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440mxs-wife · 3 years

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Merry Ketchmas

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x reader. Other characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 5600-ish (I seem incapable of writing anything short)

Warnings: Slight description of injuries, a kitchen mishap, a little angst but mostly fluff

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It was mid-morning, and you were partway through your to-do list for the day. You took a basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room then loaded them into the machine to be washed. You added soap and set the dial for the correct cycle, humming as you left the room.

You had returned to the library and were about to resume reading when the bunker doors flew open. Sam and Dean were trying to maneuver down the spiral staircase, carrying someone in between them.

"Sweetheart?? A little help please?" Dean called.

You ran to the bottom of the stairs to see who was wounded and the extent of the injuries. Your heart flew into your throat as you recognized the man being carried down the stairs. It's Ketch. He's been hurt. Your mind went into overdrive with worry as the trio reached the bottom stair. "What happened?" you asked.

"Werewolf's claws got Ketch in the left leg, and we think he also might have sprained his right ankle," Sam informed you.

"I certainly hope you lads have stocked up on the good anesthetic this time. Not that cheap swill you usually drink," a distinctly British-accented voice drawled.

"All right, I'll meet you guys in the infirmary," you called over your shoulder. You raced ahead of the boys to get everything ready.

"Oh, good, a pretty nurse is here to doctor me back to health. Or, is it a pretty doctor is here to nurse me back to health? Hmm? Lads?" Ketch asked as he began to chuckle.

"Yeah, yeah, pretty nurse, pretty doctor," Dean muttered. "Let's just get you to the infirmary in one piece," he grumbled. Dean was thankful that you were out of earshot before Ketch made his 'nurse/doctor' comments.

By the time the boys arrived in the infirmary, you had the medical supplies set up, such as suture kits and bandages. You also had a washcloth with a basin of warm water on standby.

When they entered the infirmary, you took a quick glance at what you could see of Ketch's injuries. Although he was wearing black pants, you could see the sheen of fresh blood splotches on them. A makeshift bandage was tied around his leg to try and reduce the blood loss.

"All right, fellas, let's get him up on this bed so I can get to work," you directed.

"Darling, shouldn't you allow me to take you out for dinner and dancing first before you get me into bed?" Ketch smirked.

You rolled your eyes at his remark, but your lips were twitching, trying to hold back a grin. You grabbed the scissors to cut his pants leg away so you could see what his wound looked like. You cleared your throat and stared straight into his ocean-blue eyes before speaking.

"Now, be still Arthur, and don't move. If you don't do as I say, I might 'accidentally' slip with these scissors and rid you of something you'd rather keep," you warned. Your voice sounded so ominous that even Sam and Dean backed away from you. "Will you two please hold him so I can cut this away and see what I'm dealing with?" you asked.

From that point on, Ketch mostly behaved himself for the rest of the time it took you to clean his wounds and stitch him up. He was quiet, except for the occasional hiss of pain, at which you mumbled your apologies. Ketch assured you he knew you were doing your best to tend to his medical needs.

You saw that his right ankle was a bit swollen, but determined that it was only lightly sprained. As a precaution, you wrapped it in a flexible bandage, then propped it up on a few pillows to keep it elevated.

As you finished, his adrenaline seemed to have worn off, because he was starting to fall asleep. He was also grumbling about being in pain, so you gave him one of the pain pills from the cabinet. Ketch popped it in his mouth and washed it down with the bottle of water you gave him. You gestured for Sam to hand you one of the extra blankets laying on the other bed. You then draped it over Ketch to keep him warm and from possibly going into shock.

Before you could completely escape, Ketch sat up a bit and caught your hand in his. "Goodnight, Love. See you in the morning," he replied with a drowsy smile, then collapsed back on to the pillow, fast asleep.

You grinned back at the handsome--now snoring--Brit and turned to lean over him. You placed a feather-light kiss to his forehead and directed your attention to Sam and Dean. They both eyed you with quizzical looks on their faces. "What? Oh, shut up," you muttered.

Dean chuckled. "We didn't say anything, did we Sam?" he asked, to which Sam shook his head in amusement.

"Let's just go see about you two idjits, hmm?" you grumbled.

Fortunately, Sam's and Dean's injuries consisted of cuts and scrapes, nothing major or requiring stitches. While they showered and changed clothes, you got to work preparing a pot of chili for dinner. As you put together the components for the chili, you thought about the man currently recovering in your infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You first met Arthur Ketch after he rescued Gabriel from Asmodeus, and had brought the archangel to the bunker. At the time, Ketch was working for the Prince of Hell as a means of survival after the final battle with the British Men of Letters. When Ketch saw what was happening to Gabriel, he felt it was worth the risk to his own safety to rescue the archangel. Although Ketch wasn't fully trusted by Sam and Dean, he was at least no longer considered an enemy. You, however, had always found him somewhat fascinating.

Arthur Ketch....certainly a handsome devil, with his dark brown, almost black hair and captivating, aqua-colored eyes. His suave and confident demeanor, not to mention that sexy accent drew women in like a magnet. You were no exception, but considering the type of women he was used to being with, you knew you didn't stand a chance. So, you settled for working with him on a few cases here and there. And you tried like hell to keep in mind that his attempts at flirting with you didn't mean a damn thing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were so wrapped up in your own thoughts that you didn't even hear Dean come into the kitchen. He placed his hand on your shoulder, which caused you to jump a little, but you quickly recovered. "For cryin' out loud, Dean, warn a girl next time. Scared me half to death," you chided, putting your hand on your heart.

Dean chuckled a little, but apologized for scaring you. "Hey, you okay?" he asked. "You seem a bit distracted right now. Doesn't have anything to do with you having a crush on a certain British patient in the infirmary right now, does it?" he wondered with a smirk.

"I'm fine, Dean. And no, I'm not distra--wait, what are you talking about?!?" you exclaimed.

"I'm talking about your crush on Ketch. It's not like it's the first time I noticed something there, either. Remember that one time you were paired up on that siren hunt, where you were a singer in a nightclub?" he asked. "I could tell that Ketch was definitely 'intrigued' as he would say," Dean remarked.

Sam appeared in the doorway, and had heard what his brother said to you about Ketch. "Yeah, I remember that case. He seemed like he was interested in you, told me that you had the 'voice of an angel'. AND said he was a bit jealous of the guys in the audience you paid attention to during your performances," Sam added.

You continued to stir the chili, not exactly sure what to say to Sam's and Dean's remarks. You remembered the hunt they were talking about. At one point, you thought there might have been something between you and Ketch. Then as soon as it was there, it also seemed to quickly disappear, as did the man himself. Today was the first time in months that you had seen or even heard anything from Arthur Ketch.

"Guys, I hear what you're saying, but I don't think he has any 'feelings' like that for me. Anyway, he's used to being with a higher caliber of female companion. You know, more worldly and refined. I'm just....me," you finished softly.

"Sweetheart, you know--" Dean started but you interrupted.

"No, Dean. I'd really rather not talk about it anymore, so change of subject. Christmas is coming up, and I want to know, what kinds of special foods do you guys want me to make?" you asked, then held up your hand. "Before you say it, Dean, I already know you want pie. I'm asking for other ideas, because I'm starting a supply list," you said.

The boys each thought about it while you continued to work on making dinner. In the end, Sam requested chicken wings and oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. In addition to pie, Dean requested meatballs with barbecue sauce and chili-cheese dip.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You wondered if you should ask Ketch about his food preferences, but you didn't want to wake him. With any luck, he was still getting that much-needed rest from his werewolf encounter. With his injuries, there was no way he was going anywhere until well after Christmas, possibly even New Years.

After some research, you found that there were some subtle differences in American vs. British traditions at Christmas. To pull this off, you would be needing supplies not only from the supermarket, but also from a craft store. You made note of these items as you worked.

Making this happen for Ketch had grown to become very important for you. Chances were, it had been a long time since he'd celebrated Christmas properly, if at all. You were determined to show him that he has a family of sorts with you and the Winchesters.

For your grocery list, you wrote down what you would need based on what Sam and Dean had told you earlier in the day. You added a few things for yourself, like for making cinnamon rolls and a breakfast quiche. Your list also included a small turkey, parsnips, Brussels sprouts and tea as items for a British Christmas meal.

In addition to the food, you needed supplies from a crafts store to make Christmas crackers. You'd seen them enough on those British rom-com TV shows and movies you love to watch. You were familiar with the concept of a paper tube covered in foil and twisted at both ends. Two people each take an end, then you both pull until it pops open. What comes out from the inside the tube is usually a small trinket and a paper crown.

After dinner, you stopped by Dean's room and gave him your list. Although he grumbled a little, he agreed to find a craft store that would have what you need. You gave him a hug and thanked him for seeing how important this was to you. He teased you a little more about your crush then got serious for a moment.

"Hey? For what it's worth? I think you are just as beautiful and worthy of Ketch's attention as any of those other type of women you talked about. You're smart, funny, caring and do an amazing job of running this place.

"You have one of the biggest hearts out of anyone I know, because you're always thinking of others first. All of that is part of what makes you beautiful, and if Ketch can't see that, he's not worth your time," Dean finished. He pulled you back for one last hug and kissed the top of your head.

"Thanks, Dean. For everything, running my errands and for everything you said. Goodnight," you replied.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he returned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After leaving Dean's door, you went back to your room to change into some pajamas. Your plan for the evening was to check on Ketch, then hang around for a while in case he woke up. You grabbed your book from your nightstand and headed for the infirmary.

You walked over to Ketch's bedside and could see that he hadn't moved much since you put in his stitches. You touched your wrist to his forehead to feel if he had a fever, which could indicate an infection, but his temp felt normal.

Your hand caressed his face as it slid down from his forehead, with your thumb gently stroking his cheek. He seemed to lean into your touch and a noise of contentment escaped his lips. You withdrew your hand, but placed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Once you were satisfied with Ketch's condition, you pulled a chair up close to the right side of his bed and sat so you were facing him. You opened your book to read, but it wasn't long before your eyelids began to droop closed from exhaustion.

Your grip on your book eventually relaxed enough to let it slip off your lap and onto the floor. Eyes still closed, you turned in your chair so that you could lean over and place your crossed elbows on the side of Ketch's bed. Then you rested your head on your left elbow and drifted back to sleep.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You woke to the feeling of someone gently running his fingers through your hair. A couple of times, you'd swear a soft pair of lips pressed themselves to your temple in a lingering kiss. You smiled then opened your eyes, gasping in surprise to find Ketch propped up on one elbow, grinning at you.

"Good morning, darling," he drawled. "I see you drew the short straw for patient watch duties," he quipped.

You giggled. "Good morning to you, Arthur. We didn't draw straws, I came down here of my own accord," you assured him. "Now that we're both conscious, what would you like for breakfast? I can make eggs, pancakes, French toast, omelets so take your pick," you remarked.

"I see this is a full-service infirmary," he chuckled. "In that case, I would love an omelet with whatever ingredients you have on hand, along with a few rashers of bacon? Perhaps a few slices of buttered toast? If I may, that is," Ketch replied.

"Absolutely, it's no problem at all. I think I have some onions, mushrooms, some diced ham and definitely cheese," you remarked, rising from your chair. "Give me a few minutes to take a shower, then I'll get all that put together for you and bring it in here," you said.

"Sounds wonderful, love. In the meantime, could you perhaps help me to the toilet facilities?" Ketch asked.

"Here, I've got it," Sam called out, much to your relief.

"Thank you, Sam," you replied. "I'll be back as soon as I can with your breakfast," you said over your shoulder as you left the infirmary.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Did she stay here all night?" Ketch asked as Sam helped him to the bathroom.

Sam shrugged. "She might have, I dunno. All I know is that after dinner, she was researching something. Next thing I knew, she had given Dean a list of stuff to get at the supermarket and a craft store today," he replied.

"A craft store?!? What on earth would she need from there?" Ketch asked incredulously.

Sam hesitated before answering. It was a perfectly normal question, but to answer it would give away your surprise of a British-style Christmas for Ketch. "She has a project she's working on, and I can't tell you any more than that right now," he answered.

Ketch eased his way back into his bed, being careful to prop up his sprained ankle. "Hmm. Certainly very mysterious, Sam. In any case, whatever it is she's working on will undoubtedly be a rousing success," he remarked.

After about 30 minutes, you reentered the infirmary, breakfast tray in hand. "Here we are, breakfast is ready!" you grinned. You waited until Ketch seemed settled and ready to be served. "We have an omelet with onions, diced ham, mushrooms and cheese, six slices of bacon and four slices of buttered toast. Let me tell you, getting six slices of bacon set aside for you with Dean around was nothing short of a miracle," you chattered.

Ketch looked at the plate of breakfast fare before him and his mouth began to water. "This looks fabulous, darling. Thank you," Ketch remarked softly.

You felt your cheeks grow warm at the compliment and the endearment. "Well," you replied shakily. "Ring when you're done or if you need anything else. I have some Christmas preparations to attend to. A surprise for you-um, I mean, ev-everyone," you stammered.

"What are you up to, my little minx?" Ketch said as he playfully narrowed his gaze.

"N-nothing, Arthur. Well, something, but you'll see when the time is right," you replied with a wink as you left the infirmary. You tried to slow your hammering heart from his flirting in the amount of time it took to walk back to the library.

While you waited for Dean to return from the errands you'd given him, you tidied up the kitchen from making breakfast. By the time you had finished the dishes, Dean had returned from the supermarket and the craft store. He assisted you with preparing the fresh turkey for roasting in the oven and helped clean and cut the vegetables.

Once dinner was in the oven, you turned your attention to making the Christmas Crackers and paper crowns. Sam popped in to check your progress, and to see if he could help you with anything. You sent him to one of the bunker's storage rooms, #12, because you had seen some Christmas decorations while snooping around one day.

What Sam had found was a tree, lights, some garland and you added your box of ornaments from your childhood. He called Dean in to the library, and the two of them got to work putting up the tree and decorating it. You continued to work on constructing the Christmas Crackers until you had a decent supply of them, all ready for popping.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You took a short break and went to your room for some packages you'd bought earlier in the week. When you returned to the library, you brought out your stocking and the ones you had purchased for each of the boys. One for Sam, one for Dean and one for Arthur, because you knew they were hunting together around the holiday. You bought Arthur a stocking in the hope that he would maybe stick around the bunker and celebrate.

After bringing out the stockings and ornaments, you went into the kitchen to check on dinner. The closer you got to the kitchen, the more something didn't smell quite right. "Oh, no no no no no," you panicked. You quickened your pace and yanked open the oven door, only to have a cloud of thick smoke come rolling out of it. “Dammit!” you shouted.

Sam must have been right behind you and reached the kitchen in time to see the cloud coming from the oven. He yelled for Dean, who gently but firmly ushered you out of the way so he could help Sam to get rid of the smoke. They brought in a couple of large industrial-sized floor fans to push the smoke from the kitchen and out the back door.

You sank into one of the chairs at the Map Table, numbly staring at the floor. Silent tears streamed steadily down your face. You couldn't understand what went wrong, how Christmas dinner was now ruined. As soon as it was safe, you were going back to the kitchen to clean up your mess and figure out what happened.

Sam and Dean walked over to you at the Map Table. Each of them laid a hand on your shoulders and knelt in front of you. You slowly lifted your head to look at them. "Are you guys okay? Anyone get burned or anything?" you asked, your voice thick with emotion.

"No, we're fine. We had to throw out dinner, pan and all. I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I know what this meant to you," Dean replied softly.

You gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's not your fault, Dean, or yours Sam. It was mine. Somewhere I made a mistake, and now dinner is ruined. I really wanted this to be a special dinner. For all of us, but especially for Arthur.

"I really wanted to give him a bit of home, observe some English traditions. I doubt he's had an opportunity to celebrate many Christmases in his current and former line of work, much like us. I guess I can't even do that right," you sniffled. "If you guys don't mind, I think I want to be alone for a while," you said as you stood up from your chair, headed for your room.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Ketch cleared his throat as a way to announce his presence. "Lads? Is everything all right? I heard shouting and smelled smoke," he asked. Ketch had found a pair of crutches and hobbled his way into the War Room.

