yeah, no, gotta take a hard pass on that,” Marc said, and leapt onto the hood. The cop screamed and backed up, trying to aim his gun, but in the time it took him to do that, Marc was already jumping onto him, knocking him to the ground and sending the gun flying. He shrieked.

Marc licked his face.

“No, no, get away from me, get – what the fuck?” The cop seemed to realize that this was not going the way he expected around the third slobbering lick. “What the – shit, are you licking me?”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Marc said, but since it was in wolf language, he knew all the cop would hear was whining and a bit of a growl.

“Marc. Stop torturing the poor guy. Knock it off.”

“He ruined my car! Shot a hole through the engine block! You see all that steam? There’s no way I’m driving this home!” Marc growled at the cop, who was trying to push him off, and then licked him a few more times for good measure. He strongly considered pissing on the cop, but Ken would have his head. “I can’t even get it fixed for most of a month – the full moon’s, like, three weeks off or something. And it’s gonna rain, and the rain will get in the bullet holes, and the whole damn engine will rust.”

“This is why I told you not to provoke the cops,” Ken said unhelpfully.

He got out of the car, tongue lolling, and trotted over to the cop’s gun. “Good doggie,” the cop whimpered. “Good doggies. Good, good doggies. Stay. Stay.”

Ken did not stay. He picked up the gun with his mouth, trotted over to where there was a scenic overlook down the side of the mountain, and dropped the gun over the cliff.

“Fuck!” The cop pushed Marc off, with difficulty, and struggled to his feet. “Goddamn it, dog, did you just – you did. You dropped my gun off the side of the mountain.”

Ken barked at him.

“Okay! Okay! Good doggies! I’m just… gonna take down this plate number—”

Marc growled and crouched, as if to leap. The cop hastily dropped his pad. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m going. Someone trained you guys to hate the police. I’m just going to back away and get back in my car and call for backup and get Animal Control or something. A couple of officers with guns.”

Marc leapt and knocked him down again, growling and barking. The cop screamed. While Marc had him pinned, Ken trotted over to the cop car. “The things you make me do.” He pulled open the door to the cop car, which was unlocked, with his teeth, and climbed in. The cop struggled as Marc licked him some more.

Ken came back with a good portion of the cop’s radio in his teeth. He dropped it on the ground next to the officer. “Oh what the fuck,” the cop mumbled, head turned toward Ken, staring at the ruins of his radio. “Someone really went all out to train you guys.”

“We need to get out of here,” Ken said. “If he flags down another human who has a cell phone, he can still contact his backup. We’re gonna be doing the rest of this on paws.”

“Yeah. Shit. We only had like ten miles to go.”

“Well, if we run all out, we can get to town in about 20 minutes.” Wolves could run thirty miles an hour, and could keep it up for around 20 minutes, but Marc was impressed that Ken had been able to do the math to figure out that meant they could run the rest of the way to town. He couldn’t quite wrap his wolf head around the equations Ken must have done to calculate that.

“We’ll be wiped when we get there, though. Dammit. I loved that car.”

“This was why you shouldn’t have taunted the cop.”

“Yeah yeah. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

***

They were both panting hard by the time they reached town. Presumably it had been 20 minutes. Marc didn’t actually quite know what a minute was when he was a wolf. He knew it was a measure of time, but he couldn’t really keep track of how long it was.

“Damn, I’m tired. And my paws are killing me. I could use some water. Probably even more than the biscuit.”

Ken just whined, and folded his legs, flopping down on the side of the road. As rural mountain road turned into smalltown America, the road had acquired a sidewalk, but only on one side. Since humans tended to be intimidated by wolves, they were on the side that didn’t have one.

“Oh, come on, Mayor, you can’t be that wiped out.”

“I’m dead. Leave me. Save yourself,” Ken mumbled.

“Come on.” Marc nosed Ken in the ribs, and when that failed to produce a reaction, started licking him in the wrong direction, messing up his fur. “Let’s find some water. There’s a fountain in the middle of town.”

“Knock it off!” Ken growled, the discomfort of having his fur ruffled in the wrong direction finally seeming to overcome his exhaustion.

“I’ll stop when you get up.”

“I will bite you,” Ken said, demonstrating by snapping at Marc.

“No, you won’t. You’re Mr. Civilization and everything. Now let’s—”

“PUPPY!”

Marc and Ken both swiveled their heads to see what looked like a six year old girl running across the street toward them. This was a problem both because there was traffic on the road, and because appearing to be a dangerous animal anywhere near a human child was usually a bad idea. “Oh, crap,” Marc said.

He could hear a car vrooming toward the girl, around the bend. Marc leapt, grabbed the girl’s T-shirt with his teeth as she screamed, and pulled her over to the sidewalk where she’d come from just as the car zoomed past where they had just been.

Then he licked her, because that was what his wolf instincts told him to do with a child who’d had a scare.

“Oh – a car!” It seemed to be dawning on the girl that she could have been hit by that car. “Puppy! You saved me!” She threw her arms around Marc and hugged him.

“No problem, kid,” Marc mumbled, knowing she couldn’t understand him.

“Do you want to come home with me? Do you have people? Mom and Dad said that dogs who don’t have people are scary and I shouldn’t play with them but I don’t think so! You’re such a cute puppy and you saved me! I bet you’re nice!”

“I’m not a puppy,” Marc growled, hoping to intimidate the child into letting him go. It didn’t work.

“You’re so soft!”

Ken limped across the road, apparently having recovered from his temporary bout of death. “Snowfrolic, you need to lose that kid. If a human sees a six-year-old hugging a giant unleashed dog with no owner around – let alone if they recognize you as a wolf—”

“I know, I know! But I haven’t got thumbs, so how do I pry her loose?”

“Another puppy!” the girl yelled. “I wanna take you guys home with me! Do you have owners? Are you lost?”

Ken flopped down at the girl’s feet, behind her, and whined. “Oh, poor puppy!” The girl released Marc and knelt down to pet Ken, who looked absolutely miserable.

“Okay, Snowfrolic, I got her off you,” Ken said. “Let’s go.”

And then he exploded into motion, racing away from the girl, down the sidewalk. Marc followed.

“No! Puppies! Don’t run away! I want to play with you!”

The girl chased after them. The only reason they didn’t outdistance her instantly was that both of them had badly aching paws, both of them were in desperate need of water, and neither of them were city people. Rema was a small town, and very focused on integrating into nature; the few storefronts and public buildings that existed all had luxurious wild patches of green all around them, which the wolves kept trimmed with their teeth. This was a lot more like a small city, with sidewalk on this side of the road taking up all of what should have been green space, only occasional patches set aside to surround a random small tree. It was disorienting.

“We should cross the street again,” Ken panted. “There’s green over there, and trees we can lose her in.”

“Yeah, but that isn’t gonna be the direction of biscuits, now is it?” Marc replied, and put on a burst of speed, letting the cries of “Come back, puppies!” recede into the distance as he turned a corner and raced deeper into town.

“Slow down! I’m an old man, my heart’s gonna burst trying to keep up with you!”

“You’re not that old, and besides, you’re the one who said we had to lose the kid!”

“She’s six! We don’t have to run all the way to California to escape her!”

“Mayor, my biscuits aren’t gonna eat themselves! Gotta find a bakery!”

“Don’t you—” pant pant “—know where—” pant pant “—a bakery is?”

“No, why would I know that? I don’t live around here, I just come here to buy snow gear!”

“Did—” pant pant pant “—it—” pant pant pant “—not—” pant pant ‘’—occur to—” pant pant pant “—you—” pant pant pant pant  “--to check—” many pants “—a map—” so many pants Marc thought that was the end of the sentence “—before we—” a somewhat smaller amount of pants than the last time “—left?”

“No, why would I do that? I can’t read maps, I’m a wolf. I figured I’d just get into town and then walk around until I smell biscuits.”

“I can—” a lot of pants “—read a map—” many pants “—you idiot!”

“Then how come you don’t know where a bakery is?”

If Ken wanted to make a reply to this, he didn’t seem to be able to, with how hard he was panting.

It occurred to Marc that maybe he was pushing the old man a little hard. Werewolves had normal human life spans, so Ken, in his mid-forties, wasn’t all that old, and their regenerative powers made them all healthier and stronger than an equivalent human or wolf at the same stage of life. But Ken’s job as the Mayor made him very sedentary, spending most of his life writing emails and doing math and other not-very-wolflike things instead of healthy and fun stuff like running around town or snow sports or hunting his own food. Marc wasn’t actually sure Ken knew how to hunt. Biologically he was a wolf, but he was so human he might as well be a dog. So he was probably really out of shape in comparison to Marc.

Marc started to slow down, and then a random human man pointed at the two of them and yelled, “Jesus Christ, those are wolves! Someone call Animal Control!”

Ken put on a burst of speed that impressed Marc – he hadn’t known the old man had it in him—and raced past Marc, turning down an alley. Marc followed as Ken weaved through a network of tiny alleys and parking lots and small streets barely wide enough for a car, figuring the older wolf knew where he was going, until finally Ken stopped, less panting than gasping. There was a garbage can lid full of rainwater, but Marc didn’t get a chance to drink any of it because Ken picked it up with his paws and poured the whole thing down his throat rather than lapping it like a sensible wolf.

“Hey! I wanted some of that!”

“Find your own,” Ken panted.

Marc poked his head out of the alley. They were now well into the city proper. “I don’t see anywhere I can get any water,” he complained. “Where are we?”

“Yeah. Good question.” Ken trotted over to the edge of the alleyway and took a look.

“You mean… you don’t know?”

“Why would I know? I don’t live here either, and I didn’t have time to check a map before you dragged me on this quest.”

“Hey, you insisted on coming with me! And I thought you had someplace in mind, you seemed to be running somewhere. What’s with all the twists and turns if you didn’t know where you were going?”

Ken facepawed. “I was trying to lose the kid, you idiot. And then I was trying to lose the humans who wanted to call Animal Control.”

“Uh, they weren’t gonna follow some strange wolves into an alley, and it’s not like Animal Control can teleport. We’d have had time if we’d just strolled, we didn’t have to run like that.” Marc sniffed the air. “I don’t smell biscuits. Or water, either. Dammit.”

“If there’s rainwater in a garbage can lid, there’s probably rainwater in something else as well,” Ken said. He went back into the alley, down one of the ones they came from, and found another garbage lid full of rainwater, and also a random storage bin. “If you like your water with some flavor…”

Werewolves didn’t worry about getting sick. Marc drank the water eagerly despite the presence of mosquito larvae in it. Extra protein!

“I’m guessing we’re more likely to find bakeries downtown, in the touristy areas,” Ken said. “There’s likely to be some in out-of-the-way places near residential neighborhoods, as well, but we’ll never find those. Whereas downtown there might be some bakeries for the day trippers. Huh. Does Panera Bread make biscuits? I can’t remember.”

The last time Marc had been in a Panera Bread, he had not been obsessed with biscuits, and so he had not bothered to observe if they had biscuits or not. “Dunno, but you know where does? Fried chicken places. So it doesn’t even have to be a bakery. We could go to a fried chicken place.”

“Well, they’re more likely to be downtown, too.”

Down at the end of the block, Marc could see the kind of enclosure that usually signified a bus stop. “My paws are killing me. I’m gonna go take the bus downtown.”

“…what? You can’t do that! Animals don’t ride buses! And do you even know if that bus goes downtown?”

“Eh, I’m guessing it probably does.” Marc hadn’t looked at a map, specifically, but he’d seen enough maps of the area in his lifetime to know that the direction the traffic on this side of the street was going in was the direction of downtown. Unless the bus veered off and did something weird, it pretty much had to go through downtown.

There was one person at the bus stop, a young woman wearing headphones. She turned as Marc approached, and whistled. “Wow. You are a big doggie. Got an owner around here?”

Marc wagged his tail and panted in a way he knew from experience looked to humans as if he was smiling. “Aw. Such a cutie. I’d pet you, but I don’t know if you’re friendly if I get up close or not.”

Still wagging and panting, Marc walked closer to the woman, who watched him warily, and then lay down right near her feet. He wasn’t going to miss out on getting some pets.