Sam explained to Ketch what had happened, that you had researched British Christmas traditions. He said you were trying to make a traditional British Christmas dinner for all of them, but that it somehow went wrong. "She went to check on dinner, but when she opened the oven door, a bunch of smoke came rolling out. She's pretty upset about it, too. Wanted to make this special for all of us, but especially for you," Sam finished.

"So that's what the little sweetheart was working on, with the craft store list and all," he mused. Ketch felt a warmth in his heart to know that you had gone to such lengths to try and make his Christmas special. Then, he recalled everything you'd done for him since he limped in from the last hunt. You did seem to pay particularly close attention to him and his medical care after the werewolf injuries.

Before Sam mentioned it, Ketch didn't know anything about the type of research you'd done. However, he did remember that you were a bit flustered this morning when talking about your plans for the day. When you add it up, he realized that you'd done those things because you care for him. Maybe even have feelings for him, seeing him as more than a friend.

Ketch started to examine his feelings about you. He's seen how you interact with people, how you give the best of yourself to each and every person. When he limped down the bunker stairs, he noticed how scared and worried you were for him. He saw how you pushed those thoughts to the side in favor of focusing solely on the job of healing his injuries. He knows you're tough enough to run this bunker as well as you do.

But Ketch knows you also have your softer side, with your smile and your laughter, which lighten his heart. When you talk about a particular subject that interests you, your eyes seem to sparkle like the stars in the night sky. And though your hands appear to be soft and delicate, he knows from experience that they are strong and steady. Hands that he wouldn't mind if they explored his body as his hands took their time to learn yours.

"Where is she? I need to speak with her," Ketch asked.

A grinning Sam and Dean both pointed in the direction of your room. They each took a side and escorted Ketch to your bedroom door to make sure he got there safely. Once they were at your door, Sam and Dean left Ketch to speak with you alone, because they had their own mission.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You sat on the edge of your bed for what felt like hours, going over in your mind how things had gone so wrong. The Christmas Crackers had been made, and you thought maybe you should at least share that with Ketch and the boys. You decided to end the self-pity party, and salvage what was left of your attempt at a British Christmas.

As you opened your door, you gasped when you noticed Ketch, standing at your door on his crutches, hand raised as if ready to knock. "Arthur? What are you doing out of bed? Are you all right?" you asked. You took a deep breath to keep yourself from rambling any more. "Please, come in," you said as you guided him into your room and closed the door.

There wasn't anywhere available for Ketch to sit in his current condition, so you helped him to sit up on your bed. His back was against the headboard, with the pillows you put behind him. "I'm just fine, love," Ketch affirmed as he watched you climb up onto the bed, facing him. "Well, I was fine, until I heard about dinner," he replied.

You dropped your gaze to your hands in your lap. "Yeah, me too. I'm so sorry, Arthur. I really wanted to give you a traditional British Christmas. I made Christmas Crackers, which is why Dean had to go to the craft store," you chuckled lightly.

"I confess, I was a bit curious about that when Sam mentioned it," Ketch chuckled in return.

"Well, dinner was supposed to be an oven-roasted turkey with parsnips and Brussels sprouts. That went up in smoke, and I have no idea what I did wrong," you sighed. You looked away, because tears were threatening to start again.

Ketch leaned forward and reached for you to tilt your face up with his index finger. "Maybe it wasn't anything you did, sometimes these things just happen, darling. But, do you know what the upside is?" he asked, to which you shook your head. "You get a chance to make new traditions," he replied with a wink.

"Thank you, Arthur. I appreciate your understanding," you answered shyly.

"I must say, though, I'm flattered. No woman has ever gone to such lengths to capture my attention," he started. "But then again, you've always had it, along with my heart," Ketch remarked softly.

You felt your cheeks get warm again as the meaning behind his words sunk in. "Arthur, what are you saying? That you like me, as in more than a friend?" you whispered as you shifted nearer to him on the bed.

Ketch carefully moved forward, his hand sliding around to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. With your eyes trained on Ketch's face, you inched closer until your mouths were nearly touching. "So beautiful.....," he said as he smiled softly before closing the gap and capturing your lips with his own.

You sighed into the kiss, reveling in the softness of Ketch's lips as they moved in tandem with yours. His tongue swept across your bottom lip requesting entrance, which you readily granted. Your hands moved up to cradle his face, with your thumbs caressing his cheeks. A small moan escaped your lips, which encouraged Ketch to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss broke, it left both you and Ketch trying to catch your breath. "Wow," you whispered. "That was amazing, Arthur," you remarked.

"Even better than I had imagined," Ketch murmured. "Ever since that siren case, I've been thinking what a mistake it was to have left you, my darling. I hope you can forgive me for being away so long," he said.

You shook your head. "Nothing to forgive, Arthur. I understand the nature of this life. As long as you know that there's a heart, right here, waiting for you to come home to," you affirmed.

"How fortunate I am that you have entrusted me with this heart of yours," Ketch murmured. He took your hand and held it to his chest, above his heart. "Then it is only fitting that as I have your heart, so shall you have mine," he declared.

"Sounds like a perfect arrangement. And have no fear, because I will keep it safe," you promised.

You and Ketch continued to talk in your room, with your conversation occasionally punctuated by kisses and tender touches. Some kisses long and luxurious, designed to take your breath away and succeeding in their mission.

Some kisses were hot and feverish, only going so far until you reluctantly pulled back. You were mindful that Ketch was still recuperating from injuries. However, he hinted that he was looking forward to picking up where he left off after receiving an 'all-clear' on his recovery. Ketch was pleased to see the color rise in your cheeks at his suggestion.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While you and Ketch were sorting things out between you, Sam and Dean had run into town to replace the ruined turkey dinner. Fortunately, your favorite Chinese restaurant was still open, so they brought back a variety of entrées and appetizers to choose from.

You fixed a plate for Arthur, complete with a little of everything. You placed it in front of him and leaned down for a slow, tender kiss, which he was all too willing to give. This turn of events did not go unnoticed by Sam and Dean, though neither of them said anything. Dean, however, gave you a knowing wink and squeezed your shoulder as you fixed a plate for yourself.

After dinner was finished and the leftovers were put away, you suggested for you all to watch a Christmas movie. You helped Arthur to get situated in a corner of the couch, his right leg stretched out parallel to the back cushions.

Once he was comfortable, he held out his arms, inviting you to snuggle with him. You carefully positioned yourself between his legs, your back leaning against his chest. You covered your bottom halves with the quilt your mother had made for you. Ketch closed his arms around you and took both of your hands, intertwining your fingers with his. He pressed a soft kiss to your cheek, drawing a sigh of contentment from you.

For some unknown reason, Dean was allowed to pick the movie for the evening. For a moment, you thought he was going to pick Die Hard. However, he picked White Christmas, because he knew it was your favorite. From within Ketch's arms, you turned as best as you could to catch Dean's attention and sent him a silent thanks. He winked back and settled in to watch the show.

When the movie was over, Sam and Dean noticed that you and Ketch had both fallen asleep. The boys chuckled, but were happy that you'd found each other and finally confessed your feelings. "They look so cute together," Sam remarked.

"Disgustingly so," Dean agreed. He reached down and gently shook your shoulder, which was enough to wake you.

In turn, you nudged Ketch to wake him up. "Arthur?" you mumbled, still half-asleep.

"Mmm, yes darling?" he replied.

"Time to wake up, so we can go to bed," you murmured as you slowly stood. You held out your hands to assist him in getting up from the couch. Once Ketch managed to maneuver into a standing position, he wrapped his arms around you.

"Shall we, sweetheart?" Ketch asked, then he pecked your lips.

"Right this way, my love," you answered, handing him the crutches. When he had them under control, you slowly walked to your room. You nudged open the door with your foot as you guided Ketch through to the inside. "Bed's big enough for two. Unless you'd rather sleep alone in the drafty infirmary?" you questioned.

"No, no, this is fine. I know I said something about dinner and dancing before you get me into bed. But I suppose it would be all right, since we've done dinner and a movie," he quipped, a sly grin crossing his face.

You giggled, remembering his earlier attempts at flirtation while injured. "You're right, we have had dinner and a movie. Not sure you're ready for dancing quite yet, though," you replied. "Can't wait for that," you remarked huskily.

Ketch climbed back up into the bed as he had done before and waited for you to come out of the bathroom in your pajamas. You were dressed in red plaid flannel pajama pants and a rock band T-shirt. Ketch held his arm out for you to snuggle up to him, resting your head on his shoulder. Once you were settled, he curled his arm around you, holding you close to his side.

You wrapped your left arm around Ketch's midsection and tilted your head up to catch a glimpse of his ocean-blue eyes. Ketch leaned in to press his lips to your forehead, then pulled back a little to tuck a wayward lock of hair behind your ear. "What are you thinking, my love?" he asked.

"I'm thinking....we didn't get to celebrate with the Christmas Crackers I made," you pretended to pout, then broke into a shy smile. "Nah, what I'm really thinking is how happy I am to have you in my life. I love you, Arthur," you replied softly.

"Well, I was kind of anxious to see how your Christmas Crackers turned out, so I could compare them to what I remember from childhood," he remarked. His response earned him a playful swat on his chest from you, then he tightened his embrace a little. "I also am happy to have you in my life, darling. I love you too," he declared, pressing his lips to yours in a slow, sweet kiss.

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Tags: @janicho88 @yourelivingwrong @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @jensengirl83 @supernatural-jackles @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride

#arthurketch x reader #ketch x reader #ketchmas #spnimagines #spn christmas #supernatural

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ashiversary · 5 years

Text

Adaptability

Adaptability:

1. A pokemon ability that increases the power of moves of the same type as the user. Common species with this ability include porygon, basculin and eevee.

2. The ability to acclimatise efficiently and fast to changed circumstances

◊

The umbreon tent at the Opal City Eevee And Evolutions Event is a good place to be, Go thinks, even though it’s early. The darkness means it’s refreshingly cool compared to outside, the ‘dark night’ coffees sold by the door are both delicious and immensely caffeinated, and the newly-evolved Instinct umbreons are sleeping (for once) in relative silence. It’s so early, in fact, that there’s only one other guest in this row. They’re pretty short, with red hair, lots of piercings and wait a minute-

“Uh, Amelie?”

Her eye flicks briefly towards him.

“Hello, Go.”

Oh. Great. He turns to look at what she’s eyeing.

It’s a good specimen from a show perspective, Go can tell. The eyes are bright and cheri-red, the coat ink-black and glossy, and the thick gold bands from evolving under a full harvest moon have a soft but powerful glow. It’s a pretty attractive pokemon for a team who deal in stolen goods, so Go braces for a knee to the stomach and hopes someone will call for security before he hits the ground.

When a minute has passed with no attack he dares to crack an eye open to look at her.

“Picking good ones to steal later? They’re all tagged and chipped you know-”

“No.”

“Planning to steal the prize money?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you here at an eevee convention?”

She fixes him with a look and- oh.

He’s suddenly very glad Spark stayed behind. Arceus only knows the carnage that would result from him, her boss and hundreds of eevee all in the same place.

Anyway, Go, focus.

There’s no members of the public admitted right now, but there’s still a handful of breeders primping their umbreons before the gates open, and although he’s got over a foot of height on her Go doesn’t think for a minute that’ll stop him from being handed his ass if things get dicey. (Amelie did focus solely on his uninjured side when they met after the last big fight though, so that was… thoughtful? Less brutal than the majority of Rocket?)

The point is, it’s early, there’s no high-level trainers anywhere nearby and a member of Team Rocket is next to him at an Eevee Exhibition. So what should he do?

Go shrugs.

“Want to get breakfast?”

“So,” Amelie asks when they’re sat near a food stand fifteen minutes later, “Why are you here?”

He shrugs, chasing the last pieces of tamato berry around the tray.

“Some of the special entrants in the main exhibition are from Instinct Hatcheries, like that flying-type eeveelution, the dual-type vaporeon and, uh… Dumpling the shiny kit? Do you know about him?”

She nods and - wait, of course she’ll know about Dumpling, given who her boss is. Go’s certain that despite the frequent recorded visits from Mystic One on file at the kit’s hatchery, Leader Blanche themself has never actually set foot in the place.

He continues, regardless. “Because of the ties Instinct have with a lot of the organizers, we- as in, high-ranking Instinct Trainers – got special passes for the event.”

Go’s not entirely sure why he got one, really. Okay, yes, his name is down on paper as Instinct Two, but he’ll be the first to admit that compared to any of Spark’s Elite Four he’s way behind. Why is he here again?

He’s always been good at rolling with the punches, though, literal or otherwise. He’s adaptable.

(In this job, with his boss, you need to be. Otherwise you just might not survive.)

◊

The theory goes:

A standard, purebred eevee with no external influences will evolve in accordance with its environment - one who lives wild by a lake and hunts for food in the water will tend towards vaporeon, habitats of warm homes as cherished pets create sylveon, those raised on spiritual sites or alongside psychics evolve into espeon (and everyone knows not to leave kits near the psychic Gym Leader of Saffron City unless, for whatever reason, you want a rambunctious feline unable to manage its considerable newfound strength back right after).

Even amongst the same species there are further physiological variations. The rare wild leafeon studied in arctic tundra environments have stubby near-black leaves with a waxy finish, slow metabolisms, and a secondary ice-typing. Amongst professional breeders and co-ordinators different leafeon with unusual foliage, such as delicate ornamental leaves or chubby cacti greenery, are a hit. The reigning Kalos Queen making an appearance even has an exquisite rose leafeon as her signature companion - far too finicky for the average trainer, too fragile for regular battling. And yet, much like a wild eevee and its evolution, it’s perfectly adapted for its current environment.

(Go figure, Go thinks as he takes a high-speed rose to the face at the front of the crowd, Amelie looking suspiciously like she’s trying to hide a smile).

But the environment is only half the puzzle. If exposed to a standard water stone, a wild eevee will undergo rapid evolution into what most would consider a ‘classic’ vaporeon – neck frill, aqua blue colouring, finned tail - even if its habitat is a frozen plain or an electrified cave.

So, as Annie had explained to him over one of the few dinners Spark or Zapdos (is there a difference, really?) hadn’t been able to crash and burn, the leading theory is that the eevee ignores its previous adaptations and rapidly adjusts in order to cope with a sudden influx of energy the stone contains - similar to how other species can go years with no sign of pending evolution but then once exposed to the right conditions, boom, a distressed golem is now stuck in your bathroom.

“Look,” she’d said, dragging out a tablet from her purse, “The main idea is the stone itself is a strong energy source – the eevee suddenly adapts to this exposure and the energy drives the evolution to completion in seconds, but because most of these stones are similar in chemical composition the final vaporeons are also pretty identical.”

Huh, he’d thought, so that’d been why Mystic had requested a large number of eevee kits a few months before, and why so many of their high-rank trainers had similar vaporeons on their teams now. He’d assumed it was just for the team aesthetic, really, but they must have been adopted out once the research programme had wrapped up.

Annie had continued, nearly knocking over her glass as she’d gestured at the screen.

“But then we’ve got to consider that items such as Razor Fangs and Claws are similar energy sources, or possibly catalysts. We now know certain stones and trading systems count as an energy source because of the thermodynamic profiles, but how does that link to items such as Reaper Cloths? Wild dusknoir and escavalier have to come from somewhere, Go!”

It had been interesting when he’d read over it later, after walking her home – or at least, back to Mystic HQ. Aside from cases such as nidorina and nidoqueen, Instinct typically ignore the evolution status of the pokemon used for breeding to focus mostly on IVs and moves, so browsing Annie’s notes had helped show a whole new side of the story, and they’re a lot easier for a novice to read than Leader Blanche’s, that’s for sure.

There was something similar to this topic in one of his college classes actually - a certain level of energy is required to allow a reaction to occur, catalysts open up different reaction pathways with lower energy requirements, if energy isn’t available from an external source then internal energy will be used instead, and so on. Currently known sources, according to Mystic research, include electromagnetic waves during trading, certain geological features, and – if the ongoing research on eevees is any indication - evolutionary stones as well. So now Annie’s research involves looking at possible wavelengths emitted, triggering the use certain items and further analysis of evolutionary stones. (He winces on Professor Willow’s behalf. Those items aren’t cheap, after all, and Go may no longer a completely-broke student but he won’t be casually dropping ₽10,000 on a stone that will never be anything but powder for a lab experiment.)

Annie always looks so animated when she talks about her research with Mystic One. Guess it helps to have a Team Leader who you really care for.

(Then again Spark, at least, doesn’t need constant reminders to eat or sleep.)

Speaking of which…

“Uh… Leader Blanche and Annie are supposed to be here today. Could you and your boss maybe not blow up the exhibition while we’re all here? Or start a fight? Or steal anything”

Amelie doesn’t even look up from the stall she’s examining. Out of all the locations to spend the morning at, personally Go wouldn’t have picked the shopping village – it’s not even ten in the morning now and it’s already a struggle to get through the crowds. Amelie, however, is both determined and terrifying - so here they are.

“Mystic One is currently at their headquarters having overslept. Mystic Two is with them.”

Well that’s not at all creepy.

“How do you know that?” He demands.

“Carl told me.”

“Carl, as in-”

That stuck-up dick? is what Go wants to say, but his mouth finishes, “-Valor Two?”

“Yes. We’re acquainted.”

Typical. All said stuck-up dick apparently needs to drop the snobbish attitude, even for someone like Team Rocket, is a terrifying attitude and an above-average bra size.

(That’s probably unfair, he reflects. There’s one key reason why the two of them will never get along and it’s five-foot-ten, host to a lightning titan and drinks Go’s milk straight from the carton.)

“It’s in everyone’s best interest for there to be no fighting today, don’t you agree? Three of each, please.” Amelie directs the last part at the hovering sales assistant, guarding the stock with the tenacity of a stoutland and the attitude of a houndoom.

Honestly, Go thinks, simultaneously watching the assistant bag all the items and trying to read the labels upside-down at the same time as they’re packed, Carl and Amelie knowing each other well isn’t a bad thing. Especially given the animosity between her boss and Leader Candela - and their combined talents at causing significant property damage.

“Limited Edition Eevee Family… are these socks?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“You came all the way to a massive eevee exhibition… to buy yourself socks?”

He looks back at the packaging, the front home to a model in frills sporting sylveon thigh-highs and not much else.

Don’t think about her wearing them, don’t think about her wearing them-

Too late. It’s an amazing image though.

“They’re not for me. I’m here to get them for someone who couldn’t make it.” Amelie says, like she can read minds. Or maybe it was pretty obvious what he was (completely involuntarily!) thinking of.

Hang on, given that there’s one person he knows of who can make Amelie get up at the crack of dawn and wears eevee paraphernalia obsessively…

“So… your boss isn’t here today?”

There’s an unnaturally long pause.

“No,” Amelie finally says. It’s hard to tell with someone as serious as her but for a moment, Go thinks, it looks like she wants to say something more. “No, they’re not.”

“So you did come all this way just for socks?”

She shrugs.

“Lief is also thinking about breeding an eevee-cross meowth at some point, so he’s looking at possible studs as well.”

“Lief?”

“You’ve met him. Green hair, crossbred persians, kicked you in the face last month at the pier?”

Oh yeah, he remembers now. He really needs to try and run into people who are less violent, he thinks.

Amelie takes her receipt and turns to face him. “I’ll see you around, Go.”

“Uh, is it bad if I hope that’s not any time soon?”

He gets a whole smile for that.

#Pokemon Go #Ashiversary #bipercy #submission #fanfiction #Go #Amelie #eevee #eeveelution

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precuredaily · 4 years

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Precure Day 170

Episode: Yes! Precure 5 22 - “Milk Runs Away and Causes Mass Chaos!” Date watched: 7 January 2020 Original air date: 8 July 2007 Screenshots: https://imgur.com/a/Em3LtfV Transformation Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/6k6SzS0 Project info and master list of posts: http://tinyurl.com/PCDabout

and a bitch

I guess I can’t keep harping on Milk forever. She found herself alone in a hostile world not built for her, had to survive by whatever means necessary, and when she finally finds the people that it’s her responsibility to help, she can’t do anything for them. She has a superiority complex that is extremely at odds with her capacity to actually be useful, so she lashes out at others instead. Where does this get her? Let’s find out.

The Plot

Milk tries to help at Natts House as they prepare for a big sale, but only gets in the way of the others, so she tries to put herself on sale. However, Coco and Nuts explain that her plan to sell herself, sneak back, and sell herself again repeatedly is fraud and they will not allow it, so she feels sad and helpless.

this is the sad climb, use it for sad times

Meanwhile Arachnea is feeling the pressure when her quarterly bonus turns out to be zero, so she stops by Natts House just in time to see Milk run away. She follows Milk for a few blocks and then kidnaps her, and the gang follows them to an aquarium. Arachnea uses an enchanted jellyfish to hold Milk hostage and electrocute her while she turns another jellyfish into a Kowaina and demands the Dream Collet in exchange for Milk.

The girls respond that they’re getting Milk back, and she’s not getting the collet, before they transform. Arachnea points out that Milk ran away of her own volition because she thinks the girls hate her, and they respond that they don't; while sometimes you have to be stern with your friends, it’s in her best interest, and they still consider her a valuable companion. Arachnea doubles down on her threat by dangling Milk over a tank of piranhas.

as one does

The Kowaina captures the girls in its tentacles, but they manage to free Lemonade, who frees the rest of them, and they rescue Milk before destroying the monster, and Arachnea flees without either the fairy OR the Dream Collet. The girls assure Milk again that they value her and all return to the shop.

A few days later, in the aftermath of the sale, Coco and Nuts tell the girls how Milk has been more amenable since then, and she apologizes for making them worry. Komachi shows up with a copy of the Cinq Lumieres Times, where Mika has written a piece complimenting Milk, who she believed was a stuffed animal. Milk takes the compliment to heart and returns to her boastful self, claiming to be much more refined than Nozomi, that they are as different as Heaven and Hell. The other girls are surprised to hear her use that phrase, and it turns out she is actually very studious and approximately the same relative age as them. The episode closes with Milk taunting Nozomi while being chased around the shop.

The Analysis

If you remember in episode 11, where I observed that Nozomi was exhibiting ADHD symptoms, I think we might have another sincere portrayal of mental illness in Milk. She seems to be displaying traits of a superiority complex. She sees herself as better than all of the girls, and her responsibility is solely to Coco and Nuts. However, the reality of her small body and inability to assume human form (yet) are at odds with this and clash with her vision of herself, creating feelings of inferiority. If this sounds contradictory, all I can say is that there are different interpretations of what a superiority complex is, and that I’m not a doctor. The point is, her high opinion of herself contrasts with her actual capacity for help and results in her feeling useless and unwanted. Even after she’s rescued, she seems to still be shaken by the experience, and is all around quieter and less enthusiastic than normal. However, a quick confidence boost is the perfect thing to snap her back to her usual self.

Milk’s struggle to find a purpose in a world that isn’t made for her is actually very fascinating. Despite her normally forceful demeanor, we see her vulnerable side as well. Since she’s small, ordinary things like birds and dogs seem frightening to her, and you can sympathize with her. Combined with the revelation at the end of the episode that she’s equivalent to Nozomi’s age, you start to realize that she’s really just a child putting on a strong front. She has thus far survived by exploiting people’s sympathy, and it seems to be her only useful skill. She pretends to be a stuffed animal, steals the person’s food that picks her up, and then finds her next victim. She plans to use this strategy again in order to bring in money for the shop. It’s mean, but it’s also the only thing she feels she can do to help out since she can’t mop, can’t move furniture, can’t be a salesperson, etc. Coco and Nuts also don’t really need any caretaking, they’re very self-sufficient. She implied in the previous episode that she could cook, so maybe there’s that, but I don’t believe she ever gets the chance to demonstrate this. Effectively, the only thing she can do for the shop is to serve as a mascot and attract customers with her cuteness, which is what Mika does and how she writes about her in the paper. Of course, being treated as an object of desire pys right back into Milk’s ego, but it doesn’t mean she’s not good at it regardless. Although I don’t believe it ever happens again, she just stays out of the way when there’s business to be done.

Over in Nightmare we begin to see some real consequences. Sure, Bunbee has complained about budget cuts before and there’s always someone griping, but this time we actually see a direct result of their failure to get the Dream Collet, in the form of no pay for Arachnea OR Bunbee. The rest of the season will continue to explore the ramifications of their ongoing failure, and in fact the very next episode will showcase Girinma being given his final chance to succeed. Nightmare hasn’t been as cliche evil as the Dusk Zone or Dark Fall were, and their goal is even more vaguely defined, but their consequences seem to carry more weight. In the FW shows, villains either recurred every episode until they were destroyed, or they rotated, but either way their individual losses didn’t seem to matter much to the top brass. Splash Star came close, but every time a villain was given their final chance, they wound up being destroyed by the Precures in that episode anyway. Here, we’re beginning to see some actual feedback, and I enjoy that.

The battle in the aquarium - both the physical fight and the clash of words - was really good on all fronts. Arachnea was right that Milk ran away of her own volition, suggesting she didn’t want to be around the team, and they had no right to demand her return. However, the girls give a really great speech in return: they explain that Coco had to be stern with her for a reason, because that’s what friends do sometimes, and that he and Nuts were still overjoyed that she found them. Komachi and Karen declare her a true friend to them. It’s a great exchange of ideals. Physically, there’s a lot of moving around and they make good use of the environment. I especially like the part where the Kowaina traps all the girls in its tentacles, so Dream wriggles around until she can dive into Lemonade, giving her enough room to escape and use Lemonade Splash on the monster to cause it to release its grip on them. Then Aqua tricks Arachnea into latching webs onto her so she can distract the villain while Rouge rescues Milk from her precarious perch:

Changing gears and winding this thing down, I want to say a quick bit about how Milk literally moves around through the world. As seen in the gif higher up, her ears are prehensile, so she can use them like arms to pick herself up and navigate obstacles such as stairs. Coco and Nuts tend to just jump but she lifts herself. It’s clever.

All told this was a very strong episode about Milk struggling to find a place and a role for herself, and the girls coming to appreciate her presence in their lives. It lays the foundation for a lot of Milk’s character growth in the 20s and 30s, as well as teasing just how badly Nightmare’s agents are doing, which will play into the next episode. 23 and 24 are a two-parter, the mid-season climax, and some of the best episodes of the whole show. To that end I’ll be posting the reviews of them back to back, even if it means delaying them a bit. Considering I have been sitting on this review for the better part of a month, that may not mean much, but regardless, look forward to some DESPAIR next time!

Pink Precure Catchphrase Count: 0 kettei!

#Precure #Pretty Cure #Yes! Precure 5 #YPC522 #PCD170

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lepussolum · 4 years

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@ambcrheart ━ starter.

❝ 𝙵𝚒𝚗𝚎. ❞ 𝙰 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 ━ honed with equal precision and lethality to that of a knife. For what more was there to say? It would be foolish to remain where one was clearly neither needed, nor desired. To linger would only further drive the point of one’s own worthlessness. Whether it was a lack of particular skill or out or a deep seated ━ though not unwarranted ━ sense of MISTRUST, Isa could sense that chasm between him and his newfound “companions” growing ever deeper. Their surreptitious glances rimmed in apprehension did not go unnoticed. No, they drove into his back like more than a dozen biting needles. This audience to his mockery left his fledgling heart sickened, which only furthered his frustration. Scream, lash out, do something ━ all these emotions welled up inside that little light and left his body trembling. Fingers curled into tight fists, rigid at his side as he nestled his features behind the collar of his coat.

❝ Now, Isa, you understand why this mission is not suited for one of your...caliber. To simply banish the Heartless back to the Realm of Darkness, rather than release the hearts trapped inside would only- ❞

Yen Sid, the legendary wizard whose feats were renowned even among Organization XIII, now patronized the former member. The poor attempt at dissuasion to mask his true intent only left the Diviner to slip deeper into an icy temperament. He had little desire to stomach much more of his excuses.

❝ You need not lecture me. ❞ With an outstretched hand, Isa summoned a Dark Corridor within the cluttered office of the Mysterious Tower. At his back he could sense the shift in atmosphere as half the room’s occupants grew guarded at the appearance of the shadowed archway. Master Aqua summoned her keyblade instinctively from where she stood by the desk, Terra already placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Any pretense of trust between Isa and the Guardians of Light was little more than a thin veil which obscured little of the lingering ANIMOSITY that dwelt between them and the Organization.

Out of his peripheral, Isa could see Lea take a few hasty steps toward him from where he idled alongside Roxas and Xion. Hand outstretched, he moved to grab hold of his old friend, perhaps in an attempt to explain the situation or soothe his evident irritation. However, Isa merely flinched away from his touch as though it were made of fire itself. Increasingly Isa found his impression of Lea to come across this way. Ever since his restoration an undeniable LIGHT within him seemed to burn ever brighter ━ scorching to a heart still splintered with DARKNESS. In contrast, the Diviner felt tainted. While Lea seemed to have shaken off the Organization’s remnants, Isa feared he continued to walk a thin line between light and darkness. He remained on the brink of redemption and destruction and he knew the others could sense the conflict within him as well.

Without another word, the former Nobody entered the wavering portal. He did not spare a second glance to his “comrades”, if one could even consider them as such. Thus far their intent seemed simply to humor him ━ appease the MONSTER ━ or out of consideration for Lea’s wishes. But it had grown painfully clear that there was no true place for Isa among the keyblade wielders. Could he truly blame them? No, not after all the suffering he had put them through under the orders of Xehanort. But this could not subdue his bitter heart. With a clench of his open palm, Isa sealed the Corridor behind him. In his mind he could practically hear King Mickey admonish his actions, reminding him how dangerous traversing through his previous means would now be. With a fresh heart cradled in his chest and no keyblade to be had, he was all but begging for a swarm of Heartless to attack. Or so that was the little king’s impression. It seemed as though Isa was either underestimated or FEARED ━ there was no middle ground.

I am not so weak.

To be misjudged so cruelly was an insult. Time and again, the Guardians would not even give him a chance to prove his worth. Without a keyblade he was little more than a liability in their eyes. Did they expect him to simply waste his days away without purpose in Twilight Town? Did they fear that if they gave him a chance that he would lose control once more? With a click of his tongue, Isa stormed off down the path that stretched through the Realm of Darkness. At the very least he could prove his worth to himself ━ or vent his emotions somewhere else. In passing he had heard Yen Sid discuss a minor outbreak of Heartless numbers within a world inhabited by living toys that would be addressed in the near future. Curiosity had piqued Isa’s interest in the assignment, for the destination sounded vaguely reminiscent to and experiment conducted within the Organization. Who was to say he could not look into the matter first?

Churning a few feet down the rocky terrain was yet another Dark Corridor that beckoned him through. It was a small blessing that Isa managed to pass through the Realm of Darkness unscathed ━ though he mused the reason being the darkness which continued to cling to his heart like cobwebs. Either way, he safely made his way to his destination, both intrigued as to what he would find and eager to blow off some steam. The portal spat him out into a rather cramped corridor; walls encased in steel framed him on all sides. Echoing through the winding metal hall was a dull hum, accompanied by a subtle gust every few minutes. A light seemed to reflect around a nearby corner and the faint sound of cheery melodies reverberated from the same direction. Attention thoroughly captured, Isa made his way down the strange hall, head bowed slightly due to the short “ceilings”.

❝ How unusual... ❞ What awaited the former Nobody at the end of his journey was an abrupt end to the steel path beneath him and a drop into a massive toy store. It would appear the Dark Corridor placed him within a ventilation system, judging from the bird’s eye view he now had over the shelves below. But what was more curious was just how he fit inside such a usually small space. His enchanted attire shifted his appearance to match that of the world so as to preserve order. Considering the denizens of this store were living toys, it came as no surprise to him to see his knuckles fixed together like that of a ball-joint doll beneath a white cotton glove. Fascinated, Isa brought a hand up to delicately trace his now warped features. Cool porcelain met his touch, eyes far too large to be anything close to that of an actual human ━ though his scar still marred his brow even in this new body. Not only did his features change, but his clothing as well. Gone were his usual jacket and pants to be replaced with a tailcoat and slacks. A blue ribbon bow tie decorated his button down shirt to match the pocket square neatly folded beneath an emblem to match the moon and star piece he usually bore. Even his sapphire locks had been slicked back and gathered into a fluffy braid finished with a ribbon. The entire set emanated the butler aesthetic.