“Snowfrolic, what the hell are you doing?” Ken called from the alley.

Marc didn’t answer. His language sounded to humans like barking, and barking could startle or upset humans. Instead, he looked up at the human woman, still panting and wagging, with his eyes open as wide as he could get them.

“You’re very tame. I wonder if you were a service animal at some point,” the woman said, and reached down to his head, slowly and carefully. “You wanna sniff my hand?” Marc didn’t really, he wanted pets, but he obligingly sniffed her hand while still panting and wagging. Having gotten that introductory formality out of the way, the woman scritched his head, including behind his ears. Ah, bliss.

“Snowfrolic! What are you… no, never mind. I was going to ask what you were thinking, but it’s obvious that you weren’t,” Ken snarked.

“Wow. Another one of you. You guys look a lot alike; are you related?”

“Does she expect us to be able to answer her?” Marc asked quietly, which sounded to human ears more like a whine than a bark.

“You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to get petted by a human.”

The bus arrived. The young woman stood up. “Well, doggos, my bus is here, so I have to leave you now,” she said. The bus stopped, the door slid open, and the woman mounted the steps.

Marc followed right behind her.

“You can’t have your dogs on the bus unless they’re service animals,” the bus driver said.

“Uh… that’s not my dog. He was just waiting at the bus stop with me. I have no idea why he’s trying to get on the bus.”

“Lady, you’re not allowed to have a dog on the bus!”

“He’s not my dog!”

Marc squeezed under the woman, making her yelp as he slid between her legs and up the stairs, where he jumped onto an empty seat and started wagging and panting.

“Lady, if you don’t get the dog off the bus—”

“How am I supposed to do that? He has no collar and he’s not my dog. Do you really think he’s gonna – oof!” This was said as Ken squeezed past her, getting onto the bus as well. He sat down near Marc, looking downright morose. “Oh, shit, there’s two of them.”

“Just let the woman on the bus!” a person in the back yelled.

“Yeah, the dogs aren’t hurting anyone!”

“She said they weren’t her dogs!”

“They’re service dogs! I can tell!”

“Maybe someone called their service dogs on the phone and asked them to ride the bus to where they are!”

“That’s ridiculous, a dog can’t do that!”

“Sure it can! Dogs are amazing!”

“Uh, people, I think those are wolves…”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the driver said. “All right. Fine. Pay your fare and get on. But if those dogs get off at the same stop as you, I’m having you banned from the bus system.”

“Whatever,” the woman said angrily, mounting the stairs. She ostentatiously went all the way to the back of the bus, head held high, not even looking at Marc and Ken. As she passed them, she muttered, “Stupid dogs.”

“Uh, I kinda think we just proved we’re really smart,” Marc whispered to Ken in a tiny, quiet whine.

“I think we just proved no such thing,” Ken responded, a little too loudly, and it came out as a bit of a bark.

“Oh, look at them! It’s like they’re talking to each other!” an old lady chortled.

Ken’s ears flattened back. Marc recognized the sign of a wolf who was scared that his secret identity as a werewolf might be endangered, and shut up.

The bus drove onward on its route. Sometimes, when the bus stopped, people who had to go past Marc and Ken to get to the door shrank away from them, being elaborately careful not to go too near the “dogs”. Some unwisely petted them or even scritched them, and one man rubbed Marc’s cheeks. Marc tolerated it. Snapping at any of these humans was a great way to turn all the humans against them and get thrown off the bus, or handed over to Animal Control.

As soon as the buildings around them looked tall enough, and the pedestrians thick enough, to be a downtown area, Marc pressed the button with his entire muzzle, when just his nose didn’t do the job. “Did you see that?” someone said. “He hit the stop button!”

“Wow, those dogs are well trained!”

“They’re wolves…” the man who’d originally pointed out that they were wolves sighed.

The bus stopped, the doors opened, and Marc trotted down the stairs and out onto the street, followed by Ken. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Ken asked.

“Gimme a moment,” Marc said, watching the bus. The young lady from the bus stop did not get off with them. Good. This wasn’t her stop, so she wasn’t going to be forbidden to ride the bus. As the bus drove off, he turned back to Ken. “No idea, but I bet there’s a bakery around here somewhere! Or at least a fried chicken place.”

He started strolling down the street, drawing numerous comments. “Marc. We need to hide in an alley. People on the street around here are figuring out that we’re wolves.”

“How’m I gonna sniff out biscuits if we spend all our time in alleys?”

“How’re we going to find your biscuits if we have to run from the cops?”

Marc loped forward, ignoring how humans all around him yelled with startlement, or shrank back against buildings, or stared. He was definitely smelling food. Not biscuits, but where there was the scent of food, there might be restaurants, and where there were restaurants, there might be biscuits. “I’ve got a scent. I’m gonna track it.”

“Oh shit,” Ken said. “I don’t think you’re gonna.”

Marc turned his head to where Ken was staring, and saw a large white cargo van stopping in the middle of the street, its hazards on. The side door slid open and the passenger door banged open, and two men in white with rifles in their hands jumped out.

“We need to run!”

“Why? You know getting shot won’t kill us. You think they’ve got silver bullets?”

“Snowfrolic! Just move!”

Ken ran for the alley. After a moment, Marc followed him – until a bright stinging pain exploded in his right rear haunch. “Motherfucker!” he howled. “They shot me!”

“I told you!” Ken glanced at the wound. “Shit, that’s a tranq. They’ve got tranq guns! Move it!”

“Do those work on us?” Marc asked uncertainly, feeling wobbly. His leg hurt, and it wasn’t regenerating, because the tranq dart wasn’t out of the leg yet, but he had to run after Ken or they’d shoot him again.

“If they hit us with enough of them, yeah.” Ken skidded around a corner. As soon as Marc followed, Ken yanked the dart out of him with his teeth. “They’re following us. Move it!”

This time Marc didn’t argue. He and Ken wove in and out of alleys, pursued by the men with tranq guns, until they finally came upon a dead end – an alley that ended in a tall wire fence with brown plastic slats inserted into it to prevent anyone from seeing through it.

“They’re cornered! Stay back, watch out for them to charge!”

Ken and Marc, whose leg had healed, looked at each other. They both nodded. And then they turned toward the fence and used their werewolf strength to leap over it… landing in a dumpster on the other side.

“Shit! They jumped the fence!”

“Do we climb it?”

“Too slow! Go around, go around! Cut them off!”

Something under him smelled good. Marc started to pull at one of the black garbage bags he was sprawled out on.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Snowfrolic. Biscuits?”

Oh yeah! Marc had been so enticed by the smell of the garbage, he’d almost forgotten his mission for a moment. “Right! Let’s get out of here!”

They jumped out of the dumpster and ran straight out of the alley they were in – into one of the guys with the tranq guns. “Shit!” Ken spun around and ran the other way, Marc following. Two tranq darts sailed after them, but didn’t hit.

There was a parking lot full of small trucks, folding tables, and tents. The smell of a variety of produce, and also, some scented soaps and candles, struck Marc’s nose. “Is that a farmer’s market?” he howled at Ken, and didn’t wait for an answer – he split off and ran into the parking lot, heading straight for a couple of hipsters holding hands. They shrieked and let go of each other to let Marc go racing through.

“Okay, great! The Animal Control guys can’t shoot at us if they’re risking hitting humans!” Ken followed Marc. More screaming ensued. The piercing shrieks of children, the high-powered cries of women, the deep terrified howls of men filled the air. Also, barking. Quite a lot of barking. Apparently many people had brought their dogs to the farmer’s market.

One of the guys in white had a weighted net. Marc saw it, saw him coming around the side of a truck that sold hot food, and made a decision. He angled himself directly for one of the tables selling produce, ducked under it – and then came up, fast and hard, before he was out from under it. This tipped the entire table over in the direction of his pursuer. Zucchini and tomatoes and apples and he really didn’t have time to notice what else went rolling across the pavement of the parking lot.

Ken joined him as they broke out the other side of the farmer’s market. “That was clever, with the vegetable table. Maybe you’re not a complete idiot.”

“I know, right? Every movie where there’s a chase scene on foot, a fruit cart ends up getting knocked over!”

Ken huffed. “I take it back, you’re every bit as dumb as I think you are.”

They ran down the nearest street. Touristy shop. Touristy shop. Fancy sandwich shop that did not smell like biscuits. Movie theater. Bookstore – wait, movie theater?

Marc opened his mouth, but Ken beat him to it. “Into the movie theater! Quick!”

They went through the spinning door. The ticket taker called out to empty air. “Hey! Dogs aren’t allowed! You gotta get your… the fuck? There’s nobody there!”

Since he was looking at the spinning door and not at the two wolves, Ken and Marc were able to slip past him. Ken pulled open the first movie theater door with his teeth, and he and Marc slunk in, hiding in the darkness.

There was some kind of very loud action scene going on, with car chases and bullets. Ken whined directly in Marc’s ear. “We can’t talk at all unless the movie’s being loud, and we have to whisper. That usher’ll be able to put two and two together if someone tells him there are dogs barking in one of the theaters.”

“Okay,” Marc whisper-whined back.

Movies were not that interesting when you were a wolf. The sounds didn’t have the depth that real life did – wolves could hear in ranges humans couldn’t, and humans only bothered to replicate the sounds they could hear. Wolf vision wasn’t really very good. And there were no smells. It was about as engaging as a cartoon from the 70’s with a low frame rate and lousy acting. Marc quickly grew bored of sitting quietly at the end of one of the rows, and padded over to the trash can.

“What are you—” The scene abruptly changed to a woman in a kitchen, much quieter than the explosions from the last scene, and Ken had to shut up. Marc stood on his hind legs. Jackpot! There was a large popcorn in there, one of those huge jobs movie theaters were famous for, barely eaten. He grabbed it with his teeth and carefully lifted it, stepping back, and lowering himself to the floor with a small enough jolt that most of the popcorn stayed in the tub.

He set it down at Ken’s feet. “Want some?” he whisper-whined.

Ken just glared at him, plainly not interested in popcorn. More for Marc, then. He shoved his face into the popcorn and gobbled as many of the buttery exploded kernels as he could fit in his mouth. They didn’t taste quite as good in wolf form as they would if he was human, but on the other hand, the smell was incredible and wonderful and mostly made up for it.

Now he was thirsty. The water fountain was unfortunately in the hallway outside the theater; there was no way a wolf could stand up and work the water fountain control lever and drink from a stream in midair without someone observing and realizing that went way beyond what a dog could be trained to do without supervision. He strolled back over to the garbage can and found what he was looking for – an almost full Pepsi, one of those super large ones.

Obviously he couldn’t drink from the straw. Wolf mouths wouldn’t do that. Just as obviously, he wasn’t going to be able to get it out of the garbage can with his teeth; it would spill everywhere, and then he wasn’t going to get to drink it. So he leaned into the trash can, carefully pried at the lid with teeth and tongue until he’d successfully pulled it off, and began lapping at the Pepsi.

The usher chose that moment to come back inside. Startled, Marc looked up at the man – more of a boy, really, a gangly teenager – as the light from the lobby of the theater shone through the door behind the usher, directly onto Marc. Who was a huge wolf on his back paws leaning on a trash can.

“AAAAAAAAAAH!” The boy turned around and ran for the door. “Fuck! Fuck! There’s a fucking wolf in Theater 3 getting into the trash can! Get Animal Control!”

This was not exactly quiet. Even over the sound of the movie’s action scene, theatergoers obviously heard it, because they all looked at each other, murmuring. “Did someone say—” “He said a wolf—” “Oh my god there it is!” This had to be them noticing Ken, as no one was positioned to see into the walkway from the theater door to the seating area, where the trashcan and therefore Marc was.

“They’re going to stampede! We need to get out of here!” Ken yelled.

“But I never got to drink my Pepsi!” Marc barked back.

“Take your Pepsi and shove it—” Ken described an activity that was technically possible for a wolf, but vastly easier for someone with opposable thumbs.

The barking set off the rest of the humans in the theater, filling the air with shrieks as they ran for the exits. Ken grabbed the scruff of Marc’s neck and dragged him toward the door out into the theater lobby.