Not my first choice, but it will do.

With a shrug of resignation, Isa peered over the vent’s ledge to see a path down. From this distance he could already spot a small horde of Heartless congregating by a dollhouse perched upon the shop’s windowsill. A collection of toy boxes propped up beneath him in a convenient makeshift staircase by which he could easily climb down. The dress shoes which adorned his now tiny porcelain feet did not provide the best traction, but he managed to make it to the store’s solid ground without wiping out completely. Unfortunately, his entrance left Isa rather exposed and the lingering Heartless were quickly drawn his way. Not that he would complain having come to this world more or less in search of a decent fight.

His steps were leisurely paced, not at all disarmed by the dozen malicious creatures that now approached him. Hand outstretched, LUNATIC formed in his grasp through a flash of brilliant blue light. The claymore weighed no more than usual despite his new form, the frigid steel vibrating with power ━ as though it desired little more than to unleash its full strength and rain havoc down upon all who dare draw near. In response the Heartless grew agitated, provoked by the potential threat. They crept towards his approaching figure, their twitching forms also mimicking the toys which surrounded them. A small snort of amusement escaped the Diviner,

❝ You find strength in your numbers? ...How pitiful. ❞ In a swift arching motion, Isa dragged the head of Lunatic long the store floor. The blade seemed to SCREECH with delight as it sent a streak of energy towards the nearest Heartless. With a wail, the monster was banished back to the Realm of Darkness having not so much as a chance to fight back. However, three more Heartless quickly filled its place. The “minor outbreak” Yen Sid had anticipated appeared more aptly as an infestation. Shadows seemed to shift in nooks and crannies, gleaming hues eyeing him hungrily as they looked for the proper opening to strike. Still, Isa remained unfazed, his expression carefully trained in chilly apathy even as the horde grew about him.

❝ Do try to entertain me for a while, won’t you? ❞

#*･ ‧͙ ☾ ᶜᵃᶜᵒᵉᵗʰᵉˢ ˢᶜʳᶦᵇᵉⁿᵈᶦ. — ᵖᵃʳᵃˢ ☽ ‧͙ ･*#*･ ‧͙ ☾ ⁿᵉᵐᵒ ᵐᵃˡᵘˢ ᶠᵉˡᶦˣ. — ᵉᵖᶦˡᵒᵍᵘᵉ ☽ ‧͙ ･*#ambcrheart #//lowkey i had been musing on this starter for days i was so excited #//let me know if anything needs adjusting #//also i hurt myself in my confusion with this starter istg #//i didn't mean to make isa so emo but here we are #//also i headcanon that yen sid did enchant isa's clothes #//so he can at least tag along with lea sometimes #//and not affect the world order #//hence his appearance in the toy box

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mimiplaysgames · 5 years

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the stars bear witness

Terraqua Week Day 2: Future Masters

Summary: Underneath the responsibilities of Keyblade Mastery are two adults who are still figuring out what to do. Terra and Aqua sneak away for a quiet moment together.

Notes: Today is the day - this was supposed to be my Terraqua Zine piece but I scrapped it for another idea. It’s given me plenty of grief but I’m glad that I can dust it off and finally share it. I hope it’s enjoyable! @terraquaweek

Read on AO3

Some nights, like tonight, are stronger than the friends I have with me.

There’s a place deep in the woods, right by the riverbank, were the Master used to meditate. He believed the energy there gives us second chances - something about the way the water strolls without a care to look back or to know where it’s going. Right now, it sounds like a fantastic idea.

When I say I want to go, Aqua doesn’t bat an eyelash even though it’s the middle of the night; it’s late enough that we both know sleep has left long ago and shut the door behind it. She’s more than ready to peel herself off the most boring book in the library and her eyes have already frozen themselves open.

I get why she’s taking her teaching duties so seriously, but I don’t see the point in making it that much harder to be awake for her lessons.

In spite of that, she gives me a lazy smile, and invites herself. “I know you want me to go with you, anyway,” she says, and it’s completely true. I used to get so annoyed at her for reading me so easily.

We whisper and tip-toe across the castle, even though it’s humongous and there’s no way the other students would hear us. I know this for a fact. I know because I can hear their heartbeats, doors away, slowing down as they fall into slumber. That sounds completely crazy, I know - it’s a power that stayed with me since my days in darkness. I’ve been a literal bodyguard on behalf of anyone who used me this way for over a decade, and so… the skill is burned into me. Aqua doesn’t know yet, and no, I’m not proud.

Yet for some reason, I can’t bring myself to speak to her at a normal volume and tell her that they’re soundly sleeping when she’s darting looks around to see if we bothered anyone. She takes my hand when the cold breeze nips us, and I lead her down a trail that sneaks far away from the security of the training grounds.

We used to hold hands like this as kids: always stay together and keep each other safe, per the Master’s rules. I can’t lie, I’m glad we haven’t dropped this habit even though we don’t need it anymore.

Or maybe I really do need it. I never wanted to go alone, and… I guess there’s always that one possibility something might go wrong.

Remembering what I’m capable of almost makes me want to cancel this night out, tell her to go back inside and try to sleep as I walk it off into the forest, where the lanterns don’t shine.

But I know her, and she hates conversations like this.

She’s stubborn too, conjuring herself a little companion, an orb of light, to lead us the way into the ticket so we don’t get lost. It drips dotted sparkles on the ground, like a pathway back home when we’re done. Very handy. It’s almost like she nearly expected me to object on her behalf, because I know the dark isn’t good for her, and she’s already nipped the conversation before it can happen.

Yeah, it’s good that Aqua is with me. She’s usually the smarter one - usually, when she’s not mad. Despite her expertise, I’d say she’s probably fire where I’m icy. She’s soft when I’m rigid, understanding when I’m short-sighted. She’s light when I’m darkness. When I’m blind, she sees.

We approach the river hidden by weeping willows, where logs wait for us to sit and watch the ripples stroll by. There’s more than a million lanterns in the sky to see out here, but I think I now realize I’ve never needed one to guide me back home when I have her.

It’s nice, just being away from the castle and be… us. Terra and Aqua, instead of respectful Keyblade Masters who are admired and perfected in the minds of others.

Masters… I start talking about the Master, how he said the stars keep watch over us. It’s what keeps us all connected through a stronger light. The three of us believe that he’s up there somewhere, watching what we’re doing right now.

“He used to say that if you cried out here, under the stars, we’d be able to hear you from the other side of the mountain,” I say.

“That’s right, I completely forgot.” Her whisper gives out, shivering until it makes sound. Her fingers are locked with mine, and her gaze travels somewhere else. Whatever she’s remembering is a happy thought. “I’m glad you haven’t changed.”

Of all the things she could have said, I’d never understand what possessed her to say that.

“You know what I mean,” she corrects herself when she sees my face. “I’m glad you remember these things. It makes me feel like I’m back home.”

“You mean, you don’t feel like-?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Yeah,” I sigh, “it’s not.”

When it’s this quiet between us, I hear the crickets. I can even feel them rub their wings together.

“Well,” she says with a kick in her voice and a squeeze of my hand. I hear how proud she is of herself for being a teacher. “Ready to practice?”

No, thank you.

“Sure.”

It’s a good distraction for her, giving me private lessons. No one really tries to treat her any different, and certainly Aqua would prefer to befriend our students. At the same time, in the classroom, she is Master Aqua, Survivor of the Realm of Darkness.

But when Aqua has her mind set on something, it’s tunnel vision, and there’s something nice about that when I’m unsure.

It’s probably why she encourages me to do it here, away from the scrutinizing glare of the castle walls in a forest that doesn’t care what our names are. Here, there’s no talk about how to define a Keyblade Master, or what our next missions are and how long we’ll be separated.

Straddling the log underneath us, Aqua holds out her hand, her glowing orb as white as a pearl hovering above her palm.

I ask her for the third time if she’s okay with this.

I don’t know if she ever tires of reassuring me, but she does again with no complaints.

I can’t really compare to how she’s so willing to face the darkness despite what she’s been through. She’s braver than me.

What I can say for sure is that we’ve never once considered there would be a day when my hand would hover above hers like this, that I’d will darkness to pour out of it slowly, skating the surface of her light, its tendrils wrapping it in a small embrace.

Eerily, it feels like brushing her cheek, or rubbing her palms. Whatever I’m touching feels as real as holding her. Which terrifies me.

The point is to cover the orb entirely without smothering or destroying it. But it’s an accident that happens too frequently, like I hurt her without meaning to, even though she keeps saying she’s not in pain.

It happens because her light is vivid and powerful, and I have to exert a tremendous force just to do a decent job of covering it, and I always do too much.

I hate it when I do that.

I hate that I still have darkness.

Aqua wants me to stop feeling ashamed over it, but she doesn’t understand what a hard request that is. I can’t not feel ashamed, and of course I stop before I even try.

“Terra,” she says when the tendrils let go, when I draw the energy back into my hand and pull away. “I don’t want to push you but…”

“I know.” We all have darkness. We all have the capability of getting swallowed by it. Since it will stay with me forever, might as well be at peace with it.

After all, if I don’t ever want to hurt her or Ven again, it’s something I have to control properly.

Her other palm rests on the back of my hand, leading it back over the orb and she keeps it there, sandwiched in-between her touch. I like it too much to tell her that it’s distracting.

Then of course there’s that nagging need at the back of my mind that wants to impress her, that wants to prove myself so I stop thinking about what her touch feels like and try again.

I hold her with my other hand. It’s palm on dorsal on palm on dorsal, like we need to delicately contain the light and darkness in-between, like what we hold in our hands is a safe space for me to make mistakes, to make her light flicker, to make darkness spit and burst out from the sides. As long I don’t destroy what she has, I can find some way to sleep without feeling like shit about myself.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she says to me.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. She says this to herself each and every time before she walks into a dark room when she thinks no one can hear her… when she thinks I don’t notice how her shadow quivers.

“The castle is safe,” I reply and she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “I can’t say the same for myself.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

Maybe I am. “There’s more to it.”

If there’s anything I appreciate about Aqua, it’s how she doesn’t let me go. It’s how she waits for me to finish without prodding. She knows me, she knows I’m scared to say what’s next.

So I start the only way I know how.

“There’s a rabbit too terrified to move out of a hedge back there.” I point behind me, listening to the escalated heartbeat hiding in that bush. “Let’s see, there’s an owl watching for prey and it doesn’t care we’re here.” I nod my head towards the direction across the river, where the shadows are very still.

The more I speak, the harder her stare becomes. I speak with ordinary words but nothing is making me sound like a normal person.

“What are you talking about?”

I breathe first. It does shit to calm me. "I can tell where everyone's shadows are. I can feel them move." It takes a second to realize that I'm staring at our fingers, where darkness slips through the cracks because it's too intimidated by the light underneath. "Think of it as a leftover tip from the Thing."

The Thing, of course. The other Keybearers call it the Guardian but I've never felt like I did a good job with such a title. We've talked about the Thing many times, and I'll hear stories of how the others came across it, and how it stalked them during fights, and I simply get too tired to even broach the subject anymore. I don't know why I even bring it up now. This darkness comes from the Thing and I would rather scrub myself clean of it.

But she laughs, and I swear my heart forgets to beat. "Is this what Ven meant when he said it was impossible to sneak up on you?"

“Did he seriously say that?”

“Yeah,” she sniffs. “He doesn’t understand how you always know where he is when he hides.” She hums, like she’s grateful for the laugh. “He thinks I’m crazy for not noticing but I thought he was exaggerating.”

“He wasn’t.” Thinking about him automatically makes me think about rolling around, about excited conversations and Chirithy patiently waiting on the edge of the bed. “Right now, Ven’s not even sleeping. He’s just talking to Cheers.”

“Is that right.” Sounds like he’s going to get the surprise of the morning when she’ll bug him about procrastinating on his beauty rest.

She takes a moment to think, a small smile breaching her face. “So, when I ask you if there is something creeping around the castle...?”

“There’s really nothing.”

She smiles, gripping my hands harder. Tears fall, like she’s been told that she’s going to survive. Her eyes thank me. Wow, I never really thought about it, if I did that much good for her.

“Why are you still so hard on yourself, though?” Her smile fades away.

There’s a thousand easy answers to that. “Because I don’t want to have this. Everyone else gets to grow up as typical Keyblade Wielders but…”

She nods.

“I also have an unwanted gift from the darkness.” At first she doesn’t look at me when she says that, her smile morphing from its temporary joy to a familiar melancholy.

I wonder if she knows how sad she sounds all the time.

She lets a hand go free, finding its way to her chest as she flutters her eyes closed. Suddenly I’m reminded of her first magic lessons, when I thought it would take her forever to cast Fire because she needed to take ten minutes to concentrate before even trying.

Now, I can’t gauge how much time passes by in silence before something finally happens. A cold, humid wind trickles by us, despite that it’s summer.

Here I am, vulnerable and unprepared with my legs wide over a log, and I’m surrounded by many Aqua’s, her orb of light almost shedding through them. Most of them look down on me, angry, disappointed, confused, sad. As sad as she sounds a lot of the time.

These phantoms have no shadows, so to me they don’t exist even though I can clearly see them. They’re scary.

When it’s more appropriate, I’ll joke that the only thing creeping around the castle is her.

“I can’t control them,” she explains quickly, and I hope she’s not assuming that I’m taking their stares personally (I am). “I can’t even make them move.”

I shrug. “They’re pretty badass.”

Aqua snorts. “You always have a way of making me feel better,” she says and I’ve never realized.

When she lets go of them, they swiftly disappear, but the cold lingers and it almost makes me suspicious that they’re still around, despairing about things she won’t talk about. Like there are thoughts she keeps secret.

“I never meant to make you sad,” I say. We’ve talked a little about what the last twelve years were like for her. I know where those phantoms come from.

“You don’t,” she says with such confidence just to remind me that she doesn’t blame me for anything and I almost want to force her to.

To punish me or get angry with me. To stop kissing me goodnight or confirm to me that the Master must be so disappointed, wherever he is. But she never does. Why not?

“Why not?” I blurt out.

At least she’s smiling again. “All I’ve ever wanted was to have you back. I mean, I’m angry, yeah. I am. But I feel better when you’re around. I need that.”

She scoots closer to me, the smell of her shampoo with blends of vanilla and lavender in my face. The white sheen of her orb makes her eyes bluer.

“Terra, I’m glad you’re here. It’s spotty, sure. I always feel bad when you stay awake just to help me sleep but... we’re Masters together. Just like we wanted.”

It’s my turn to snort. “I don’t mind staying up, obviously.”

When her smile reaches her eyes, that’s when I think she’s prettiest. “I don’t either.”

I do mind it when she leans away from me when I try to kiss her.

“The stars are watching,” she says, like a teacher bringing the entire class’ attention to shame one student.

I don’t have a good enough retort, so I huff. Think about the usefulness of my foreign, unwieldy powers. If this is the way she wants me to kiss her, so be it, I’ll get the tendrils moving again to cover her light.

“We should try some pranks on Ven,” I whisper.

“Between my clones and your honing abilities-”

“It’d be hilarious.”

“See, you haven’t changed.”

“Excuse me?”

“Twelve years later, and pranks still make you smirk like a child.”

“Ven deserves it.”

“... I’ll only deny that a little bit.”

I don’t say out loud that I’m grateful for her - I really should work on expressing myself better, and I only hope she knows.

Aqua has always been good with magic but it’s a special sort when she makes me forget about what worries me despite the fact that I can’t heal from this.

I snigger about the darkness with her for a simple night in the woods and it’s suddenly a miracle that I can wrap her light in a black veil, like it’s no big deal. A hovering, black orb as deep a hole in space with all the energy locked inside, floating in between our hands. It’s hard work, yes, and I tremble from the effort, but now she wants to see how long I can keep it up.

I’ve forgotten how dark it is out in the wild.

But she’s like a star, and they shine best in a night like this.

They’re too far away to really give me anything to see, but she’s close enough that I slowly make out the blue in her eyes.

One simple kiss is never enough and always leads to a second, a third.

I let go of the veil to hold her face, her sheen blinding after several seconds of being caressed by the darkness, bright enough to stop us from seeing the stars.

#terraqua #terqua #terraquaweek #kh fanfic #terra #aqua #kingdom hearts fanfiction #terraqua week #OH. MY. GOD.#i'm so nervous about sharing this one you have no idea #my fic

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tzufcallsmeshomps · 5 years

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Please, ramble about your kids to your heart's content :3

Aye, captain!

So here are my more lore-aware kiddos. Lemme attempt to introduce them:

Coral's father (Aldebaran) and Blaze's father (Polaris) were brothers. Polaris lived with his family in Tempest Heights, a small Storm Weredragon village, while Aldebaran, who turned out to be a Depth Weredragon (their parents were from the two different tribes), built his home in Aquarius, domed city of the Depths. That's where Coral had spent her childhood, made friends and studied. From her mother (Cordelia's) side, she inherited the mysterious future-gazing ability she possesses, yet by no means mastered. Coral wields a silver blade, Ripple, although it's more of a ceremonial shortsword at first; the Depths are considered relatively safe from our main antagonist and his army. Coral has a quick wit and a sharp, efficient mind. She's a very good decision maker- but not so much so when trapped in an enclosed space. Apparently, she's extremely claustrophobic.

Max is a young, promising knight beginning his formal service in the Order of the Oasis; his father (Sandaa) is one of the current elders of the order. They live in the underground city- Oasis- underneath the Sahara desert. The order was initially meant to guard the Draconite, later resolving to protect the substitute elemental diamonds, the Aqua-Gems, from the threat a returning invasion. Max has honed his skills and swordsmanship for years, and wields a bronze katana named Essence. He looks up to his father, mother (Suna) and elder brother (Aelius/ Ale), and strives to become an exemplary knight. His first mission is to guard Coral, daughter of an Aquarius senator, and her companions in their quest; and he takes his purpose very, very seriously. He gets stressed very easily, too.

Jack is a wildcard. Born to the shunned tribe of the Shadow Weredragons, under the rule of the tyrant who attempted to steal the Draconite centuries ago and bought them their infamy, he has one goal and one goal only: to put his family back together. His father (Theodore), a highly-ranked servant in Raven's court, was tasked with tracking and capturing the Phoenix and sent away from home when Jack was very young. With his mother and little brother mysteriously lost, all he wants is to have things back the way they used to be. Jack escaped the hidden Shadow capital, Abyss, and set out on his lonely quest to find the Phoenix- and some answers. He wears his father's old jacket, and wields his old, discarded sword- Emerald.

Edgar, in the meantime, grew up somewhere different. Quite drastically so. I can't elaborate too much on that Argent at the moment, but what's important is that he's found his way back. He shares motives with his older brother, and they have a lot of catching up to do. Edgar does not wield a weapon; instead, he possesses a small piece of chalk. That would be his greatest asset: the Dreamweaver. Edgar can draw anything into existence, so long as he understands said thing's nature; and the chalk is rechargable by sunlight.

#thanks for asking!#blaze #squishidoodles #man this is somehow helping me sort it all out neatly i should've done this long ago ;v;#alias is a bit of an article himself... and a long spoilery one at that #but i'll try and elaborate on him sometime soon

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

A Hot Tangle: Bianca's Story (Biadore, side of Trixya) - doctor bitchcraftt

A/N: For those who loved A Hot Tangle, here is the companion piece with Bianca’s side of the conversation with Katya right after she discovers Courtney was awake and overheard her and Trixie. Xoxoxoxo, bitchcraftt

Read A Hot Tangle here, or scroll down to the bottom to just read the scene from Katya’s POV.

********

It’s a rare evening, both of them in the same zip code. Hurricane Bianca touches down at 5:00 pm and Adore is flying out at 8:30 the next morning, but they’re determined to make it work.

Adore and a skinny latte are waiting for her at Delta’s baggage claim, artfully cut up hoodie hiding her face from passing fans. The wait for her luggage is mercifully brief for once, and the Uber ride to the hotel spent in comfortable silence.

Bianca checks in to the room booked months in advance, thanking the front desk staff while pocketing her key. Instead of pressing the button for the eighth floor though, she leans against Adore’s shoulder until the elevator stops with a chime on the fifth. She follows Adore straight off the elevator and down the hall, their footsteps muffled on the carpet.

Predictably, Adore’s room looks like a tornado swept through while leaving all of the furniture and fixtures miraculously intact. Makeup is strewn over the table in front of the mirror, lipsticks with their lids off mingling with open palettes of eyeshadow. A set of lashes is stuck to the bra hanging off the back of the chair, and drag is draped over every available surface.

The complete disarray is oddly comforting as Bianca locates an empty patch of carpet for her luggage. She turns around to find Adore sweeping makeup into her bag, seemingly not bothered by the jumble of supplies.

“You know, it would be easier to find things in there if you actually organized it.” It’s a routine quasi-read, delivered with the same half smile over the years.

Adore wipes her hands on her hoodie, leaving glittering streaks of burnt orange and aqua blue across the front. The grin she offers in return is one of Bianca’s favorites, tongue poking out over her lower lip and eyes full of mischief. Even though she’s just gotten off a plane and wants nothing more than to collapse on the bed, Bianca silently joins in the packing process. Together they manage to fit everything back into the suitcases, Bianca’s neatly folded bundles a contrast to tights stuffed in every corner and mismatched shoes squashed over the top.

When all that’s left out are the boy clothes she’s wearing on the plane tomorrow and a single cosmetic bag, Adore shoves her towards the bathroom. Bianca knows it’s more for her own comfort than criticism of her cleanliness; missing a few showers would hardly bother Adore. It’s a small gesture, but one of many that she appreciates more and more as time goes on.

Bianca takes her time cleaning up, washing off the weariness of airports and travel. It’s just before 7:30 when she emerges to find Adore sprawled across the bed on her phone.

There’s a few missed texts from Courtney in the group chat, something about staying the night with Trixie and Katya. Bianca reads them over, sends a few Russian flags and pink flowers mixed with clown emojis, then shoulders Adore out of the way so she can have her share of the pillows.

She’s content to close her eyes for a little while, listening to Adore typing on her phone and willing the tension in her lower back to unwind. Bianca must have dozed off, because Adore is nudging her awake and shoves her phone in front of her face.

”B, look!”

Bianca blinks a few times, pushing the hand six inches further back so she can focus on the screen. “ ‘Trixya kai kai in progress’ ,” she reads out loud, “ ‘you cunts owe me $100’ ”

She grabs her own phone, channeling more crankiness into the texts than strictly necessary.

Bianca/Roy: …

Adore/Danny: WTF, why couldn’t they have waited until next month?

Bianca/Roy: Bitch, you woke me up for THIS??????????

Glancing over Adore’s shoulder, she can see the beginnings of a crack about her age. She grabs for the phone and a minor scuffle ensues, during which Adore’s phone flies out of her hands and squarely into Bianca’s.

Adore/Danny: Old people go to bed early :P htjjjjjjjjjjnn llmnnjbnnbbh

Bianca triumphantly stuffs the phone under one thigh before replying.

Bianca/Roy: Pizza party just lost her phone privileges.

Adore is pouting but it’s clearly for show as she leans in to read Bianca’s screen instead.

Bianca/Roy: Hello? HELLO???

They wait expectantly for Courtney’s reply, but not even the dotted indicator that she’s typing pops up.

”This is ridiculous, we’re not a bunch of teenagers spreading high school rumors,” Bianca mutters, scrolling through her contacts and tapping the one marked Courtney/Shane J (ABCD).

The phone rings longer than usual, and when the call connects it’s not Courtney’s hybrid Australian-American accent on the other end.

”Bonnie Del Rico,” comes the greeting, and Bianca’s eyebrows fly up in surprise.

“Katya.” Adore makes a confused noise beside her. “Since you’re answering, this is either some elaborate joke you’re all in on-“

”Are they all fucking?” Adore’s stage whisper is far too excited by the prospect, and Bianca smacks her shoulder in exasperation.

”-or,” she picks up as if the interruption hadn’t happened, “you really are Russian and we’ll never find the body. Then I don’t have to worry about her putting more fingerprints on my crown.”

”But you put it in a box, she can’t touch it now.” Adore doesn’t seem fazed by Bianca’s glare.

Katya is silent for longer than expected, long enough that Bianca considers ending the call and dialing her directly.

“Bonnie Del Rico,” Katya’s voice returns, “is there something going on on your end with a certain Ms. Delano?”

Well, that was unexpected. She laughs, buying time to come up with a reply. Bianca was always under the impression that the other queens in their Drag Race family knew about and understood their unconventional, label-defying dynamic.

“None of your business, and no.” Adore is still staring at her impatiently, and Bianca reaches out before dropping her hand to the bed.

Katya’s response sounds far too close to defeated. “Nothing here either.”

She’s heard countless “will they/won’t they” whispers in dressing rooms. Bianca doesn’t generally make it her business to know other queens’ business unless it affects her (or Adore, in all honesty) or seems public enough to work into her stage material. Trixie and Katya though, everyone notices and wonders.

Bianca has a few theories of her own, but now isn’t the time to air them. Behind Katya’s wild Russian hooker persona, she’s astute and far too honest. She and Trixie have to come to some sort of understanding though, before the tension brings their friendship down in flames.

”Queen,” she pitches her voice as softly as possible, “let me give you some advice?”

”Sure.”

”You decide if it’s worth it,” Bianca isn’t completely sure that the words are only for Katya, “and if you two can live with whatever the answer is.”

Adore has been oddly silent, mouth snapping shut at Bianca’s last reply. She squeezes her hand then with a sort of urgency that Bianca isn’t sure she’s ready to understand. “B-“

Bianca shakes her head gently. Not now.

”We didn’t hear anything,” she tells Katya firmly, “and I’ll make sure Courtney doesn’t make trouble. Now give her the phone back,” her voice takes on a stronger edge, “and figure this shit out.”

“Goodnight, Bianca. You always were my favorite clown.”

That earns a chuckle. “Fuck off, whore. Let me talk to Courtney?”

When she ends the call a half hour later, Adore is dozing and clinging to her arm like a lifeline. Bianca sets both phones on the nightstand with a yawn and stretches her aching neck, debating whether to forego getting ready for bed and just turning off the light. The motion shakes Adore awake though, and she relinquishes her arm long enough for Bianca to brush her teeth.

Once she climbs back under the covers however, Adore is back in her personal space, foreheads resting together on the pillow.

”B?”

“Yeah?”

”We’re ok, right?”

Bianca frowns, hating the insecurity making Adore’s voice quiver. There are at least a dozen ways she could reply, varying from levity to scoffing at the notion that they could ever be not okay.

”You’re my favorite person,” she answers. It’s a non-answer and hardly everything she wants to say, isn’t sure they could ever explain the ‘we’ of Adore-and-Bianca, but it seems to satisfy her.

She smiles then, not a full out Adore grin for the cameras, but something smaller and gentler, and Bianca kisses her forehead before rolling onto her back.

“Love you.” Adore’s words are a drowsy whisper against her shoulder.

”Love you too, chola.”

**** A Hot Tangle: Katya’s POV ****

Katya swipes her thumb across Bianca’s grinning face and brings the phone to her ear.

“Bonnie Del Rico.” There’s a pause on the other end, but Bianca recovers swiftly.

“Katya. Since you’re answering, this is either some elaborate joke you’re all in on,” a slapping noise echoes down the line followed by a muffled but distinctly Adore-sounding complaint. “-or,” Bianca continues, “you really are Russian and we’ll never find the body. Then I don’t have to worry about her putting more fingerprints on my crown.”

Bianca’s sharp voice eases a knot of tension between her shoulder blades. She knows the other queen is a consummate professional behind the thorny exterior, and hopes she’ll understand.

Courtney is sitting on the couch now, chewing her lip. Katya thinks she deserves to be nervous.

“Bonnie Del Rico, is there something going on on your end with a certain Ms. Delano?” Katya has to pull the phone away from her ear as Bianca’s scratchy laugh breaks up into static.

“None of your business, and no.” The last part is said in a quieter tone, and she can hear the rustling of sheets as if Bianca is settling back into bed.

She needs to go after Trixie, because it’s been suspiciously quiet in the bathroom. “Nothing here either,” she sighs.

“Queen, let me give you some advice?” Bianca’s voice is the gentlest she’s ever heard.

“Sure.”

“You decide if it’s worth it, and if you two can live with whatever the answer is.”

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #canon compliant #katya zamolodchikova #doctor bitchcraftt

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dbhilluminate · 5 years

Text

DBHI: Redemption- "The Open Door", pt. 1

ARE YOU A FAN OF DETROIT? DO YOU LIKE GAY SHIPS AND COMPLICATED, LOVEABLE BOYS?? Then please keep up with our fic, you’ll love it, I promise!

Co-authored by grayorca15

Characters: Trevor Langley, Dennis Lenore, Nick Lenore, Dahlia Fleur, Rhea Fleur, Dylan Fleur, Ethan Fleur, Isaiah Fleur (mentions of Richard Fleur, Ophelia Fleur, Hank Anderson, Vivienne Lenore-Anderson, Zach, Sarah Word Count: 7,982

No matter how far you think you've fallen, there's always time to find your way back to yourself- and if you leave yourself open to change, sometimes what you need is right through the next door.

• Archive link • Chapter Index • • Related Works • Characters •

----------

July 4th, 2041 - 5:34 PM

For all intents and purposes, it was his first time in a suit in a while.

Having taken virtually nothing of his old life with him when Archangel brought him to Detroit, he’d had nothing but the clothes on his back, which he’d thrown away as soon as he got the chance. Understanding of why, Detective Lenore had offered up one of his older suits (among other, less frequently worn items in his wardrobe) in sympathy. Not since Boston had he been in a dress jacket, loafers, and chinos- only this time, there was no watch or tie, no phone crammed into his pocket, only the one item he typically spent his nights in the company of anyway.

It was a good thing he and Dennis were virtually the same size, even if the former had a stockier build.

“Kid, it ain’t Homecoming, now come on. You look fine.”

Though his tone was one of affectionate gruffness, which he treated eighty percent of those he knew with on a daily basis, now that they had actually arrived at the time to put the hand-me-downs to use, it seemed Lenore’s generosity had been left at the curb. Considering how they had met, Trevor was happy to be counted as one of those in said majority- what side he had seen and heard about when Dennis got truly angry, he wasn’t in any hurry to experience that for himself.

Not that having to wait a few minutes longer than anticipated would warrant a baton to the teeth.

He flicked the light off and locked up his apartment, then followed him down the hallway, fidgeting all the way with the edges of his sleeves, trying to get the just-too-large sleeve cuffs to sit comfortably in the cuffs of the blazer.

“It’s only a dinner, not your funeral,” Dennis scoffed, eyeing him top to bottom. “I mean- points for wanting to look nice, first time meetin’ the family and all, but you’ll be wishing you had picked somethin’ more casual before the night’s over.”

“But it is just that, the first time,” Trev pointed out as they found the central stairwell and descended. “Aren’t you supposed to- look good?”

“Looks aren’t everything,” he sighed, passing the cubicle of dormitory mailboxes at the foot of the stairs, then came to a stop.

Uncertainly, his intended guest did the same next to him, belatedly folding his hands behind his back. Their eyes met. With his aqua blue irises, red hair and bold, expressive eyebrows, it didn’t take much for Lenore to pull off maximum exasperation with minimal effort.