“I knew there were goddamn dogs!” the ticket taker yelled as they ran out through the lobby.

The usher shouted back from somewhere, perhaps a back office, “They’re fucking wolves, Julio!”

Marc didn’t hear anything else, because he and Ken had just gotten themselves into the revolving door again.

Outside, they ran pell-mell down the street, trying to outrun any Animal Control officers that might be showing up. “I’m smelling biscuits!” Marc howled.

“Great, wonderful! I’ve got a plan, follow me!”

Oddly, Ken’s plan did not seem to be “follow the scent of biscuits”, but “follow a well-dressed middle-aged lady who was walking into a hotel.” Marc was willing to give Ken the benefit of the doubt, though; the mayor was a lot smarter than he was, so if Ken had a plan, it would be better than one of Marc’s plans… as long as it ended in biscuits.

The doorman glared at the woman. “Ma’am, this hotel doesn’t allow dogs.”

“Dogs?” The woman sounded completely puzzled. “What dogs?”

“The dogs behind you. The ones following you. Your dogs.”

She turned. Marc opened his eyes wide, panted in a way that looked like he was smiling, and wagged his tail.

“Those aren’t my dogs,” the woman said. “Are those even dogs? They’re huge, are you sure they’re not wolves?”

“I—I don’t—”

Ken barked at Marc. “Come on! We need to hide!”

Marc looked around the wide, open hotel lobby. “Where?”

“Follow me!”

So Marc did, his claws skittering and sliding uncomfortably on the polished floor. Ken shot past the elevators, drawing stares from various humans waiting for it, went around a pillar, and dove into a dim, partially enclosed area with a lot of tables covered with tablecloths. Ken went under a table, and Marc followed.

“So what’re we doing?” Marc whisper-whined. “This is a restaurant, right? Are there biscuits here?”

“There are no goddamn biscuits at a fancy hotel restaurant.”

“How do you know?”

Ken sighed a very human-sounding sigh. “Do I need to get you a goddamn menu to prove there are no biscuits?” he asked quietly.

“What, you can read a menu?”

“Yeah, if you get my glasses out of the pouch on my back.”

Marc stared. Somehow, this whole time, he had never noticed that Ken had a pouch strapped to his back. “…how did you get that thing on in the first place?”

“With difficulty.” Ken lay down. “Don’t break my glasses getting them out.”

Carefully Marc nosed the flap of the pouch up. When he had enough of it up that he could get the flap into his mouth, he pulled it open. It was Velcro, so it came easily. He managed, with difficulty, to get his paw into the pouch, where he managed to snag the glasses and pull them out. “How’re you gonna get these on your face?”

“Give me a moment.”

Ken stuck his head out from under the tablecloth, just a little bit. “You stay here,” he said, and then he bolted. A moment later, he was back, with a menu in his mouth. He dropped it on the floor under the table. “There’s not enough light under here, hold the tablecloth up with your nose.”

“Uh, okay, is that all right? Are we not worrying about getting caught anymore?”

“There is no one in this restaurant but the bartender and he’s not paying any attention.”

Marc obligingly held the tablecloth up, and thus had enough light to see Ken pick up his glasses off the floor like he had thumbs, using both his front paws. Ken set the glasses on his snout as Marc goggled at him, because wolves really could not do that, generally speaking. Then Ken peered down at the menu. “Okay. We have breakfast here. Waffles. Eggs. Sausage. Bacon.”

“Can we get some bacon? I’d love some bacon.”

“Focus, Snowfrolic. Fruit cup. On to lunch. Cold sandwiches: roast beef, BLT, club sandwich, reuben, turkey, ham, Italian cold cuts. Hot sandwiches: hamburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger with bacon, vegan patty, chicken patty. Entrees: not a biscuit, not a biscuit, this one’s not a biscuit either, can you just take my word for it there are no biscuits anywhere on this menu?”

“Then why are we here? You said you had a plan.”

“I do have a plan, I just needed people to stop yelling about the big dogs. The heat’s died down; I want you to walk, not run, behind me, calmly, and look as harmless and friendly as you can. Like we’re two dogs who are trained to run around and get stuff for our owner or something.”

“You’ve got a thing that looks like a harness with that pack on your back, but I don’t have one. I’m not gonna look like a service dog.”

“You’re not a service dog. You’re an emotional support dog.”

“I don’t need a harness for that?”

“Just stay calm. We’ll get you your biscuit.”

The two of them slunk out from under the table and started walking, calmly, down a hallway. “Mayor. Your glasses are still on!” Marc growled at Ken, low enough to make it hard for humans to hear.

“Shit. I don’t have time to take them off and put them away, and if I put them in my mouth I won’t be able to see through them,” Ken muttered. “All right, I’m just gonna brazen it out.”

They continued to walk calmly down the hallway. No one but a small child noticed the glasses. “Mommy, that dog is wearing glasses!”

Mommy, on her cell phone, said, “Oh really! Very interesting!” without looking at the wolves at all, and then continued her cell phone conversation.

Ken pulled a door open by the handle, with his teeth. “Good,” he said, his voice muffled by the handle in his mouth. “No people in here. C’mon.”

Marc followed him in. There was a computer on a table, next to a printer. “Block the door. We don’t want any humans coming in,” Ken said.

“What are we doing?”

“I’m writing you a note,” Ken said. He pulled the chair for the computer out, jumped into it, and sat in it wolf-style. With his right paw, he maneuvered a little thingy around – oh, right, they called that a mouse. Marc didn’t know why. It didn’t smell anything like a mouse.

“You’re what?”

“Writing. You. A. Note.” Ken started typing, supporting himself with his left paw while he delicately used the longest digit on his right paw to peck out a message on the keyboard. “Please. Give this dog. A bag. Of biscuits. In exchange for. This bill.”

“Is that what it says?”

“No, Marc, it says rubber baby buggy bumpers.”

“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”

“What was your first clue?” Ken did something with the mouse again, and the printer whirred to life, a piece of paper slowly feeding out of it. “Now go back in my pack and get out my ten dollar bill.”

“You have money in there?”

“Just hurry up! While you’re away from the door getting the money out of my backpack, people could come in!”

Marc was pretty sure that if people shoved hard enough they could have gotten in even if he was leaning on the door; he was a big wolf, but a human had better leverage than he did. But there was no point in arguing with Ken about it. He stuck his paw in, felt around, and pulled a piece of paper out. “Is this your money?”

“Yeah. Okay, can you get the glasses back in?”

Marc considered the possibility of picking Ken’s glasses up with his mouth, and then tried to imagine how to get them into Ken’s backpack without breaking them, and came to the conclusion that it was not happening. “Nope.”

“Shit. Well, they’re readers, they’re cheap. I’ll get more from the drug store when I’m on two feet again.” Ken was for some reason sticking his tongue into a plastic dish full of little metal things, next to plastic dishes full of pens and plastic dishes full of rubber bands.

“What are you doing, Mayor?”

Ken glared at Marc, since with his tongue fully extended he could hardly talk. He withdrew his tongue. Oh, that was a paper clip! Marc recognized it now.

Using more dexterity in his paws than Marc could have imagined a wolf was capable of, Ken got the bill, the piece of paper that came out of the printer, and the paper clip together somehow, so that the bill and the paper were now clipped together. “Carry that in your mouth, but gently. Try not to slobber on it, we want humans to be able to read what it says.”

“I’m gonna have a hard time not getting slobber on something in my mouth, Mayor.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you have hands to carry it with, so you’ll have to make do.”

***

Outside, Marc picked up the trail of the biscuit smell again, and followed it down the street, Ken trotting behind him. They had to switch who was carrying the note, because all of that biscuit smell was making Marc salivate.

Marc traced the delicious smell to a glass window, which he pressed his face up against before realizing that he couldn’t actually go through the window that way. Ken pulled the door open with his teeth, which caused the note to fall down. Marc picked it up with his mouth, figuring that in the ten seconds it took him to get it to the counter, it couldn’t get too much slobber on it.

No one was at the counter. He dropped the note there. One of the bakers came out of the back, saw him do it, and stared. “Wow. You are a well-trained dog. Is that a ten dollar bill?”

Marc almost nodded, and then remembered not to do that because humans would freak out at the sight of a wolf nodding “yes” to their statement. Instead he made his eyes big, panted in a smile-like shape, and wagged his tail.

The baker picked up the note. “’Please give this dog a bag of biscuits in exchange for this bill.’ Oh, wow, someone trained you to go fetch them food! I wish my dog would do that.” She peeled the note away from the bill. “Ugh, dog slobber. Well, I guess there isn’t any other way for you to carry it, is there. But how about I give you a bag with handles, that way you don’t slobber on your owner’s biscuits.” She looked over at Ken. “Do you want some biscuits too?”

Ken whined and pawed at the door. “I guess not. You want me to let you out? How about I do that after I get your buddy the biscuits he came for?” She went into the back briefly, and came back with a tray of biscuits. “Fresh out of the ovens just fifteen minutes ago.” Marc had to resist the temptation to just grab one and run when she set it down on the counter and the smell wafted over to him. So close. So, so close to biscuit time.

The baker put several biscuits – more than Marc could count, but that didn’t prove much since he couldn’t count higher than five – into a plain white paper bag, and then put the bag into another bag, a shopping bag with handles that was made of a better, tougher quality of paper. Marc grabbed the handles with his teeth as the baker rang up the transaction, and put the change into a jar full of coins on the counter. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir!” she said, laughing. Ken shoved the door open, and he and Marc both trotted out of the bakery.

Within less than a minute, Marc was in the closest alleyway, hidden from casual human view. He dropped the biscuit bag on the ground, nosed into it, and pulled one of the crispy, flaky, buttery wonders out with his teeth. Biscuit time!

“Well?” Ken asked. “Was it worth all this?”

Marc chewed the biscuit thoughtfully, and then lowered his head, his ears going back a bit. “That’s disappointing. It doesn’t even taste very good.”

Ken’s ears flattened, he growled, and he crouched back in an obvious attack position, preparing to pounce. The body language was clear as day. Before Ken could jump him, Marc ran down the alley, leaving the rest of his not-very-good biscuits behind, as Ken chased him barking insults, curses and general imprecations the whole way.

[rokutouxei]

in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

-

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t “get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

[themysteriousauthor18]

“Giving Up?” Light Charalastor.

Artist of picture above:

“Charlie maybe you should consider giving this a rest.” The blonde-haired demon turned away from the moth, crossing her arms as she stared down at her shoes. 

“Vaggie I can’t.” She whispered as if her voice were dying. She heard her girlfriend sigh from behind her.

“It’s been five years hon, and we’ve only gotten two demons in here. And..well let’s face it, Angel’s barely improving.” 

“It’s still an improvement.” Charlie whirled around, fist clutching at her side. Her lips trembled and large eyes glossed over. Vaggie looked at her with a pleading look. It had been five years since the arrival of Angel dust and not far behind, her business partner the infamous radio demon. 

And in those five years, things hadn’t gotten all that worse, but they hadn’t gotten better either. It was taking a toll on mainly the two women of the establishment. Sure they held parties and events, even attempted to advertise. But through all that, only a few demons stayed.

And now, it was beginning to take a toll on their relationship, something Charlie herself had failed to pay much attention to during all this. Many times it had almost hit that breaking point and this time was no different. 

“Charlie, you tried. I get it babe you wanna help. But..” Vaggie paused biting her lower lip trying to find the right words to avoid the blonde slowly growing irritation. “You gotta know when to walk away. And I think-”

“No!” She snapped. Vaggie flinched back and Charlie cupped a hand over her mouth in regret. “I-I can’t just quit!” She argued. Vaggie’s shoulder slumped. The sentence Charlie had been dreading for months finally slipping.

“Then I think it’s time we go our separate ways..” Neither girl could stand to hold the conversation beyond that point because Vaggie was quick to retreat down one of the many halls.

That had been earlier that day..and long each and every time things got so difficult Charlie could barely handle it, she went to one of the only places in hell she knew she could be alone. 