“I know you spend your days shut up in here between classes. But do you think, for one night, you can try to relax? I wouldn’t bring you along if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

Trev smiled, albeit uneasily. It was a vote of confidence, however indirect, the only kind he seemed to be catching from anyone these days. Though training to become an Archangel Officer, his was an unusual circumstance, which rubbed some people the wrong way- the special privilege of shadowing active duty officers only extended to him as a formality, being a formerly active (and certified) member of BCPD’s Police force. He didn't fit the usual definition of a cadet at the academy by any measure, in fact there was no reason he really needed to. But for an institution founded only two years prior and still working to establish its own standard of ‘normalcy’, putting him through their version of the academy made logical sense, even if it labeled him an oddity.

By that standard, Detective Dennis Lenore was just as odd, as were the rest of Zion’s residents. This was a community of oddballs, at their most fundamental.

“Well? You gonna stand there smilin’ like you’ve got gas, or is that a yes?”

Called out for daydreaming his way toward an answer, Trev blinked and cleared his throat. “Yes. S-sir.” He could handle a dinner without falling to pieces. It would hardly be the worst thing he had ever been through.

* * *

Traffic only delayed them so long. Even with the festivities due to begin at sundown, most of the city’s business districts were closed to observe the holiday. With that initial rush passed, the streets had cleared; the many parks and backyards of Detroit were another story. Those people out shopping had done so earlier in the day, whereas now they were enjoying the afternoon with family and friends.

But tonight they wouldn’t be staying in the city. Trevor didn’t plan on it being an overnight event, but he couldn’t account for the plans of those he hadn’t yet met. Loaded with money as the Fleurs were, their private countryside estate probably wasn’t short a guest bedroom or two; and seeing as he was dating one of said prestigious family’s daughters, Dennis likely didn’t have any qualms about staying if the evening took such a turn. Either way, Trev was perfectly capable of arranging a taxi ride back to his dorm, which wasn’t a bad idea.

The moment he sat down and buckled in, he bookmarked the service for later, but out of the corner of his eye, Dennis caught him at it.

“We haven’t even gotten goin’.”

He didn’t need to elaborate. Cheeks flushing, Trev glanced away.

The cab pulled away from the curb and merged with the flow, the automated dash giving a chime and automatically bringing up a selection of soft classical background music. Dennis banished it from existence with one swipe at the volume bar and a slight curl of his lip.

“Sorry, I know you’re jittery, it’s just-...” he paused to clench his teeth and furrow his brow a twitch. “Why you already expecting to have to need that?”

Hands folded in his lap, knees brought together, Trev made an attempt at clearing his throat. “No- no reason, sir. I was only trying to plan ahead.”

“I already said I’d make sure you got home. Was there something else? You gotta be back sooner, or…?”

It wasn’t his tone- despite the initial gruffness, Dennis had one of those sharp yet tactful voices. Where he initially sounded irritated and gravelly he almost always followed it up with some kind of concern to take the hostile edge off. Tiresome as it was to keep up with telling which was which, at least he was consistent, definable, and not a bad guy overall. Five months after Boston, Trev was still trying to figure out how much of those qualities he had yet to embody.

“No, sir, I was only…” Sheepishly, he swiped the open app aside and turned his attention out the window. “I should have done it before we left.”

Affecting an eye roll but no other visible annoyance, Dennis sat back in his seat, hooking an ankle over his knee in the process. Being of shorter stature, he had legroom to spare. “You’ll be fine. I’m not bringin’ you along to this shindig to be the main course.”

Shindig. The term bore looking up. Defined as a lively celebration as defined back in the 1920s, it was very retro to use in conversation. Trev immediately sank back in his seat.

“Please tell me there isn’t dancing involved.”

“No promises.” Neither too dismissive or reassuring, Dennis raised an eyebrow, pausing to seemingly reconsider his companion’s attire once more. “You’re dressed for it if there is… but haven’t you been to a barbecue before?”

A flurry of related memories besieged Trev at the reminder. Tactfully ignoring them, he looked down at his hands. “No.”

“...Are you gonna stick with single-worded answers all night?”

“Maybe… sir.”

He had cause to. Dennis knew better than almost anyone in Zion what a mixed-up bottle of impulses Trevor Langley consisted of, none of which were his own doing. With some indeterminable exceptions, it made even the most routine small talk a chore for him; hence, why he needed so badly to get out more. Classes at the academy only kept him occupied for so long.

Chock full of as many instabilities as any survivor of Purgatory typically bore, it wasn’t any wonder why he kept quiet to fiddle with his quarter rather than mingle with his cohort. As yet, Trev suspected Dennis was more his friend than anyone, with Vivienne Lenore a close second; but even those titles felt forced, just enough to say he wasn’t completely alone in the world, because some semblance of bonds were better than none at all.

Glancing up, Trev frowned at seeing how the dubious squint hadn’t vanished. It was still trained on him like a weapon, poised to fire. (Not the nicest example to equate it to, but for him guns were never far from his mind - for a variety of reasons.)

Trying to sideline such discouraging thoughts, he cleared his throat. “I guess… Nick is already there?”

Dennis made an affirmative hum, finally easing off on the skeptical expression a touch. “He wanted to run this fetch quest instead. I convinced him otherwise.”

Brows furrowing, Trev sat up from where he had pressed into the seat. There was no further he could get away in that direction, anyway. “Why? He wouldn’t have been a bother... if that’s what you‘re implying.”

The taller Lenore sibling’s reputation preceded him. How bothersome said brother was or wasn’t evidently didn’t factor in here, as Dennis scoffed nevertheless. “Meaning, he wouldn’t have asked you too many questions, or made you uncomfortable like I am now.”

A very perceptive response, coming from him. Trev glanced away again.

Letting it simmer a moment, Dennis explained: “Kid, it’s only because I care that I take any digs at you- not that he doesn’t care too, but anyone can see you need pryin’ to even cough up a ‘Hello’, and it isn’t Nick’s style to do that if he can see how uncomfortable you still are.”

In an ideal world, that is just the kind of person Trevor would prefer to be spending time with, if he were forced to pick between chaperones. Despite his looming stature, Nick wasn’t half as imposing as Dennis could be. Such niceties didn’t extend to both in equal measure.

“I think I’m doing okay, compared to where I was, don’t you?”

“Oh? You’re constantly wallin’ people off. Okay is a word that didn’t occur to me.”

“It hasn’t affected me that… adversely.”

“Not yet. You want to try and tell me your career won’t suffer for it in the long run?”

“All due respect, sir, I’ve already had my psych eval this week. Isn’t asking such questions now kinda defeating the point of going out to enjoy ourselves?”

Rolling his eyes, going by the minute pause in his words, Dennis sat up and reached over to tap the frames of Langley’s glasses. “You’re still wearing these when you don’t need them. If you were actually out to forget your troubles and enjoy the night, you woulda left them at the dorm.”

Recoiling, Trev shot him a standoffish glower. The cab was too small a space for his liking all of a sudden. How Dennis could essentially take one look at him and figure all these confused signals out was even less appealing. But then, Detective Lenore was known for that; if he hadn’t been a cop, psychologist wasn’t too far off, given his upbringing.

“You don’t know that. I enjoy myself without any hints blatantly on display, sir.”

“That’s a crock of shit, and you know it,” Dennis challenged. “Shut up in a room for hours on end focused only on studyin’ isn’t healthy, Langley. You gotta get out and live a bit. Dealing with Nick taught me all about that. Grateful or not, I suppose there’ll be time enough afterward for you to thank me later.”

Shuttling itself through the traffic as smoothly as a figure skater, the taxi took them past the last few commercial blocks and into a rundown suburb sitting on the Detroit-Warren limits, a quaint neighborhood of working-class families living well off the combined metropolis to either side. The Fleurs were apparently cut from the same cloth, even if they made upwards of twenty million each year, and they weren’t averse to entertaining visitors. Said destination was still forty minutes away, going by the timer on the taxi’s dashboard: the estate on the northern shore of Lake St. Claire may as well have been another city unto itself, with how far off it seemed.

There would be his first round of lessons in learning how to let go and just be lax for a spell. He was overcomplicating this in his own head, but if Dennis really understood anything about him, he knew just how tough a habit that would be to break. One dinner wasn’t going to miraculously change him, or so he surmised, but who knew? Maybe a stint outside of Zion would do him good. Surrounded by another crowd of near-strangers with entirely normal expectations of him could be just what the doctor ordered.

Or it could be exactly what he didn’t need to be reminded of. This constant wallowing in between hadn’t been pleasant on the whole. Without something to sway him one way or another, how else was he going to figure out what he ultimately preferred? Dennis Lenore had had more than a few years to figure himself out, so it was easy for him to say what Trevor did or didn’t need. He had experience and perspective to call on, perks of being an older model and all.

Lucky him.

* * *

Sitting atop a hill on a thousand acres of southeastern Michigan woodland, with its southernmost edge reaching right down to the beach, the mansion itself wasn’t visible from the road. After being buzzed through the front gate it was still a two minute journey up the cobblestone driveway. Framed by thick-trunked oak trees, rectangular hedges and multicolored flowerbeds, the ornate, ivory structure was eventually revealed, facing an adjacent parking garage no less grand and steepled.

The bay doors of the garage stood open, lights on, spotlighting the four vintage automobiles neatly lined up within. The Detroit taxi idling looked so boxy and very not-sleek compared to the likes of all American muscle- a black 1969 Ford Mustang, a pearlescent yellow 2001 C5 Z06 Chevy Corvette, a purple and black 1970 Plymouth Fury, and a cherry red 1968 Dodge Charger had been pulled out and put on display for guests to admire.

They seemed right at home next to the lavish mansion, which vaguely resembled a state capitol building or a downsized museum without its signature dome. East and west wings stretched open to either side at a one-hundred and thirty-degree angle, banister flags draped from every windowsill. Footpaths wound off to snake around the estate, trailing off into various gardens and parts of the woods, leading to other much smaller structures and cabanas spread across the property.

The main entrance was a hike at least twenty steps high to a landing midway up, then to a summit guarded by two pedestals framed by half a dozen stone vases full of flowers. It was in peak summertime bloom, greenery everywhere and no gray urban confines in sight, besides the cars on display. The air was thick with the smell of them mixed with fresh cut grass after a cleansing rain, but one whiff confirmed there was more on the wind tonight than natural aromas. There was also the smoky, husky smell of meat simmering on a grill.

As soon as the cab door slid open, Trev hesitated to step out. The last time he had cause to smell burning anything was back in Boston.

-the horrifying sight of every other building along the avenue aflame, screams emanating from within, no fire department on its way to save the day, but all he could do was run-

“Kid, move.”

One little prodding nudge at his shoulder drew a flinch out of him, and he hurriedly stepped out of the cab in the intended direction while avoiding meeting Dennis’ eyes.

“What’s the matter? You look like…” Circling to look at him, Lenore trailed off. He knew the rabbit-eyed expression and what it signified. Reading the muted silence as what it was, he patted Trev’s shoulder reassuringly. “It’s okay. I’ll make the introductions, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled half-heartedly. Even if Dennis was used to it to the point he didn’t care either way, adding the honorific always served to keep authority figures mollified. He was more of a guide than a friend, so it wasn’t unreasonable - the first time they met, he’d promptly knocked Trevor’s lights out; for his own good, of course. Kind of like now- dragging him along to this get-together, never minding the reluctance or snippiness; it was for his own good.

He was never violent or forceful without reason; dealing with his so-called brother, who was described by most to be as skittish as a deer caught in headlights, had helped him hone it. And now here was Trevor, testing him in all sorts of ways similar yet unfamiliar. As mentor and understudy, they fit together fantastically.

Trekking up the steps, he fell in behind and beside the off-duty detective, taking a second to appreciate his more casual wear of jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie. It made the burgundy suit and loafers feel even more unnecessary, even if it made him look classier and more put-together on the outside, despite the mess inside.

The person to answer the door before Dennis had even lifted his finger from the buzzer didn’t read much into it either way. He was simply happy to see them, as evidenced by the unabashed group hug he greeted both of them with, knocking Trevor’s glasses askew.

“H-hi, Dr. Lenore,” he stammered, managing to duck out from under his arm first

“Oh, come on, Trev. Not you, too.” Unwinding one long arm to recapture the new visitor, he frowned as Langley stepped aside and out of range. Nicholas Lenore wasn’t half as formal as his name would suggest, though part of that was his looks, which were all gangly and sloped in ways Dennis’ weren’t. The other half of the reasoning was the insistence that followed. “You can call me Nick, same as everyone else, remember?”

Though he was one of Zion’s best-qualified physicians, when he wasn’t tending to a patient his behavior was more akin to that of an excitable ten-year-old boy: all optimistic and well meaning, with no attitude to spoil it. Incongruous didn’t begin to describe him as a whole.

“I did. I-I just…” Not quite sure if he should finish that thought, Trevor blinked and shifted his gaze aside. “You startled us, is all.”

“Speak for yourself, Langley,” Dennis muttered, face half-squashed, still pinned against the other’s jacket. “I’m used to this sorta thing.”

“I didn’t mean to, sorry.” Nick apologized the moment he remembered, let go of his brother and steered them inside to close the door. “It’s good to see you both. Everyone else is busy talking or cooking, so I thought I’d make myself useful and play doorman for a bit.”

“Nice of you,” Dennis commented airily as he rolled his shoulder and stretched it. “God- you really need a warning label for those damn hugs, though. All these years, you think I’d have realized it sooner and slapped one on the back of your head.”

Assuming he didn’t need a ladder to reach it.

“No I don’t, I’m careful every time!”

“Sure, careful not to completely and permanently dent someone.”

Leaving them to their banter for a moment, Trev stole a look around the foyer. A big, spectacular ballroom painted in soft browns and shades of ivory, red, and gold, housed a golden grand chandelier and a mosaic marble floor which stretched the length of the space several hundred feet across the room to the foot of a centralized staircase leading up to the second-floor wings. To the left, halfway into the room, sat a sharp black grand piano beside a few free-standing planters filled with flowers and creeping ferns on either side, and a chaise lounge to the left of it. A few oil portraits hung on the front and sidewalls, and at the top of the stairs, assumed commissioned works so lifelike he could tell who the people featured were without introductions being needed. Wherever the flesh-and-blood Fleurs presently were, they weren’t within sight.

Or so he thought.

Movement caught his eye. The door was so far away, Trevor almost missed it, as Nick and Dennis seemed to have- but two doors down from the top of the staircase to the right, a figure reached out through the illuminated cracked door and quietly pulled it shut; instead of a face, all he glimpsed was a tattooed wrist. It appeared someone else here was as disinterested in the event as he was. Not given free reign to wander just yet, he set curiosity aside and drifted after his escorts.

“-favor, and don’t go out of your way to confuse him, got it?” Dennis scolded, around the same time Trevor opted to start listening again. It went without saying who the ‘him’ in the statement was.

“Confuse, how?” Confirming the assumption, Nick tossed him a very overt glance. He always looked so unintentionally aloof, with those mismatched green-brown eyes, pitchy voice, and slightly-knotted chestnut hair. “I don’t do it on purpose… and Trevor’s smart enough to figure it out if in the event I do.”

“Sure, I know lots of words with three syllables, minimum,” Trev played along, shrugging with a self-deprecating smile. Even if their argument wasn’t exactly serious, it would only help to clarify what his boundaries and possible triggers were. “But it’s not that kind of confused he’s talking about, Doctor.”

“Oh, right.” Nick only responded with an absent blink. Physicians were inherently prone to speaking with a certain over-eloquence, using big words without meaning to, making those around them feel either dumbed down or alienated or both. Being forever mindful he wasn’t stepping on toes or offending anyone (and constantly worrying for the welfare of those around him), Nick stopped them from proceeding on through to the dining room to offer a last bit of encouragement.

“Well, that said- if you feel too bothered by any of this, let us know. No one expects you to stay if you don’t want to.”

Trev nodded. He shouldn’t need this much coaching to make a few simple meetings, but it was always better to take time for a little extra prep work, lest something short circuit.

——

“He doesn’t look like an android, though...”

“Yeah, well, he wouldn’t, right? The whole point is, you can’t know just from looking at someone.”

“But he’s studying at Archangel? Humans don’t enroll there, but if they ever did, I’d-”

“Boys, please. You’ve barely said hello back and now you’re on to this. Give him some breathing room.”