While hell mirrored the human world in some aspects it wasn’t exactly known for its wildlife. And that was because no normal wild animal could survive down here.

No normal animal. 

Being the princess of hell had its perks. One of those perks being granted information nobody in hell knew. Or at least, that’s what she thought. A good example of this was a little forest on the outskirts of the pentagram. The forest, despite it’s best attempts to mirror the human world it could not mirror its lush greenery. So instead the forest was filled with a greyish color on the ground. Charlie in her late teens had come to realize this was ash. 

The trees themselves were all white, no brown to be seen. And the leaves were a dark charcoal black. Touching a leaf would result in it immediately crumbling. 

Charlie wiped her teary eyes and climbed up one of the white trees. Sometimes she wondered if they were made of bone. She always chose to sit on a branch overlooking the vast forest and not preferring to step or sit on the ashes of her deceased people for any longer than needed. 

She pulled her knees to her chest as she looked over hell, the dark reddish sky, and the large pentagram overlooking it. She lay her head down on her knees, most of the time she didn’t mind being alone. She was used to it and often welcomed it when she needed to clear her mind.

But sometimes she didn’t want to be alone.

And unfortunately, now we’re one of those times.

“Maybe I should give up…” She muttered to herself, her voice giving a light echo to the empty forest. Not even the screams of hell could be heard from here, and right now that was welcoming but also unwelcoming.

“Why would you wish to do that!” A sharp jolt almost caused Charlie to fall from the branch. She was quick to hook her legs around the branch and dig her nails into the base of the tree just barely keeping herself from falling off. 

Once she had a moment to catch her breath and pull herself back up she looks around. Her family had been the only ones to know of the existence of this forest, she hadn’t even told Vaggie. So she was very alarmed and confused as to why a certain wendigo was casually sitting on a branch above and to the right of her.

Alastor. Why on earth--or well, hell was he here and how? 

She stared bewildered at the demon, his legs calmly hanging over the edge and crossed over the other. His hands weren’t making any attempts to crab the branch either, they rested on his lap.

 Once she was able to process that Alastor was in fact sitting there and she wasn’t imagining this-although she wouldn’t know why she’d imagine him in the first place-she managed to find her words.

“O-Oh hi Al.” That little nickname she seemed to give him upon their first meeting still stuck. Even after five years. He hummed, tilting his head quietly observing her. He hadn’t made any attempts to correct her back then and he still didn’t. “What..” she took a breath to steady her words. She hadn’t really learned much about Alastor in terms of personal things but he’d been very open about his likes. 

One of those things being how he enjoyed the look of fear displayed on a demons faces when seeing him. Or how their voice trembled. As expected, he grinned when he heard the tremble in her voice. She cleared her throat pulling her knees back to her chest.

“What are you doing here Al.” She spoke again, more sternly this time. Alator seemed amused. He swung his legs a little as he laughed. 

“Whatever do you mean? I have been coming here for years. Such a quiet place to read.” 

Or murder your victims. She thought. 

“Oh. Well, I was just leaving.” Being alone in forest miles from the main city were nobody could hear you scream with the radio demon, didn’t exactly sit well with her. As she turned her gaze away from his branch and looking forward she yelped loudly to find that same demon now easily balancing both his feet on her same branch.

Right..he can teleport. But does it have to be so quiet?!

“What is the rush sweetheart?” She tried to move back as much as she could on the branch. “You said you ‘should give up’. What did you mean?” The radio filter covering his voice kept it hidden of whether or not his words were sincere. Although she doubted it.

Telling the radio demon about your inner turmoil was probably the worst idea ever. But she was upset and hadn’t wanted to be alone. She needed someone to talk to, and low and behold maybe by some unlikely miracle Alastor had been that demon.

She looked up from her knees, the demon still stood there, patiently waiting. His grin didn’t falter it only flickered in the vague darkness of the forest. She sighed, and against her better judgment she gave in.

“Vaggie thinks I should quit this whole, hotel thing. She’s been the only person who believed in me. Not even my own parents believed in me. But, to have her just tell me to give up too..” She trailed off. “Maybe I should just become what everyone wants me to be. Just become that ruthless ruler.” A sharp laugh came after and she looked up, scowling at the redhead who had been laughing. 

“You know when someone tells you something personal you don’t laugh.” Her temper leaked. Alastor paused and she thought she’d sealed her death then and there. 

“No no, your idea to..redeem these sinners. Sure it’s a terrible idea!” She rolled her eyes.

“Gee, thanks Al.” 

“But.” He added. “I think it would be foolish to give up now. Why, if I gave up every time the world was against me, well ..I wouldn’t be who I am.” Charlie sat up a little resting her hands on her knees. 

She huffed. “Is that your way of comforting me?” Alastor shrugged giving his hand a little wave and summoning a small red handkerchief. 

“Take it as you like. I am merely speaking the truth. It would be very boring for you to quit now.” He leaned down handing her the cloth. She hesitated wondering if it was cursed. She decided that was silly and took it anyways.

She wiped the tears threatening her eyes, not knowing they were even there. When she held it out to give back to the demon he shook his head. “Keep it.” She shrugged and folded it up, putting it in her pocket. 

“What am I supposed to do then.” She sighed. Alastor hummed, tapping his chin.

“Well, perhaps we should think outside the box?” She arched a brow at him.

“We?” 

“But of course! I am your business partner! It is my job to further the hotel’s reputation after all!” His words brought a soft smile to her lips, a foolish thing. 

“Then, I’m not alone in this after all?” She asked, more to herself than him.

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” 

Charlie closed her eyes for a moment, rubbing her eyes. “You know what, your right Al..I can’t give up. Even if only one person believes in me or none, I can’t stop. Thanks, Al this really--” she paused, looking around confused. He was gone. “Alastor?” She called. No answer.

In her vision she caught sight of a small paper nailed to the branch. She picked it up ripping it from the nail. In a neat cursive writing it said:

I shall see you back at the hotel Charollette. 

The note brought a smile to her face and a strange red to her cheeks that was never associated with the redhead. 

She shook her head, saving the note in her pocket as well. She took one last look over hell and it’s forest. A real smile shining through on her face.

“Guess I better head back.”

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

It’s Anarhichadidae, not Anti-hiccup-daisy

Summary: Logan’s ichthyology teacher is a joke. The boy who just called him on it, however, is the opposite. Too bad Logan was going to be dead from Gay Panic within the hour.

Pairing: Analogical Warnings: Stupid/mean teacher, nervous/gay stuttering, mocking stuttering, swearing, mentions of death via gay, this entire thing is basically Logan being gay for a smartie hottie

Wrote partially because my muse has no chill and partially because @vintage-squid really liked the idea and helped me with the Big Fish Words 

"Okay, class, today we will be talking about a species commonly referred to as Wolf eels. They are of the order Perfect-odds, and the class Anti-hiccup-daisy."

Logan sighed a long, long, long suffering sigh as he took his normal seat near the middle of the lecture hall, pulling out his notebook and pen more for appearances than anything. It wasn't like he'd actually be learning anything worth writing down.

When Logan had started the class at the start of the year, he had been excited. His interest in biology was only amplified by the marine aspect. So it was understandable that ichthyology would intrigue him.

Of course, that had been before he learned his teacher was an absolute fool who could neither pronounce any scientific word nor produce any valid scientific information.

Logan had used to fight him, back at the beginning of the year when he hadn't yet been crushed by the homework of other classes and he was, dare he say, optimistic for a chance to actually learn something from that class. Now, the only reason he didn't drop it was because it was an easy credit and essentially an hour of free time- an hour he needed from the work that was cutting into his sleep from his actual classes.

With the first sentence out of his mouth today being so horribly butchered, Logan was sure he could actually sleep through the class without missing out on anything.

As was, the words were already mostly a drone going in one ear and out the other as Logan mentally studied for the test in his next class. He was pointlessly coming in and out of the conversation, rating the stupidity of the comments when he felt he needed a break.

It was roughly half an hour into class when he paid attention again only to hear the gem that was, "Wolf eels are, in fact, closely related to Moray eels. The were forced out of their shared habitat by lack of resources, creating the slight differences in appearance."

Logan tried not to audibly snort. Who gave this man a teaching degree?

Already slipping back into his mental notes, Logan was pulled roughly out of his thoughts by the yell that came from the back of the classroom:

"Bullshit."

The entire class swiveled in their seats, trying to find who had just loudly cussed at the teacher.

At first, Logan couldn't find him, too many heads for him to pick the source of the call (especially since he hadn't exchanged so much as five words with anyone in the class).

"I beg your pardon?" The teacher asked, sounding as startled as his class. Logan was able to locate the student, then, when he responded once more,

"I said bullshit, sir." The student answered, leaning back in his chair and tugging at the sleeves of his patched up hoodie. "I can say it a third time if you'd like me too, but I don't think I'll ever actually say it enough to sum up how much of it you're spewing."

While the class around him collectively hushed in an awed sort of quiet, Logan focused on the hoodie-wearing student. They were a few rows away, but it didn't stop him from noticing the other's black fingernails, his purposefully smudged eyeshadow, the fading purple in his floof of hair, how his pale skin seemed to very well bring out what Logan would have guessed were copper brown eyes-

Logan shook his head and forced himself to look forwards again, back towards the offended teacher, feeling his cheeks already heating up like they were going to be stars.

So it seemed the only other kid in the class with a brain may be a little pretty. Logan would decide how he felt about that in a moment.

Luckily for him, he was able to shift his attention back to the newly emerged fight when the teacher finally got past making frustrated noises and responded with, "I'm afraid I don't quite understand what you're trying to say."

The student blinked, almost seeming to be in genuine confusion. "I thought I made it pretty clear. Everything you're saying? Bullshit. Lies. Slander. Non-facts. Whatever you want to call them."

"And who exactly are you, Mr...?"

"Virgil."

"Mr. Virgil, who do you think you are to challenge your teacher in how they teach their class?"

Virgil scratched at the back of his neck nonchalantly. "I think I'm right."

"Oh, really?" The teacher asked, sounding much too cocky for a man who probably couldn't tell a clownfish from a great white. "Care to enlighten us as to just how right you are, then?"

"Love to." Virgil responded, catching the teacher slightly off guard as he started tapping his pencil on his notebook. "What you said is about as right as saying a human is at all related to a screw." He paused for a second to smirk. "Well, the average human anyways. Screw-brains like you are exceptions."

Teacher spluttered out loud, Logan mentally spluttered in gay, and Virgil continued even more confidentially,

"Wolf eels and Moray eels look similar due to convergent evolution, a concept normally taught in high school so I don't know how you made it to college without grasping that concept. They're even different orders- real eels being Anguilliformes, though considering I've heard you struggle to say dandelion I'm not surprised you tried to skip the extra name."

"That'll be quite enough, Mr. Virgil." The teacher ordered, Virgil pausing with an eyebrow raised in a mix of curiosity and amusement. Logan tried not to feel too annoyed by the way his heart skipped angrily, wanting to hear more of the student's coarse and sarcastic tone.

While Logan lamented the silence, the teacher continued, "Now. Does anyone agree with Mr. Virgil's rather outlandish theories, or can we continue with some actual teaching?"

For a second, no one spoke up. Logan knew for a fact that most of the kids in the class either agreed with the teacher or were taking the class for the credits alone. They wouldn't have any reason to speak up. Most days, Logan wouldn't either.

But right before the teacher could smile, self-satisfied, Logan blurted out (much less professionally than he'd like to admit), "I do."

The teacher turned his attention onto Logan, but he didn't care about that so much as he did the shift he noticed out of the corner of his eye from Virgil. He was staring at him.  Logan pretended that wasn't the reason his next sentence came out as, "He-he's quite right, actually. You're the on-only one spewing nonsense here."

"Oh, am I?" The teacher asked, crossing his arms and looking extremely smug as he continued, "Please, why don't you take a turn doing my job?"

Logan glanced back at Virgil quickly, spurred by an instinct he didn't even know he had, finding the other student tilting his head slightly and- dammit it was possible for him to be even more attractive?

Logan turned his gaze back at the teacher again, who's smug grin had only grown, and he forced himself to meet his eyes, happy to see a spark of doubt in them.

"Why not?" He asked, ignoring the still very much existing tremble in his voice that only grew when he let his thoughts wander back towards the boy in back (so constantly). "I-I'm clearly more qualified."

The teacher looked thoroughly shocked at the blatant implication, and Logan used the slight rush of satisfaction he got from that expression to push on. "What Vir- Vir-" He cleared his throat and gave up at trying to get the pretty student's name out of his mouth. "What has already been stated by any- anyone in this class who is- isn't you is ac-acc-accurate." Logan internally cursed as he stumbled over even the simplest of words. "Mo-moray eels and Wolf eels a-are, in fact, not even clo-clo- remotely related."

"Repeating what others have said does not make you an expert on anything." The teacher said mockingly, before adding, "Especially when you seem to barely be able to say it."

Logan ground his teeth. "You want some 'new' facts?" He spat out. "You earlier called Wolf eels extremely vic-vic- mean creatures, I can only as-assume based on its name alone, which is just ig-igno- stupid given how gentle they often are."

"You can't-"

"They often grow ei-eight feet long, unlike the eight inch length you assigned them." Logan pushed on, ignoring his teacher's attempts to break in. "I'm not quite s-sure how you got seaweed from ur-urchins, crabs, and mol-mollus- not seaweed for their prim-primary food source but that's pr-pretty wrong , too. And as bro-brought up before you can't even pro-prono- say their sci-scient- proper class and order names!"

"Like you can?" The teacher fired back, and if it weren't for the gay distraction a few feet behind him Logan would have said them backwards three times in a row just to prove his point. As it stood, however, he was ready to simply glare the look of the teacher's face.

"Order of Perciformes and class of Anarhichadidae." Virgil spoke up again, the words rolling off his tongue like they were cat and dog. "Order for true eels would be Anguilliformes if you want that one again."

"I wasn't speaking to you."

"What?" Virgil asked, feigning innocence. "I'm just another lowly student in this class. If I can say it, you should be able to say it."

The teacher fumed more, and Logan risked another glance back at Virgil. This time, the other student caught his stare and winked at him with a stupid, cocky little smile.

That was it. Logan was never speaking again. If he thought he was stumbling over his words when he was blushing he didn't want to find out what would happen when his cheeks were literally on fire and he felt very slightly dizzy, somehow in a good way.

If he wasn't still trying to look vaguely respectful in defiance of his teacher, he would have just laid down and screamed into the desk.

"Well, then." The teacher said, barely contained anger in his tone as he pulled Logan's attention away from the important thoughts of 'does Ultra Gay exits because if so I am it.' "Since it's clear the two of you are more interested in disrupting my class than actually learning, I'm going to have to ask you both to leave."

"Wicked." Virgil replied immediately, once more catching the teacher off-guard as he stood up and pulled his backpack over his shoulder, shoving his book and pen into it in one fluid motion as he headed for the door.

Logan berated himself as he got up much less coordinately- not because he cared much for staying in class, but because he was about to leave it with the source of his current Gay Panic. He started to put the notebook away, trying not to bend the edges and failing miserably. He probably looked like a mess- an assessment that would not be totally untrue.

It didn't help when a second later someone was taking the book from him and actually getting it into the backpack, dropping what Logan recognized what his pen in as well before zipping it up and offering it to Logan. Logan took it, glancing up to see who was helping him, and immediately regretting it when he realized it was Virgil, expression extremely gentle as he more or less helped to pull Logan out of the classroom.

Logan wondered if his entire face was red yet.

Logan managed to at least somewhat come back to himself as he heard the classroom door shut, focusing on not tugging at his hair as he adjusted his grip on his backpack instead. He expected Virgil to head off on his way now that they were both out, but to Logan's mixed mortification and delight, he remained standing in front of Logan.

"You good, bro?" He asked, sounding more withdrawn now that he wasn't correcting their idiot of a teacher. But it was still the same voice, so Logan was still trying to not simply pass out from gay (something he used to not believe was possible- he used to be a foolish, foolish man). "You seem a little shaky."

If he had been talking to anyone else, Logan would have scoffed and answered sarcastically. As it all stood, Logan was lucky to have choked out, "Yeah" without a stutter.

Virgil nodded, not looking fully convinced but pressing on anyways. "Uh, thanks for helping back in class there. I know most kids in there don't give two fucks about the material. Hell, I normally don't stand up about it either, but he was going after eels man. They're like the snakes of the sea. Not cool." He said, chuckling lightly.

"Yeah." Came Logan's extremely smart and well put together reply.

Virgil raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you're good? You seem a little... spaced out."

"Ye- I mean," Logan cleared his throat, shaking the one word his mouth seemed willing to work with him, "I'm fine."

"Sure. Listen..." Virgil trailed off. "Oh, uh, don't think I've got your name."

"It's Logay. I mean!" Logan nearly punched himself for that one. "Logan. It's Logan."

Virgil, however, seemed only amused by the slip. "Logan. Got it. Listen, Logan, we've got another twenty minutes before the next class starts, and I assume nothing important to do."

"Yes...?" Logan said hesitantly, confused as to where exactly Virgil was heading.

Then Virgil smiled and Logan's heart skipped a few dozen beats. "Wanna go waste some time at the coffee shop down the street? We can discuss some actual fish facts if you'd like."

Logan didn't respond, too busy short-circuiting. To be totally accurate, actually, he was having a complete system shutdown, the only thing being processed being that sentence and absolutely nothing else.

He blinked in shock when Virgil snapped his fingers in his face, looking a mix of cheerful and worried. "Uh, earth to Logan. You sure you-"

"Yes." Logan responded, very much delayed, before shaking his head as if to clear it. "Um, yes, I'd like to g-go waste time wi-with you."

Virgil's smile grew. "Nice." He said before grabbing Logan's wrist, starting to tug him towards the shop. Logan dearly hoped that Virgil was, alongside smart, beautiful, and absolutely wonderful, strong, because he was pretty sure his legs could no longer be trusted to support him as he more or less tumbled down the hall behind Virgil.

Virgil briefly glanced back, making sure Logan wasn't completely dead weight, still smiling. Despite the complete lack of control over his body (or perhaps because of it), Logan managed what must have seemed to be a drunk smile back at him, holding onto it even after Virgil looked forward once more.

So maybe he was going to have a heart attack caused directly by gayness the minute Virgil left to continue on with his day. He couldn't think of a better way to spend the last twenty minutes of his life.

[minichedders]

champagne bubbles

bodyguard!tom holland x reader

Your father was a very important figure within the London crime family, which is why you lived a life of luxury and want, although you liked to stay as down to earth as possible, you treated everyone with kindness, offering help and support to everyone in the house, whether they where worked with your father or where maids. You spent most of your days cooped up in the house, reading, baking, watching films and helping the maids clean, much to their protest. The most excitement you would experiment was an occasional dinner party with your father's snobby friends, or when your father needed you out the house and let you take his card on a shopping spree. Of course, you would always have company though; your bodyguard Tom Holland watched your every move.

It was convenient to be fair, because you liked the fact he watched you, and that you always had his full attention; the both of you had always flirted back and forth, making sure to be discreet in peoples company, but you treasured moments alone, when you felt normal, like you could almost have something serious with Tom.

"Common Tommy, I'm so bored!" You rushed, practically skipping down the stairs, challenging Tom in a race as you were much too eager to go outside. You had managed to convince Tom to take you to your favourite Garden Park Center, where you would no doubt buy a million more plants to fill the house. Tom slugged behind you, unwilling to spend the day looking at plants that all looked the same anyway, but seeing the pure happiness and joy on your face made his heart tinge, willing to do anything with you.

"Comming darling," Tom returned, reaching the bottom of the white spiral staircase, grabbing his assigned car keys and opening the large oak front doors for you. Tom watched as your figure walked past him, your eyes locking before you paced in front of him, allowing him to rake his eyes up and down your body, admiring the baby blue summer dress you wore, with a low square neck and a tight waist, adorning your curves.

Tom raced you to the car door, opening the passenger side of the sleek black Range Rover for you to hop in, almost groaning when he saw he exposed skin beneath your dress skirt. The Garden Center was only a few miles away from the city, so it wasn't a particularly long drive, but it was filled with your loud music and singing, finding inappropriate times to poke Tom in the sides whilst he drove. You took the time to check him out, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear stick, admiring how the veins in his arms almost popped out, his tanned skin holding tightly around his strong muscles, which bulged out his tight black and white striped shirt, matched with a pair of black dress pants and black loafers. You smiled to yourself, knowing that you had a big influence on Toms dress sense; before he used to wear the same black suit to work, mostly because he knew it annoyed you, but you brought him a couple of clothes, and whenever you would go shopping together, you always picked out something nice for him, like the black loafers he was wearing right now.

"Stop staring at me," Tom said, a cheeky smile playing on his lips as he briefly turned to look at you, before returning to the road ahead. You scoffed at him, rolling your eyes as you laughed.

"You are wearing the shoes i brought you," You mentioned, turning to look outside the window, watching the city life become more rural as you approached the garden centre.

"Of course i am," Tom replied, aking your smile grow, and silence befell you once more.

-

"I can't believe you brought 12 fucking plants," Tom snarled, juggling 10 in his hands whilst you carried 2, laughing at him behind you.

"12 is an amateur number darling," You replied, unlocking the door to your room. Because of the large palace, your dad had housed you in, your room was more like a small apartment, containing a small living area, bathroom, closet room and a bedroom. You had kept to the clean black and white theme of the house, with added pastel colours and plants scattered across the rooms, with colourful candles, light shades, and you mall fishtank beside your desk, holding two tiny fish within.

Tom placed the plants on the large table in the living area, sitting down on the white leather corner sofa huffing, watching you go around the room, moving things and reorganizing your space to fit all the plants within. A lazy smile fell on his lips, thinking about how this felt like a relationship; but the realisation of your life being in danger due to the constant threats other crime families made to get a rise out of your father, and how he was your protector. The two of you trained together, worked out together, and he taught you how to shoot and a little defence moves - which wasn't normal in a relationship.

As you were placing your new plant's friends in your bathroom, you began running one, sprinkling pink salts in and bubbles, with a few rose petals and lighting a few candles around the large room. You set up your wireless speaker in the bathroom and began playing your chillout playlist, the music echoing off the bathroom tiles and around your room. You were quietly humming along to the music, capturing the attention of Tom, as he walked into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, watching you move across the room, dancing and singing to yourself.

Once the bath was full and warm, you hung your robe above the door and dipped your tensed body in the warm water. You sent Tom a shit-eating grin, daring him to come over and join you; you watched as he walked over to the work surface, crabbing an unused bottle of champagne and two flute glasses, popping open the cork, making you jump slightly as he laughed at you. 

Tom walked over with the items, placing on the surface outline the jacuzzi styled bath. You grasped your glass, taking a sip of the rich, gold liquid before throwing at Toms' face. Toms' face was stunned, trying to process the fact that he now had a face full of champagne, thrown at him by the women he hadn't stopped thinking about all week. He opened his eyes to see your smile radiating off your beautiful skin, your hand over your chest as you laughed hard. Your body was covered in pink tinted bubbles, the low hum of the jets filling the room along with the chilling music coming from your speakers.

"Oh, you are in trouble now missy," Tom said, walking closer to the bathtub, before you turned and pointed a single finger at him, stopping his motions.

Tom slowly stripped off his shirt, throwing it with your discarded pile of clothes, and staring at you deeply as he unbuckled his belt, making you gulp and think unsavoury thoughts. Your eyes shamelessly scanned his toned figure, hard muscles raging and bulging, his arm veins contorting with his movements as he climbed at the end of the bathtub opposite you; your heart was beating rapidly, afraid that it might burst out your ribcage, and your face was heated, more so due to the hot steam, but the hot, nearly naked man in front of you definitely contributed. You tried to calm your nerves by pouring yourself another glass of champagne, now chugging the whole glass, staring back at Tom as you sat in silence.

moments passed before either of you moved or spoke, you spent the time staring intently at each other, watching as Toms orbs would change colour and size the more he studied you. " You are so fucking beautiful Y/N," Tom whispered. You hummed in response, not knowing what to do or say in this situation. You and Tom had never put yourselves in this situation before, apart from a slow dance at your father annual gala once, you hadn't been this close, with few clothes on before.