Trev stood back from the dining table-turned-buffet and glanced over the edge of his drink in silent gratitude as Dennis ran interference, shepherding the gawkers out of his presence. The youngest members of the Fleur clan, nine-year-old Ethan and seven-year-old Isaiah, weren’t so shy as to resist bombarding him with questions the moment their elders looked in the other direction. It wasn’t that they meant any harm- Trev couldn’t fault them for wanting to get close and see for themselves, being the excitable, impressionable boys they were, but Ethan’s parting remark still stung more than he wanted to admit.

“He looks just like Connor, too. I told you!”

“Ethan!” Dahlia squatted down and popped the boy softly on the behind as she shooed them away, reminding them that they ‘knew better’ than to say such things. While most androids had been created to look the same, the Fleurs had all been raised (since her adoption into the family) to recognize each as an individual, and not treat them as duplicates. This was easier done in the cases of Nick, Dennis, and Dahlia, who looked nothing like their default models.

That in mind, Trev reminded himself it wasn’t the worst reveal he had ever suffered. Few things could measure up to Nicodemus shattering the human veneer Cyberlife had so painstakingly applied. Being compared to the most infamous of the RK800s was a pinprick compared to that sledgehammer.

With the exception of the two boys, the rest of the clan was proving genial enough. For being multimillionaire moguls of the music industry (responsible for finding at least ten of the current top forty artists of the past five years), they dressed almost demurely for the occasion. Richard Fleur was at least six feet of middle-aged stoic, unreserved Britishness, more personable and less stern than expected but certainly from high societal stock. His wife, Ophelia, was altogether different his polar opposite both in appearance and respective origin of South Africa. Poised and reserved in her enthusiasm for conversation, she exuded a more regal presence than her husband. His posh drawl paired nicely with her distinctive Johannesburg dialect.

Trev took a minute sip of his drink, noting neither of them had worn suits or evening gowns, but kept the observation to himself as he sat down.

“I really overdressed, didn’t I?”

“Just a little…” A flinching nod of agreement crinkled Dahlia’s nose, yet she bore a small smile in sympathy as she flipped the hem of her maxi dress out from between the heel of her foot and the heel of her shoes.

“But it’s what you wanted, I figured better to let you have it,” Dennis explained as she moved to lean down and greet him with a kiss, then pulled out the seat to her left; his lingering smirk wasn’t sympathetic or mocking, just the result of how preoccupied he always tended to get in her presence (the joke being, making sure he wasn’t stepped on). “It’s closer to what you’re used to wearing anyway, right? Back in- the old days?”

Now there was an inappropriately appropriate way of putting it.

“Sure, similar…” Trev hated how such an otherwise innocent question called up so many mixed feelings. Out of nervous habit, he went for another sip so small he may as well have only wet his lips. Dennis knew better than to ask, but to avoid every little uncomfortable conversation would defeat the purpose of being there. Langley blinked back the nervousness as best he could and shrugged, hoping it came across as dismissive. “If anything, I feel more under-dressed in class. I don’t know if I’d call cadet duds a uniform, but…”

It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had a hard time disconnecting from his work. To his right, Nick had taken a moment to do some follow-up work on a tablet held in one splayed hand, but picked the conversation back up where the others failed to. “Zach hated cadet gear, too. It was too plain. We used to have to wear suits every day, company mandate.”

“Yeah, but after the revolution…? Good luck getting him to let go of it,” Dennis added, with some wry fondness. “Like a kid carryin’ around their favorite blanket- that jacket was ready to fall apart at the seams by the time Sarah peeled it off.”

After a couple years of continuous use? Trev declined to ask and swirled the contents of his glass in a gentle counterclockwise circle, knowing it was probably just exaggeration for the sake of story.

“I don’t miss it that much. And most of the- time I was in basic patrol garb, anyway. Not like-…” Even as he veered off from saying his name, his glass-holding hand shook. As he set it down, he reached for the nearest napkin to wipe the sweat off his palm- water from the glass, nothing he actually sweated out.

Dennis’ casual smirk melted off as he watched him fidget. He knew without being told who Trev was thinking of. “You’ll get used to it. You’ve been enrolled for what, a couple months?”

“Basically.” Trev sat back in his chair so as to not be pinned between Dahlia and Nick’s curiosity. “I mean- there’s not much I don’t already know, but Detroit’s not quite on the same level Boston is with… statistics. Criminal types here don’t seem to be given to the same pursuits.”

“Has Zion treated you well, at least..?” Dahlia’s question was genuine, but naïve in the way anyone who didn’t know him would be. She had only ever met him after Boston, or Purgatory as it had been temporarily known, was brought under control. Zion was paradise compared to what he had seen there, even with its own slew of district-specific issues. Unique to him was the fact it was the best possible place he could be- everyday discrepancies notwithstanding.

“So far, yes. No one… has given me too much trouble.” None that they didn’t mean to give, anyway. Thinking twice of how that probably sounded, he tried for a mollifying smile. “The folks at the academy are agreeable enough. They’ve probably laid off the hazing because they’re not sure how I’ll take it.”

Because instabilities had to be good for something.

Dennis hummed a not-so-convinced affirmative. “Sure. That’s Langley-speak for ‘not yet, they haven’t’. Even I went through a bit of fine tuning there, Trevor. No special treatment when it comes to who gets to be the butt of a prank.”

He sounded so genial about it, Trev was inclined to doubt the claim’s validity; if it was true, Lenore was doing an admirable job of underselling his outrage. “No? What’d they end up doing to you, then?”

“Filled my locker with maple leaves.” At the two, not quite three, disbelieving glances this answer earned him, Dennis shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe it was supposed to make me feel at home. Montreal was that, for about a decade.”

“Sounds more like blatant stereotyping… you aren’t Canadian.”

Met with a deadpan sidelong look, Dennis scoffed. “Pft. You think it mattered to them at the time, Langley? If it did that’d defeat the whole point of a prank.”

Trev acknowledged it with a nod and another sip of his drink, realizing how painfully literal his thought processes could sometimes be. The blue substance didn’t have much flavor aside from a refreshing coolness as it went down. If he ignored what it was, it didn’t look like he was drinking antifreeze.

Music, laughter, and voices drifted in from the open patio doors. Adjacent to the dining room was the gathering space where most of the estate’s visitors had congregated, Viv and Hank among them. There was where the smells of grilling and sizzling were most prominent. At a guess the gathering was approximately three-quarters humans to one-fourth androids; and at the moment, it seemed all those confirmed as such were seated at this table. Lopping himself in under that category, Trev pursed his lips and set the glass down once again. The little daily reminders of his old life were everywhere he looked, and he didn’t need them as much as he did. A couple months in protective custody under observation hadn’t assuaged them- if anything he missed the certainty, false as it was. Now he had nothing but uncertainty, and the constant wear of it was chafing something fierce.

Aaaand five bucks says Nick is staring so hard, he’s trying to burn holes in the side of my head.

As he glanced aside he caught just the barest hint of motion from the taller android, whose focus immediately shifted back to the tablet. Trev knew an aborted look when he saw one, enhanced reaction times or not.

“What about that, Dahlia?” he asked, trying again for impartial dialogue in the face of all his skittishness. “Is your family the wild type, or is that just the two boys?”

“Three,” she corrected with a small hint of a smile and a quiet exhale through her nose. “You’ll have to watch out for Dylan, too, if he ever comes out of his studio...”

The sighing and eye-rolling was contagious- not so much uttered in distaste as much as in disappointment. Nick shrunk down in his seat a hair at the mention of the boy’s name, but perked up as Rhea (having just come in from the patio) placed an understanding hand on his shoulder.

“I doubt we’ll see him today, it’s been a long time since he’s shown his face at any social gatherings.”

“Then what do you call him picking on us?” Nick whined as she sat down beside him and gave his hand a squeeze.

“Jealousy,” she replied with a quiet smile. “He had my full attention before you came along.”

Trev looked from one pair to the other and considered his newfound stance between them. He deduced out the whys in short order, decidedly ignoring the outdated examples in his own head claiming to know what it was to have siblings. He glanced back toward the crowded patio as he considered this new information. So he wasn’t the only one present who had an aversion to crowds. But didn’t groups make the most rewarding prank targets? To incite the most amount of mayhem in the least amount of time?

“Well, jealous or no, he can keep to himself if it so suits him. I’m not out to steal any of his remaining siblings away.”

Dennis scoffed, but it was half a laugh. “Don’t assume that means you’re safe. Any reason to hit you with inanimate objects is a good one,” he explained, presumably recalling the few times he’d been assaulted with nerf darts and paintballs the very moment he’d walked through the door.

“Isaiah told me about this time they folded enough paper airplanes to launch off an aircraft carrier and take over Taiwan. Once the snow went away, Ethan wanted to do his homework outside, but after giving Izzie enough grief they decided he wouldn’t be able to finish it in peace- whatever window he sat under, at least three found their way into his lap.”

How dastardly.

Trev took another not-sip with only the tiniest of eye rolls. Nonchalance should have been his reaction of choice from the start. “He sounds very… conniving.”

“Impish is a better word for it.”

“A conniving imp, then. One quality serves to define the other.”

It certainly explained the closing door, and if that was the bare minimum of rebelliousness they could expect to see tonight, that was more than tolerable.

“So… if he’s a no-show, when are you gonna put the nerves aside and go mingle?” Dennis propped an elbow up on the table as he nodded toward the patio and leaned a cheek against his curled fist. “You can’t nurse one drink all evening.”

Watch me.

Meeting his arched eyebrow with one of his own, Trev went for the next question on the proverbial checklist. “When did you all meet? I mean, I know that’s a lot of origin stories, but where did it start?”

“When Dahlia broadsided me with a door,” he recalled without reservation, to her complete and utter mortification. “I deserved it, being the stoolie dumbass standing where I was.”

The redhead immediately flushed bright red and buried her face in Dennis’ shoulder with an embarrassed laugh. “It was an accident! I didn’t expect you to be standing there…”

And so went their storytelling, fondly recounting how one chance run-in at the Motown Lounge led to this happy, steady state of affairs for them. Past a certain point Trev only listened half heartedly, their enthusiasm just a little too much for him to stomach.

New noise caught his hypersensitive ear again from atop the stairs- as the door creaked open, a shadowy figure moved from the studio two doors down the hall and shut it behind him. The only one who seemed to notice aside from Trevor was Dennis, blue eyes darting in the direction of the click some four hundred feet, one floor and a few rooms across the mansion, before looking back at Dahlia.

As both of them fell quiet and no one opted to keep up that line of thought, Nick sighed and put the tablet down, circling back to the elephant still in the room. Perhaps he had noticed after all.

“He doesn’t need to keep acting all jealous. We’re easy enough to get along with, and his paintings are nice.”

“Oh? You been spyin’ on him?” Dennis teased, even as Trev frowned and raised his eyeline to the impassive ceiling. “You’ve spent a lot of hours with your back turned at that piano. Risky business.”

Nick shook his head, failing to see the humor in such a comment, too caught up worrying over what could be done to ingratiate themselves. He didn’t cope very well with thoughts of being at odds with anybody: family, friend, and certainly not foe. No wonder he had stayed as far away from Boston as physically possible.

Trev traced a fingertip over the rim of the glass in contemplative gesture. Apparently the missing link fancies themselves a painter. The minute beads of sweat, smeared and not, stood out like little crystalline glints of ice. Chilled thirium wasn’t meant to grow warm any more than fidgety Dr. Lenore had business in a city under siege.

“Not so risky- it sounds like they’re both of the artistic persuasion… just different instruments.” Hooking a fingernail on the rim, he pressed and noted how it didn’t bend back, then rolled his eyes. The urge to self-pity out loud hit hard and he went for a small dose of it.

“But I don’t know him, hardly better than I know any of you. Must be nice to hold such… easy company.”

Rhea had had her eye on Trev from the moment she walked into the room. All of the nuances in his body language -the subtle fidgeting, the way he averted his eyes, hiding behind the frames, and kept his jaw tight with lips thinly drawn, the crease in his forehead from pressed brows- and the way he avoided talking about himself by asking questions just to divert the topic, were enough to express to most that he was visibly uncomfortable. But being the observant and experienced counselor she was, she could probably tell this was more than just surface tension.

“It comes in time with conscious effort,” she offered with a sympathetic smile, stealing a glance aside to Nick and lifting a hand to thread into his hair and scratch at the back of his head. “I had to really fight for this one’s attention… didn’t want anything much to do with me when we first met.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” he protested with a huff, Rhea’s head rolling back with a smile and focusing her gaze on the ceiling momentarily. When she didn’t immediately refute him, he uncertainly amended, “I was just… nervous.”

“So nervous you turned me down every opportunity you were given, even when things were still platonic,” she teased with a pop of her brows and a smirk. “But… the point is this.” Rhea focused her honey brown eyes on Trev across the table. “Familiarity is cultivated- we didn’t click the moment we met. It might look easy now, but we had a rough start getting here. So give yourself time, and leave the door open- you’ll find that easy company soon enough.”

She meant well, saying such things. Trev would have liked to listen and believe it in equal measure, but even the concept of basic familiarity didn’t really apply. It wasn’t a straight line between points. It was a snaking twisting route that doubled back on itself and wound around in ways these four had no conceivable idea of (or so he thought). None of them could know, was the worst part.

“Sure.” Trev glanced sidelong toward the patio, leaving his response as one clipped word. The music drifting in was an assortment of classic rock that he could kill a few seconds trying to put a name with the lyrics with.

Dennis gave a hmph of agreement, counterpointing her advice nicely. “You wouldn’t be the first one who took his time about it, kid. But you know you’ve got friends here, no matter what the academy throws at you, right?”

As close as they could be, anyway.

Pegging the musician as the late Bruce Springsteen, Trev bit the inside of one cheek. A bit of insight wasn’t horrible to hear, but if this was the part where he thought laying it on thick was a good idea, Lenore could drop it. This wasn’t meant to be an interrogation posing as small talk.

“The academy hasn’t been so bad compared to… this.” He gestured vaguely at their surroundings, then reached for the glass again as the hurt, defensive expressions painted their faces one by one. Once it was empty, he could politely excuse himself for a refill.

“This just isn’t my kind of familiar. Here is-… there aren’t-…” The thought fizzled into nothing as he drummed his fingers on the tabletop, and he muttered his last thought under his breath, useless as it was considering these were androids listening to him. “Bugger it. You have your normal and I have mine.”

Dennis knocked a foot against the leg of his chair. “Hey. Don’t get all sour on us now. We’re only trying to help, not bust your balls.”

Trev drained what was left of the blue substance and breathed out through his nose to cover the loud swallow. “I appreciate the disclaimer. Really. But I seem to have run out of refreshments, so if it’s all the same, I'll help myself to another.”

Even that much called up an unpleasant phantom of a memory.

-drinks with the squad after the successful closure of a half dozen interlinked cases, narcotics off the streets, justice for the dead almost a gimme-

He scooted his chair back out of the focal point between the two couples, and instantly felt less claustrophobic for it. Trev started to move away from the table but reached back and grabbed the glass he’d almost forgotten, decidedly avoiding any of their eyes and ignoring whatever protests they tried to voice.

Not even five steps out of the dining room on his way to the kitchen, a foam dart with a rubber tip pelted him in the side of the head. The flinch it drew brought him to a temporary stop. From behind a potted plant near the grand piano to his left, Ethan giggled and sprinted across the room and up the stairs, darting down the west wing, presumably toward his bedroom, before Trev could retaliate. The bright orange-yellow nerf pistol in his hand instantly marked him as the culprit. Compared to the last bullet that had hit him, this was no great insult to suffer; it was tolerable next to the nitpicking, well-meaning offers of help he was being pincered between just a minute earlier.

Trev stopped to pick up the toy dart and dropped it into the empty glass to set both items aside on an end table, then looked up at the steps and all the wings they could lead to. It was a tempting place to get lost- he could wander the halls for a spell, see what there was to behold, maybe glimpse some of that art Nick mentioned. If Ethan Fleur wanted to take repeated potshots at him only to scurry off, at least his awkward presence would provide amusement for somebody’s sake. Better that than to be put on the spot and start confronting the first mixed-up impulses about himself amidst the company of an impromptu therapy group. That was the kind of soap opera tripe irate inner monologues were better suited to.