You where cursed with over thinking, normally you would spend the whole day thinking and evaluating one sentence that someone had said to you the previous day, and you would plan out your actions and words in your head when you joined in conversation; but when you and Tom where like this, you didnt think much, to distracted by how he looked at you, like he was in love. So, without thinking or second-guessing, you moved forward, turning so your back was resting against his muscular chest, and his arms wrapped around your bare waist, fighting the urge to touch anything intimate and just keep calm, your head fell back onto toms neck, allowing room for Tom to lean down and plant a small kiss to your exposed neck. The action was gentle, although his intentions and thought where seemingly dirty, he wanted to treasure you first, and ruin you later. You gently hummed to the music, allowing Tom to feel the vibrations on your skin as he continued placing light kisses to your skin.

Tom traced his hands around your skin, before grabbing your waist gently and turning your body, now straddling Toms body with yours, placing your hands on each side of his chest, holding yourself up; the water level still covered your breasts, but Tom could still see the top of the soft, subtle skin, almost making him drool. You leaned forward, taking the dive towards his lips, as your chest fell flush against him, groaning at the contact of your bare nipples against him, lips locking in a slow, intimate kiss. The taste of his lips made you moan, and the way he worked around you made your skin set alight, shivering at his fingertips grazing the skin of your back, eager to firmly grab your ass.

Tom's lips travelled down to your neck, sucking harshly at your skin, no doubt causing his own mark, making you moan a little, causing Toms hands to become a little more adventurous. Your hands held onto Toms' shoulder, then other cupping the nape of his neck, tugging at his har when his hands cupped your flush ass cheeks, playing with them as he continued his attack on your neck. Tom was obsessed with marking you, wanting to remember the moment for as long as possible, and call you his girl and spend the rest of his days with you.

"This is crazy, Tommy," You moaned, you lips falling to his shoulder, biting lightly.

"I know, but you drive me fucking crazy, I've been thinking about you ever since i saw you. I know its crazy but i would be more than willing to give you everything you need, everything you want, i don't care about your father, i care about you, only you," He said, carefully brushing through your hair, soothing you as you listened to his affectionate words. Never in your life had any man confessed feelings like that to you, and you were smitten. The idea of building a relationship with Tom and being happy filled you with joy; you were ready, ready to give everything, to take everything and to be with him.

"I want you, Tommy," You whimpered.

"I want all of you, angel," He growled.

[ashleybenlove]

Title: Poison Tears

Prompt: No prompt.

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Pairing: Hiccup/Astrid/Fishlegs/Snotlout/Ruffnut/Tuffnut (polyamorous gang)

Word Count: 3623

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Biphobia, homophobia, polyphobia/anti-poly sentiments, abuse mention, abusive parent, murder, character death, mentions of misogyny, implied sexual content, references to sex.

Disclaimer: I don’t own the source material in this fanfic. That’s to whatever company or person owns it. I would never claim to own it.

Notes: There are probable influences from fandom and whatnot in this story. There’s a sentence from Brooklyn Nine-Nine (“Well, I’m happy this went terribly.”) in this fic. There’s also a line that I wrote with this post in mind. While rewatching Race to the Edge’s Have Dragon Will Travel, the fact that Razorwhips have poison tears got me thinking about poisoning Spitelout, because Spitelout is an abusive asshole. Shoutout to afterandalasia, who in our long talks about the show, once commented to me how Snotlout will never be able to get away from Spitelout unless Spitelout dies, and @howtodrawyourdragon who workshopped this fic with me. Takes place after Race to the Edge. This is also on AO3.

And it is under the read more.

       “What do you need Windshear’s tears for?” Heather asked, having discreetly met Hiccup on Dragon’s Edge.

 It was a good meeting spot, given that no one aside from dragons lived here anymore.

 She handed him a small vial.

 “Reasons,” Hiccup said, darkly. “Thank you. Give Dagur and Mala my love.”

 Hiccup wanted to kill Spitelout. But he had not wanted to kill him with dragon fire because he knew that would trace back to him somehow, and he wouldn’t want any dragon to be blamed for any deaths. While Astrid would almost certainly kill Spitelout if asked, he wanted a method of death that was not readily apparent. No one would know. No one would be blamed.

 Atali had once told him that Razorwhip tears don’t kill immediately and it never traces back to the tears, simply making it seem like Spitelout died of something else, like a heart attack.

 It’d be easy to get rid of Spitelout.

 He heard Viggo’s voice in his head, “Hiccup, you're more ruthless than you realize.”

 He figured that this was the kind of thing Viggo meant.

 And Spitelout was someone who repeatedly abused Snotlout, one of his Riders. For years. And Hiccup was frankly tired of knowing that it happened and not being able to do something substantial to stop it. So, he had to die.

 Yes, perhaps the man had been helpful with studying the Singetails and even the battle at Berserker Island, but that did not cancel out the bad. He remembered how frightened and upset Snotlout had been when they were late for the cancelled Hofferson-Jorgenson wedding. How a mere conversation Snotlout had with his father at Storehouse Island, had wrecked him and made him feel useless, caused him to act in ways that could have killed him. The way Spitelout made his son feel was reprehensible.

 And he certainly remembered some of Spitelout’s recent behavior towards Snotlout (and to some degree, the gang) and how it made Snotlout feel.

 After their return to Berk, the gang was open about the relationship that they had begun on Dragon’s Edge, intent on continuing it on Berk. As such they did engage in some public displays of affection with each other (nothing more than hugs and kisses, as appropriate for public), and normally, most people kept their comments to their themselves about this.

 Most people.

 But not Spitelout.

 Spitelout had seen Snotlout give kisses to everyone in the gang on a lovely day while they were in the Great Hall, and had to say something. Loudly. Had to declare his displeasure that his son was kissing the young men that were his partners. Even declare it indecent, unnatural.

 The way that man put his hand on Snotlout’s shoulder had been much too rough.

 And just like that Storehouse Island incident, it was apparent how much this incident upset Snotlout. In the days afterwards, the public displays of affection with Snotlout had dwindled down to just Ruffnut and Astrid. Snotlout had rebuffed attempts at chaste kisses from Hiccup, Fishlegs, and Tuffnut. He even visibly seemed uncomfortable with the affection the other three men expressed in public with each other, when usually quite happy to watch.

 Soon afterwards, the six sat down to privately talk about it, and Snotlout had cried.

 Snotlout did not deserve to feel that way because of his father. Hiccup knew this already. But he came out of that talk knowing that Spitelout deserved to die. He was not letting Spitelout get in the way of Snotlout’s happiness.

      “How’s Smidvarg and the Gang?” Tuffnut asked, when Hiccup and Toothless landed. “Hey, T,” Tuffnut added. He gave Toothless a pat on the head, who purred happily at the affection.

 When Hiccup dismounted Toothless, Tuffnut kissed Hiccup softly on the lips. Hiccup kissed him back, happily.

 Hiccup had told the gang he’d be heading to the Edge just to visit with the Night Terrors, which yes, was partially true. Nothing about getting poison dragon tears from Heather, which was hiddenly safely in his saddlebag.

 “Oh, they’re doing wonderfully. They were happy to see me. Smidvarg yelled in my ear,” Hiccup said. He then stuck his finger in his ear briefly.

 “Well, we’re glad you’re back, we missed you,” Tuffnut said. He patted Hiccup’s butt. “Now, go on. Go kiss the rest of your partners.”

 “Sounds good to me!” Hiccup said.

 Hiccup absolutely did that.

      Hiccup did not use the vial right away. He felt if he did it right away, it would be suspect because he had been gone for a few days.

 But every time Spitelout so much as touched Snotlout even slightly roughly or even looked at him in a way Hiccup didn’t like, his fingers itched. He had spent too long watching that man abuse his son.  

 Within a fortnight, he decided… it was time for Spitelout to die.

 He had a plan that had already been put into motion.

 While he usually had dinner with the gang in the Great Hall (they got used to eating meals together, having lived together on the Edge), his plan was to have a drink and a meal with Spitelout. Maybe in the Great Hall, maybe alone. The setting was to be decided.

 Though he realized, that yes, this might be suspicious because he had an established routine of having dinner with his partners. However, perhaps one could assume that given that it was obvious he had plans to marry the other Riders someday, he was making sure the Riders’ parents were aware of his intentions. That was the pretense for this meal with Spitelout. To inform him that he planned on marrying his son. He planned on speaking with Snotlout’s mother at a much later date after Spitelout’s death in which he would inform her that he planned on marrying her son. He had considered speaking with her before Spitelout, but figured Spitelout would take offense that he had not been consulted first as the man or some other misogynistic nonsense.

 He made sure that he was seen having a meal with at least one parent of the rest of the Riders prior to this meeting with Spitelout.

 He had a meal with Fishlegs’ mother in the Great Hall, shortly after his return, making his intentions known to her that he planned to marry her son and that he loved Fishlegs quite dearly and ardently. She cried, he cried, they both cried. Fishlegs cried from afar. They made quite the fuss in the Great Hall. He was quite fond of Mrs. Ingerman. She was a lovely woman, mother, and grandmother. And he loved her crab cake recipe.

      He had heard rumors that members of the Jorgensons were going to be bludgeoning their own heads for funsies (not his word, Tuffnut’s) later that day, so… hmm. Spitelout could go bludgeon his own head and then… fall asleep and never wake up. They could just blame it on the head trauma.

 So.

      He found Spitelout in the village about midday and approached.

 “Spitelout,” Hiccup said. “I’d like you to have dinner with me in my house.”

 “Boyo!” Spitelout exclaimed. “Will your father be there?”

 “No, he’ll be having dinner in the Great Hall,” Hiccup said.

 “What’s the occasion, boyo?” Spitelout asked.

 “Just have dinner with me, please. I’d like to talk about your wonderful son with you,” Hiccup said.

 Spitelout let out a noise that sounded like a scoff when Hiccup described Snotlout as “wonderful” and Hiccup took a deep breath, not wanting to immediately strike him down, or say “Toothless, plasma blast!” without thinking about it.

 “Alright, boyo, I’ll see you in a few hours,” Spitelout said.

 “A few hours,” Hiccup repeated.

      Yak stew, bread, mead for Spitelout, and water for Hiccup. The food was all set out and ready when Spitelout arrived, Hiccup’s water was already waiting. Hiccup asked Spitelout whether he would prefer water or mead, and when he got Spitelout’s choice, Hiccup poured the mead and after that, poured the vial’s contents into the cup, all while Spitelout was sitting with his back to their kitchen. He was patting Toothless. A good distraction from a good bud.

 He handed Spitelout the cup.

 “Aye, boyo, what’s this about?” Spitelout asked as he tore into his bread.

 Hiccup took a deep breath. This speech was essentially similar for all the parents he planned to speak with but tailored to each Rider.

 “Well, Spitelout, as you know, Snotlout has been a valuable member of my team for many years. My team would not be the same without him. He is protective and loyal and has grown into a sensitive, caring man. And over the course of those years, my affection for him has grown exponentially. I love him, ardently and plan to someday make him my spouse along with the rest of my team, and while I am not speaking on behalf of the other four Riders, but I know they plan the same. And I wanted you aware of my intentions for your son,” Hiccup told him. There was one bit unsaid: “Whether you approve or not.”

 Hiccup ate a spoonful of stew and waited.

 “Hard to believe my son found someone to love him. Much less five,” Spitelout said, and he took a sip of his mead.

 Hiccup took a deep breath. At least Spitelout would be dead soon. But… hearing someone say that, of their own son… that hurt Hiccup deeply. It felt like a gut punch. And he had been punched in the gut before.

 He chose to eat his stew in silence. He heard Toothless make a soft noise… that was a growl, yep.

 “Disappointing he ended up into being buggered, though,” Spitelout said. “And that the future chief, by wanting to marry three men, is as well.”

 Oh, Toothless’ growl was a little louder this time.

 Hiccup took a deep breath.

 “I’m sorry that you find love disappointing,” Hiccup said, evenly. He ate some more stew and some bread as well.

 Spitelout drank some more mead.

 “I suppose you’re the reason why my son is in this phase of being interested in men and women, at the same time. Cheating on all his partners, who are all cheating on him,” Spitelout said.

 Toothless growled again.

 Hiccup took a deep breath.

 “You misunderstand what polyamory is. We all love each other; we all know about each other’s individual partnerships. Snotlout is not cheating on anybody, nor is anybody in the Riders. And being attracted to multiple genders is not a phase and I didn’t cause that. It was a facet of himself that he figured out,” Hiccup said.

 Spitelout scowled, then shrugged, and continued to eat and drink, as did Hiccup.

 Hiccup knew this conversation would not go well, and had not expected it to.

 But it was a way to get Spitelout alone, so he would end up drinking poison. And Spitelout had, so at least that part of the plan had gone well.

“So, if I were to go out and fuck some woman that isn’t my wife, would that be okay?” Spitelout asked, after a few long moments of silence.

 “No!” Hiccup said, aghast. “Not if you didn’t talk to your wife about that beforehand! Don’t cheat on your wife!”

 He couldn’t believe he had to tell this man to not cheat on his wife.

 Luckily, Spitelout had finished his stew as well as his bread. Hiccup watched Spitelout as he drank the last of the mug’s contents. Good.

 Spitelout stood up, as if to leave.

 “I’ll be going then, thanks for the meal, boyo,” Spitelout said.

 “Well, I’m happy this went terribly,” Hiccup said.

 Hiccup watched Spitelout walk out of his house and shut the door behind him.

 One of Hiccup’s first actions after he and Toothless were alone was to grab the vial and the mug, and put the vial inside the mug. And he put the mug near the hearth.

 “You know what to do, bud,” Hiccup said.

 Toothless fire a small plasma blast that destroyed both the mug and the vial. No evidence.

 They had plenty of mugs in their house.

 “Good job, bud,” Hiccup said. He patted Toothless’s head. “Let’s go meet with the gang, eh? I want some kisses.”

 Toothless licked Hiccup’s nose.

 Well.

 It was clear that was his target was his nose but he licked Hiccup’s general face area.

 “Yes, thank you for that,” Hiccup said, flatly. “I’m sure that will make me very attractive to them.”

      The next morning, Hiccup woke up to Tuffnut snuggled next to him, Tuffnut’s hand on his bare chest. Toothless was on his rock bed.

 He heard his dad talking to Gobber. Hmm. His dads. That made him smile. He loved his dads. He loved Toothless. He loved Tuffnut.

 “In his sleep?” he heard Stoick say.

 “Seems like it,” Gobber replied.

 Despite being curious to know what they were talking about (though he had a very good idea what it was), he did not move from his spot, as it would mean waking up Tuffnut.

 “Is Snotlout here?” he heard Gobber ask.

 “I don’t think so? I know Tuffnut went upstairs with Hiccup last night,” Stoick responded.

 At that precise moment, Tuffnut said softly, “I heard my name so I’m awake.”

 Hiccup looked over at him.

 “My dads are talking,” Hiccup whispered. He then pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Tuff’s lips.

 “So, you’re eavesdropping,” Tuffnut whispered.

 “No, just curious,” Hiccup whispered.

 “Still eavesdropping,” Tuffnut whispered.

 Hiccup ignored this. Even if it was true. “Where’s my leg?” he asked.

 Toothless chose that moment to place Hiccup’s prosthetic on Hiccup’s chest.

 “Thanks, bud,” Hiccup said, as he quickly put his prosthetic on and got out of bed, patting Tuffnut’s hip. “Get dressed, Tuff.”

 Hiccup handed Tuff’s pants to Tuff.

 Hiccup made a show of putting his shirt on and yawning at the top of his stairs.

 “What’re you talking about, dads?” Hiccup asked, sleepily. He walked down the stairs. Toothless was definitely following not far behind him.

 “Who’s still upstairs?” Stoick asked.

 “Me!” Tuffnut exclaimed. He jumped down from the loft, not using the stairs, letting out only a grunt.

 “Tuffnut was the only one with me last night once I came back to the house,” Hiccup said. “I assume Snotlout, since I heard you mention him, either went to his parents’ house or went to one of the Riders’ homes.”

 Snotlout had gotten in the habit of mostly staying with the gang since their return from the Edge. For obvious reasons.

 “Well, Spitelout died in his sleep last night, and obviously, his son needs to be informed,” Stoick said.

 Hiccup nodded seriously.

 Obviously, he knew that there would be fallout after Spitelout died, and therefore planned for it. He, of course, would be there to comfort Snotlout, with the rest of his and Snotlout’s partners.

 “Whoa, Spitelout kicked the bucket?” Tuffnut said.

 “Would you like me to collect Snotlout so you can give the news?” Hiccup asked his father.

 “Yes, of course,” Stoick told him.

 Hiccup grabbed Tuffnut’s hand, and said, “Come on.”

      As Ruffnut and Astrid were standing at the steps of the Great Hall clearly waiting for them, that answered Hiccup’s question that Snotlout probably stayed with Fishlegs overnight. The ladies were holding hands.

 “There’s a rumor going around that Spitelout died overnight?” Astrid asked. She let out a yawn before she said this.

 “It’s true,” Hiccup said. “My dad wants me to get Snotlout so he can give him the news, given that Snotlout wasn’t at the Jorgenson’s. I assume he’s with Fishlegs?”

 “Yeah, they left before we did,” Ruffnut said.

 “Let’s go get ‘em and bring ‘em to my house so Stoick can give him the news privately,” Hiccup said. “And he has our support and comfort.”

 They had all done such a beautiful job when his own father had been unwell after the ambush by the Flyers. They were so comforting, and they stayed by his side. He would never forget their loyalty.

 And he intended to reciprocate that loyalty to Snotlout. This was about his love for Snotlout. Not about Spitelout.

 He did not feel guilt for Spitelout’s death. The man deserved to die for abusing Snotlout.

      The four of them went to Fishlegs’ home, retrieved Snotlout and Fishlegs, and headed back to Hiccup’s house. Hiccup held Snotlout’s hand the entire way back.

 When they returned to Hiccup’s house, everyone sat near Snotlout, five different hands held onto his two.

 Snotlout sat in between Fishlegs and Hiccup. Stoick and Gobber sat across from them.

 “What’s going on?” Snotlout asked. “Why are we meeting with the Chief and Gobber? It’s a little early in the day to be having ‘I want to marry your kid’ dinners. And I figured we would all tell Hiccup’s dads one at a time.”

 Stoick cleared his throat.

 “That’s not why we’ve asked you here, Snotlout,” Stoick said, breezing past Snotlout’s comments. It was not appropriate to talk about at the moment. On another day.

 With Snotlout’s hands both occupied, Stoick reached out and touched Snotlout’s arm about midway to his elbow.

 “It is my sad duty to inform you, Snotlout Jorgenson, that your father, Spitelout Jorgenson, died overnight in his sleep,” Stoick said.

 Snotlout gasped.

 “W-what?” Snotlout asked. “He’s only forty-six. How could he die?”

 Stoick sighed gently.

 “Lad, we know that he bludgeoned his own head for fun yesterday evening. It’s possible that accidentally killed him,” Stoick said. “I’m so sorry. He was a great warrior.”

 Hiccup could agree with that. Spitelout was a great warrior.

 At least Stoick didn’t say some nonsense about how Spitelout was a great person or a great father. That would be lies. Spitelout was neither of those things. An abuser is not a great person or a great father.

 “Oh, Snotlout, I’m so sorry,” Fishlegs said softly.

 “We’re here for you,” Hiccup whispered. Hiccup squeezed Snotlout’s hand.

 Astrid and the twins, who were seated on the floor, echoed those sentiments, also squeezing his hands.

 Snotlout sniffled. He then sighed and chuckled awkwardly.

 “He would have disapproved of me crying,” Snotlout said. “Would have called it weak. But it’s all I want to do.”

 “You’re allowed to cry, Snotlout,” Astrid said, softly.

 They had allowed him to cry freely many times including that private meeting that lead to this moment. It was not necessary for Hiccup or any of the other Riders to second Astrid’s sentiments.

 “Aye, let it out, lad,” Stoick said. “Crying is not weak.”

 Snotlout nodded tearfully.

 And from there, the tears fell.

 And perhaps, Spitelout may have disapproved of Snotlout crying, but the people sitting with him, certainly did not, even if all they could say of the deceased was that he was a great warrior.

 Snotlout had once said he did not have a heart, because he was not a girl, but that was almost certainly toxic nonsense Spitelout had taught him. Snotlout did have a heart; it had allowed him to love a dragon and bond with him deeply and profoundly and had allowed him to fall in love with five of his closest friends.

 They sat with him, their hands on him, a constant reminder that they were here with him and not planning on leaving him alone.

 When Snotlout had finished crying, he asked, “Where’s my mother?”

 “With members of the Jorgensons,” Gobber said.

 Snotlout nodded.

 “I should probably go be with my mom,” Snotlout said. He sniffled.

 “We’ll go with you,” Hiccup said, quickly.

 Hiccup squeezed Snotlout’s hand.

 “We’re your family,” Fishlegs added.

 Hiccup, Astrid, and the twins indicated their agreement on this point.

 “Aye, if the Jorgensons need anything, do not hesitate to ask,” Stoick spoke up.

 Snotlout nodded, sniffling.

 So, the gang stayed with Snotlout during that day at the Jorgenson house. Fishlegs cooked in the kitchen so that Snotlout’s mother could sit with her son while various Jorgensons talked about Spitelout. The gang stayed close to Snotlout and his mother. Stoick even came by as part of his chiefly duties. Hiccup, realizing, that this was part of the duties that would one day (hopefully, a long time away) be his, paid attention to the way his father handled those duties.

 Hiccup resisted the urge to go into the room where the family had placed Spitelout’s corpse and go say something to the man’s corpse.

 But then Stoick called Hiccup’s name and gestured for him to come over to him. Hiccup took a deep breath.

 “Stay with Snotlout,” he told the gang, as he got up.

 “Yes?” Hiccup said, softly, upon reaching his father.

 “One of the duties as Chief includes visiting with the deceased member of the tribe,” Stoick said, as the two walked towards a room.

 “Oh,” Hiccup said.

 Well. Hiccup supposed making sure Spitelout was actually dead would be a good idea.

 They soon stood in front of Spitelout’s corpse. The poison tears did their work. It was not apparent how the man died. Maybe his heart gave out, maybe blunt force trauma. His body was still. A relief. He would never again lay a hand on Snotlout or say something ugly to him.

 His father said some funeral-type words to the body. Hiccup didn’t quite pay attention to the words. He knew the funerary prayers of his tribe by heart. It was probably one of them.

 “Would you like to say something to Spitelout?” Stoick asked him, softly.

 “Uh,” Hiccup said. He took a deep breath.

 “Your son is safe with me,” Hiccup said. In his head, he was thinking, “And safe from you. You can’t hurt Snotlout anymore.”

 And when Hiccup stood by Berk’s shores as they watched Spitelout’s funeral ship burn him to ashes, he thought the same thing.

[blackjack-15]

Whale Be Clamming for Clues — Thoughts on: Danger on Deception Island (DDI)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: DDI.

The Intro:

First off, let me apologize for the title of this meta. Much like Bess, I couldn’t resist the pun.

Second off, let me just say that DDI is a game that deserves its status as an Iconic Nancy Drew game. If you don’t have access to MHM, TRT, or SSH, DDI is probably the next best place to start the series (while CAR is a great game and should definitely be played, it’s less good as an introduction to the series).

DDI’s got Bess and George, the Hardy Boys, quirky phone characters, incredible atmosphere, fun puzzles, a few suspects, and herrings (red or otherwise) galore. DDI looked at every Nancy Drew game at that point and decided to play the formula straight while doing it nigh-perfectly, and it’s a joy to play.

Its soundtrack should also be of special note; it’s immediately identifiable as being from the Pacific Northwest (the land where HER hails from) and it helps build the incredible atmosphere while still feeling a bit friendly and welcoming as only sea shanty-inspired music can. Special props should go to the music that plays when Nancy encounters Hilda for being particularly touching.

The only real place that DDI falls off a bit is with a couple of its characters — most specifically Katie and Andy. Sure, those are the two you’re supposed to suspect the most, and so they’re a little less fleshed out so HER didn’t give anything away, but there’s not really much to like about either one of them. Holt and Jenna are less divisive and can be a breath of fresh air when the player has dealt too long with the Twin Whale Watching Terrors, but there’s not too much to like there either other than being better than the other two.

It’s one thing to have a cast that is made up of suspicious or even brusque suspects, but it’s quite another to have a cast made up of mostly unpleasant people who hate the others. Normally there’s at least one character that Nancy can touch base with, but outside of her phone contacts, there’s no safe haven in Snake Horse Harbor.

There is one person who does make the game friendly, mysterious, and a little bit wistful, but we’ll talk about her more in the Suspect section.

Ultimately, Danger on Deception Island is really a game to more be experienced than it is to be spoken about (Hilda notwithstanding, who is excellent to talk about) as its simplicity and logic is undermined by the lack of need to explain it. For a game with superlative atmosphere, beautiful music, appropriate and good puzzles, and possibly the best one-off phone contact of all time, DDI is an appropriate, if not flawless, ninth entry into the Nancy Drew games series and a game that demands to be played on those misty, foggy, slightly mysterious days.

The Title:

Let’s be real here, “Danger on Deception Island” is a fantastic title. It’s moody, sounds exciting, definitely establishes a sense of mystery, gives us our location, and is vague enough to be enticing to the imagination while not so vague as to frustrate the player.

It’s also pretty literal; there is danger, and the island is called Deception Island (though, knowing that’s a bit of a hokey name, they do refer to Nancy’s location mostly as “Snake Horse Harbor”, after the Nessie knock-off that’s said to haunt the waters near the harbor). It’s kind of a classic pulp-type title for a mystery, and it fits the sense of heavy atmosphere and nasty suspects that DDI features.

           It’s effective enough that there’s not much more to say here, so let’s move on to the reason behind the Danger on Deception island.

The Mystery:

           While Nancy’s called out to go on a whale watching tour with Katie, a friend of George’s (though how she and George are friends, we have no idea), she encounters a case of sabotage almost immediately, and gets to work ferreting out justice — though she does get a tour with Andy, Katie’s rival.

           Nancy is then set to explore Snake Horse Harbor on bike (helmet on, please, as they somehow magically deter crashes) and meet the locals, dig for clams, discover the difference between male and female crabs (the difference being about 150$ and a jail sentence), explore an old lighthouse, talk with a librarian about hard wood, and enjoy a great soundtrack perfectly encapsulating the Pacific Northwest.

The Suspects:

Katie Firestone is George’s friend and the first person Nancy meets upon her arrival to Deception Island. She’s also the victim of some sabotage and threatening notes, as Nancy discovers when she arrives, per her unpopular stance to take the orphaned orca and bring it to an aquarium where it can be cured of the illness that Katie theorizes that it has and can be studied further.

Per her job as a marine biologist, Katie is the only one with a permit that allows her to get up close and personal with the orphaned orca for whale watching tours, which makes her (very understandably) unpopular among the residents of Snake Horse Harbor. She’s also not the friendliest of people, which leads her to be even more unpopular.

As a suspect, Katie is sort of a mixed bag. The game plays her up just enough to keep her a suspect without playing her up so much that it’s obvious that she’s not. She never acts as Nancy’s “detective buddy”, but isn’t opposed to helping her – or keeping her busy. All in all, Katie has both the makings of the obvious victim and possibly as a clever suspect using their unpopularity to throw people off the scent.

DDI also throws in the fun little twist of pretending to reveal Katie as the villain before Nancy spins the chair around to reveal that she’s been tied up and duct taped by the real villain. It’s a pretty good “gotcha” moment and definitely fooled me the first time I played it (though I was quite young at the time, it should be noted).

Jenna Deblin is the owner of the Hot Kettle Café where economics don’t matter and Nancy can eat as many bowls of clam chowder as she wants for free. Friendly, chatty, and a bit of a gossip, Jenna fills Nancy in on the happenings in town — and on how much she dislikes Katie. A staunch conservationist, Jenna believes that the orca should be returned to its pod as soon as possible, and heavily disagrees with Katie’s aquarium plan.

She’s the kindest out of all of Nancy’s suspects and is cleared the earliest when her Café gets robbed and she and Nancy discover the tunnels under the Café used for shanghaiing sailors in the past. Jenna also would bring Hilda groceries when everyone else avoided or distrusted her, putting her firmly in the “good” category of suspects.

As a suspect, Jenna’s made to be the one that Nancy (and the player) can feel the most on the level with. Even with the underground tunnels, there’s really nothing frightening about either Jenna or the Hot Kettle Café, and the puzzles and information that they supply are fun and a little whimsical. The only thing suspicious about Jenna at all is her hatred of Katie, but having dealt with Katie for a good portion of the game, the player really shouldn’t consider that unusual or grounds for sabotage.

As a side note, Jenna is the first Native American character in the HER interactive series, a fact not hidden in the game, but also outright confirmed by HER themselves. While she’ll be joined in this later by SHA’s Mary and TOT’s Debbie, it’s a good thing to, in a setting so defined by its Native population, include a character of Native origin.

Holt Scotto is the rough ‘n’ gruff mayoral candidate for the next election in Snake Horse Harbor and owner of a pointlessly suspicious bag. As a veteran fisherman, he hates that the orca is disrupting the economy (as fishing is ubiquitously the number one vocation on islands like Deception Island) and making it more difficult for fishers to work.

While he seems to be friendly with Jenna (and at least on good terms with Hilda), Holt doesn’t much care for tourists like Nancy and makes her work for each and every bit of information that he has. Holt is the second most friendly person on the island (once again, discounting phone characters) in that he really doesn’t care what Nancy does so long as she doesn’t disturb Deception Island’s ecosystem and fills out the little survey he gives her.

Holt is a caricature in nearly every way that HER could make a caricature, but he’s still enjoyable and gives a few fun puzzles. He’s mostly there to round out the cast, but his voice acting is decent and his visual character design is absolutely spot on.

Andy Jason (whose voice is none other than now-regular HER voice actor and my personal hero Jonah Von Spreecken) is the friendly neighborhood rival whale-watching guide, but without Katie’s cozy little permit that lets her exploit the whale for money under the guise of Academia. While kind of friendly, he’s pretty ruthless in his business dealings, and owns the world’s worst plaid shirt.

As DDI’s resident villain, Andy makes the best suspect. He fails at being friendly or charming, but is barely a blip on Nancy’s radar through the first half of the game…apart from one horrible misstep on the part of HER, where his business card is found on Katie’s boat.

Because he and Katie are rivals (and because Katie’s generally hated), there’s no reason for his card to be on his boat, and it’s obvious that he’s the one who sabotaged Katie’s boat. Since Nancy Drew generally doesn’t have two main villains, the person who sabotaged her boat must be the villain, and thus Andy must be the villain.

There’s a nice little moment where Nancy sees Katie sitting in a chair, her back to Nancy, down in the Big Bad’s lair, that implies that Katie’s the one behind it. Of course, when the chair spins around, Katie’s duct taped and captive in the chair. That moment of doubt is effective, but it’s a good thing that HER resolves it within seconds, because it wouldn’t hold up any longer than that.

Andy is a little bit threatening in his last attempt to prevent Nancy from exposing him to the world — though the way Nancy takes him down is hilariously roundabout; one would think an air tank to the head via Nancy would be more effective than an air tank to the head via orca would be — but as a slightly weak character, his ending is a bit more of the same.

Hilda Swenson, like Miles in CAR, isn’t really a suspect, but does have to be included here for her sheer impact on (and subsequent elevation of) the game. An ex-movie director turned ex-mayor, Hilda’s a bit of an eccentric who lost her husband a few years ago and moved off the island, but still influences both the island and the events of the game.

Deciding that things are Not Going Well and that suspicious Things Are Happening, Hilda sets up a seek-and-find for someone smart, resourceful, tenacious, and curious — aka, Nancy — to find and contact her so that they can save the island together.

Hilda is definitely a little odd (though not really by Nancy Drew character standards), but what makes her really magical is that she really doesn’t care what others think of her and lives the way she thinks is best, cackling along as she sprinkles her good deeds along the shore.

She’s an oddity among Nancy Drew characters in that her presence is so strong without ever seeing any bit of her. She’s not out for or against Nancy, she’s just out to make sure her Harbor is saved, and her world goes on before and after Nancy. She really makes Snake Horse Harbor feel like it’s not just there for Nancy to solve a mystery in it, and that feeling is part of what makes DDI remarkable.

The Favorite:

Even with the Hardy Boys present and attentive, the best character of this game is Hilda, no contest. I’ve said all I can about her, so we’ll move on…mostly.

Embarrassingly after that paragraph, my favorite moment of the game is a Hilda moment — or rather, a moment right after a Hilda moment. Hilda sends Nancy out on a kayak for her clues, speaking to her for the last time. She hangs up after wishing Nancy good luck, and for just a few beats, the moment hangs in the air. It’s misty out in the ocean and Nancy’s alone, holding the weight of saving the harbor and exposing wrongs and ensuring the right thing happens for the orphaned orca

My favorite puzzle is prolly collecting all of the things Hilda left behind and assembling them. It’s a fun little series of fetch quests, culminating in a great moment out on the water, and they’re just really enjoyable as they help build the world.

The Un-Favorite:

I’ve discussed Katie and Andy earlier, but they definitely deserve a place in this section, as their presence does drag down the game just a bit from where it could have been.

My least favorite moment in the game is probably the part where Holt catches Nancy outside the lighthouse, purely because it makes me jump every time. DDI really doesn’t have any sour note moments, so this qualifies because I give a little shrill scream whenever it happens.

My least favorite puzzle is definitely the male vs female crab dilemma. These metas have talked before about my visual processing not being the greatest, so that’s probably the reason, but even when I have a picture of both of them side-by-side, I always end up guessing wrong and getting Thrown in the Brig. It is a mark of how well-integrated the puzzles are that none of them feel really clunky or like a pain.

The Fix:

So how would I fix Danger on Deception Island?

I’d really only do it by refurbing Katie and Andy a bit so that they’re not so……well, blatantly horrible and flat people. There’s always room in detective stories for nasty characters, but not ones so flat as those two. Give them relationships with everyone in Snake Horse Harbor — Andy especially, since he’s been there longer than Katie — and you’d be well on your way towards fixing the problem.

Maybe Holt knew Andy’s dad, who was an old friend of his who disagreed on everything with him but they were drinking buddies, so he watches out for Andy. Meanwhile, Jenna doesn’t much care for Andy, but they both hate Katie, so they band together out of pure spite and teeth-clenched teamwork. But, in a twist, Andy does have a bit of sympathy for Katie as a newcomer because years ago his dad had an apprentice of sorts who came to the island but was bullied into leaving.

Maybe Katie, meanwhile, disagrees heavily with Jenna but is so addicted to her chowder that she goes when Jenna has someone else (her Aunt Iris, perhaps?) covering the shop, only to develop a crush on the temp, so she subtly sabotages Jenna so that she has to leave the Café more and more often, which makes Jenna angrier. Let’s say Holt doesn’t mind Katie being a newcomer, but hates the temp Jenna gets to cover the Café, and knows Katie’s behind it but can’t prove it. Maybe even make it so Katie does feel guilty about using her permit to make money off the orca…but not guilty enough to stop doing it.

Just those simple tweaks going on in the background, referenced a few times, give the characters even more of a sense of existing out of just the game and helps balance them out against characters like Hilda who are more developed with severely less screen time.

Relationships are the quickest way to build characters, and while DDI has an incredible amount of atmosphere, fleshing out its two most suspicious characters would go a long way to perfecting this already awesome game.