‘Help’. They can help me. What do they know? It’s all just conjecture and secondhand accounts. None of them were there, they couldn’t know what it was like before, they don’t know what it’s like now. They shouldn’t bother themselves with trying to understand. I’m not broke, I’m just - resetting.

Even thinking it made his insides churn. Knowing now that it wasn’t anything like indigestion or an empty gut causing such sensations, it only served to make him walk faster, just to get moving and try to forget again.

His once-clear HUD filled with a few cursory warnings, reacting in time with the pique in stress, but he blinked and shook his head once to abolish them. Trev mounted the stairs in several precise steps, steadfastly marching up to the next landing with intent. So what if this area wasn’t for guests to wander off to? It ‘s not like he was planning on swiping anything. He was a cop in a past life, and that wasn’t just hyperbole or metaphorical comparisons at work. He wasn’t some side-show company project, he didn’t need to be set straight simply for having been shown different; he just had to deal, but he would do so at his own pace. He didn’t need any follow-along lessons to help the transition, he only needed space- closed, simple, quiet space, without anyone in it.

“Oh, yes, gorgeous little android-centric district you have going on here. Me? You say I need answers to my jacked-up life? ‘No worries! Welcome to Zion. We’ve got more than enough lived-in personalities offering sage, tried-and-true advice to help you out. Just gotta give us a chance’.” Like a tacky sales pitch at a used car lot. Wasn’t what I was already doing called living? In some form, if not how they knew it? Know it? I wasn’t bunking in any fancy mansion nibbling on crepes while the rest of the world tried to sort out its own problems because machines had to go and get all uppity over not being allowed their full potential. Yeah, well, what good does potential do you when you don’t even know it’s a… thing?

Walking on autopilot, without necessarily looking where he was going, Trev only slowed down at the top of the staircase to turn the corner to the east wing. The cracked marble columns and wood-paneled walls overlooked a tasteful beige runner on the same mosaic tiled floor, accented only by a few more ferns on pedestals standing sentry outside of closed bedroom doors. Windows lined the furthest wall, opening up to the greenhouse at the mansion’s back.

But he paid all of it no mind for longer than a fraction of a second, too taken aback by the painted likeness of Dahlia Fleur looking down on him from his left, just outside the curiously open door. The dimensions of the canvas scrawled across his eyes on automatic- rendered in traditional oil pigments, whomever had captured her likeness didn’t simply copy it. The brush strokes, invisible to human eyes, struck him as even and smooth, with no unsightly pause marks or remnants of gopey residue. Her freckled skin was only slightly bronzed for effect, complementing the cool background and the emerald green gown she wore. Gazing sidelong over her bare shoulder, expression sedate yet slightly coy, fingers lifted to rest on her chin as if poised in thought, her lengthy crimson locks of hair had been loosed from whatever binds that once might have held them back.

It was quite the exquisite portrait for what most human owners might have only seen, at one time, as a serving classic domestic android.

Staring at her perhaps a bit too long, Trev didn’t see the rubber band before it bounced off his temple, nor the shadow just out of the corner of his vision that had sent it flailing his way.

Speak the devil’s name, and he shall appear.

“Hey, wiseguy- quit eyeballin’ my sister.”

#dbhilluminate #dbh: fanfiction #detroit: become human #detroit become human fanfiction #dbh fanfiction #dylan #trevor #dyvor #dbhiredemption

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magmagruntalayne · 5 years

Text

Heart of the Sea

The Sharpedo's Den was like most bars on this side of the mountain; so dimly lit, full of alcoholics whose disease was born out of tragedy, and hazy with cigarette smoke. Very few of the patrons were talking, most of them too focused on their drinks or their thoughts to bother trying to make friends. Hell, nobody was interested in making friends anymore since it was just as likely that the bastard that was making you laugh tonight would be dead by Thursday. Maybe he'd drown, or his debts would finally catch up with him; of course, that's if he was lucky. Most just starved to death or became the victim of someone, or something, that was hungry enough to see if they liked the taste of human flesh. It was like the Arceus-damned Donner Party out here nowadays.

Team Aqua had certainly made sure of that.

When Alayne had first joined Team Magma she had thought that the team rivaling her own was fairly harmless. Just a bunch of trainer dropouts pretending to be pirates while using the thin excuse of trying to clean up the oceans and making it a safer place for all sea-dwelling pokemon. Harmless, disorganized, and annoying. The complete opposite of Team Magma, the cause she had sold her soul to, which was a well-oiled machine: ruthless, tactical, and organized to the point it was almost maddening at times. A team dedicated to cleaning up the environment so that people and pokemon could live in harmony without the clash over land that was happening more and more often as people began to spread into wild areas. On paper, it was actually rather surprising to learn that Aqua and Magma were not actually two branches of the same team but competitors. From what she gathered they were one team, at some point long before she took up her red cowl, but the rift came from infighting over resources. Money, after all, was just as much of a necessary resource to a cause as clean water is to a living creature. Either way, the teams split and when she was approached with the offer of bettering not only her own future but the future of pokemon, Alayne sided with Maxie and the rest of Team Magma.

That's why she was so good at her job. She had been clashing with the members of Team Aqua even before both leaders had gone off the deep end. It was hard remembering just where both teams had gone wrong because the changes had been very subtle at first. Hell, she couldn't even remember which team had started this suicidal plunge that would ruin the world forever. Her head always said it was Archie since he's the one who had ruined the world after all so he was obviously the most logical choice, but her gut always said it was Maxie. Not that it mattered much, somewhere along the line both men began the hunt for the legendary pokemon: Groudon and Kyorge. Creators of the land and sea respectively.

At the time she never actually believed that either team would find the legendaries. Yes, she had believed they existed but at the same time, part of her believed that they were either dead, or gone, or because they were literal gods that they would never be found, let alone be bent to the wills of mere men.

Arceus must have been laughing its ass off when she first laid eyes on Kyorge.

Somehow, despite the ragtag nature of Archie's group of merry-men they actually did it. They found and summoned Kyorge to the surface in an attempt to have the god of the ocean cleanse the water of all the toxins that man had dumped into it. They had won. It was a fucking shame that it would come at the cost of the whole world.

Now instead of the world being made up of about 70% water, the currently estimated percentage was closer to 80% water, because who could have foreseen that a drawback to summoning the god that created the fucking oceans would lead to the water level rising by way fucking more than the world could take.

The waves and wind had torn Pacifidlog to pieces, ripping the wooden structures off of the Corsola colony it was founded on and dashed everything against the other rocks and islands nearby. Dewport and Slateport were just swallowed by the tide, although Slateport's famous lighthouse can still be seen when the tide is low, apparently, Dewport wasn't as lucky. Nothing was left of the little seaside town, not any kind of infrastructure either above or below water. If it wasn't for the fact that it was still in the memories of any who had ever visited it could almost be said that the town never existed. Not that Alayne could speak from first-hand experience. Exploring ruins for the lost hadn't been part of her job when she was still apart of Magma. Instead, her job had been trying to protect those places that Kyorge hadn't finished sinking, places like Rustboro, Lilycove, and her hometown of Mauville. The last of which had basically lost its whole east side due to the water rising out of Route 118. It was in the wreckage of her old home that she had been approached for a second time by a man with a job opportunity- only this time it wasn't some misguided attempt to try to save the world.

The same job had led her to leave Magma and its attempts to save the world it just as easily could have destroyed, to sipping cheap whiskey in the Sharpedo's Den as she watched the blond at the bar order another round for him and the brunette at his side.

"Ya know, you don't have to do this, right?"

The only sign that Trey's voice had startled her was the slight ripple in her cup from the tiny jerk she had given and the way her eyes cut sharply away from the couple at the bar to her companion. They both knew that she'd gotten so wrapped up in her work and brooding that she'd forgotten he was there, but he wasn't the type to complain, at least not anymore. Before the end of the world, he would have given her so much shit for it. Teasing her relentlessly until she was forced to silence him either with a look, a drink, or a kiss. The last being his all-time favorite. Not that she blamed him since it had been her favorite way of shutting him up too. Not that she had kissed him since Kyorge had resurfaced. That had broken them like it had broken all things. It didn't help that Trey had been considered Aqua's golden boy before Archie destroyed the world.

"I know," She replies, speaking mostly into her glass to avoid meeting his too green eyes. It had been a long time since she had been able to meet his gaze, even though he was trying desperately to meet hers now.

"Then don't. Nothing's stoppin' you from walkin' out right now. It'd be easier." He leans back in his chair, tucking his hands behind his head. He was trying so hard to sound nonchalant about the whole thing but Alayne wasn't stupid. She knew he was trying to talk her out of it. It was a neat trick that she always seemed to be able to do with Trey, most people had always told her that he had been hard to read. Always putting up a happy front that few people, if any besides her, could see past. He was deeply troubled under all the smiles and the party vibe he used to give off.

Right now, he was scared, which meant that her contact had been right, the couple at the bar were Team Aqua members- and Trey knew them.

"Easier would have been killing myself a long time ago." She shot back, a surprising amount of venom in her voice.

"Hey," He drops the nonchalant act and reaches across the table to grab her free hand, which had been resting on the tabletop, "Don't talk like that, Laney. Please."

Alayne wanted to fucking cry. She wanted to crawl across the tabletop, into his arms, and cry until there was nothing left to cry about. This is why they couldn't keep doing this. One little touch and she was back in the world before- before the world forgot what the sun looked like because the rainclouds had blocked it out. Back when she was happy for the first time in her life. Magma had given her a job, friends, Pokemon, and in its own way, it had given her Trey. Aqua had stolen all of that. Faces flashed through her mind of all the people and pokemon that she had lost. Misaki and Kira to the first failed attempt to retake Sootopolis. Adrian, Anders, and Oz to the mudslides. Kanno, Abrus, and Blue to the plagues. Leo in the riots. Ever starved and Ethan killed himself soon after. Milo to the bandits. Maxie to an assassination. Courtney, Tabitha, Cole, Mary, Lori, Felix, Bryan, Sandy-

She physically recoils from Trey's touch, spilling some of her drink, but successfully ripping herself from the flood of memories that threaten to overtake her. She couldn't do this. This is why they had to stop. He reminded her too much of all the things she lost, and they both knew that he was in part to blame for the reason they were all gone. Yet, as much as she couldn't stand him touching her because it grounded her too much in her shitty reality, Trey was the one thing that kept her from actually killing herself. And she was pretty sure that keeping her alive was the only thing that kept Trey from being completely consumed by the guilt of being a part of the reason the world had gone to shit. It was as if keeping her alive was the one thing that could redeem him in the end. Two desperate souls that couldn't be together but couldn't be apart either. It was fucking pathetic but it got her through. So she'd take it.

"Laney? Are yo-"

"Don't touch me." Alayne couldn't look at him, instead focusing on a spot on the floor, ignoring the way her vision swam with unshed tears.

She could almost feel him withdrawal his hand from her personal space even though he never touched her. She could hear the squeak of his chair on the floor as he settles back into it. Alayne closes her eyes. She couldn't afford to do this. Not now. She still had a job to do. If she was going to fall apart she could do it later.

"…Laney, please don't do this," His voice was a strained whisper, like a ghost trying to communicate through the void. It made something twist in her chest painfully, "Not them. They don't… Kegan didn't have a damn thin' to do with anythin' that happened. Let ‘em go."

She sets her drink down on the table, it was the first time she set the glass down all night, asides from the two times she had made the bartender refill it. Alayne drops her head into a waiting hand, covering her eyes so she could discreetly wipe the tears away. She was glad that she had decided to forgo wearing any kind of eye make-up tonight; it was always a good idea on nights like this. Not that seeing a woman with smudge make-up was anything anyone paid attention too anymore; likely she was either a prostitute at the end of her shift or mourning another soul that was lost to the endless rain. Arceus, she was so fucking weak for him. "You know if someone else catches up to them, they won't be as kind. You may be condemning them to the same fate as Shelly."

"Yeah, but they at least get a chance if you let ‘em go."

Alayne was quiet for a long time. She hated this part of her job, especially on nights when Trey was with her. She already had to go through this moral dilemma every-fucking-time she caught up to an ex-Aqua member but Trey always added an extra ton of guilt whenever he decided to tag along. One would think that with her kill count these debates would fucking stop, but it felt like they were only getting worse. She could barely even justify to herself anymore that she was merciful compared to most other bounty hunters. Well, she was now. She was a lot more violent when she first started taking revenge on old Aqua members. Now the poisons she used were always fast acting and were so painless that sometimes her targets even smiled at her when their hearts finally stopped. Hell, the fact that she was going so soft was probably part of the reason Trey had decided to show up tonight. He saw who her targets were, and knew he could probably talk her out of this. Bastard.

"I fucking hate you,"

"It’d be easier if you actually did." He uses her own words against her. It was so sudden and out of character that it made Alayne lift her head out of her hand, and actually look at him for the first time that night. Trey was watching her with such sad eyes and a matching smile. Even though she knew she looked as rough as the rest of the patrons in this hole in the wall, he somehow managed to look exactly like he did before the end of days. Complete with that green t-shirt with the kecleon silhouette she bought for him on his last birthday. Looking as if he was unfazed by all the tauroshit around them- unless you were looking at his eyes. They were just as haunted as everyone else’s, only his seemed to corrupt every expression that crossed his face, even his smile. Arceus, what she wouldn't do to make him smile like they used to.

Alayne sighs wistfully and glances over her shoulder. The brunette was sitting alone at the bar. Looks like she had missed her chance. She had been planning on ambushing him in the bathroom, then catching the girl when she came looking for her friend. She stands, noting the way that Trey seemed to jerk like he was going to try to stop her until he noticed that she was already waving him off. She missed her chance, and she was pretty sure that if she killed these two Trey would make himself scarce for a while. She wasn't sure what either one of them would do with the silence. It had gotten so bad last time that they had stopped talking- she really had been close to killing herself before Trey appeared to literally talk her off the edge. She wasn't ready to chase him away again.

Grabbing her glass and her purse, the ex-Magma made her way over to the bar and leans the gap between the seat the blond had been sitting in and the brunette's spot as she waits for the bartender to notice her. She didn't miss the way that the girl angled herself away just slightly or that she was only drinking a soda instead of something a little more… alcoholic. The bartender appears in front of her, and instead of exchanging words, she fishes her wallet out of her bag and passes him her credit card. He nods, shuffling farther down the bar to close out her tab. She takes a sip of the last of her drink as she watches him head to the register. "You two need to get out of here."

The girl next to her startles, turning to actually face Alayne. She was adorable. All freckles, big brown eyes, and a pretty round face that probably lit up a room when she smiled. There was no doubt about it now that she could actually see the girl up close. It was, in fact, Kegan Roth, ex-Aqua grunt, and close friend to Trey. She hadn't been a hundred percent sure that this girl had been Kegan but she had just assumed the moment she laid eyes on Blake, that his companion had been the farm girl. It seemed that once again her instincts had been right on point.

"W-what?"

"You're being hunted. Or at least were, but people will figure out sooner or later that I missed my mark."

The blood drained from the girl's face and Alayne eyes her as Kegan reached for her jacket. She either had a weapon in there or was just going to bolt. Judging by the look of pure terror in her eyes, she was betting on the latter rather than the former. Funny, she had always thought Trey's old friends had more moral than this. Then again, she did have the poor girl cornered, and the gentleman who had probably kept her safe all this time wasn't around to protect her. Although he'd be back soon enough, and she'd rather be gone by that time. She glances up to the mirror behind the bar her subconscious telling her that she was being watched. Trey was still sitting at the table, staring at her, and when he sees her looking waves at her with that same tragic smile.

"Trey says hi, by the way."

This stops Kegan in her tracks. The country girl sits up straighter and twists to look around the bar. She had this look of excitement on her face that made everything in Alayne's chest twist painfully such a way that made her want to drop to her knees and sob. It had been so long since she had seen such pure hope like that. No wonder Trey wanted to protect her. She was so innocent and open. "Trey's here? But I thought he'd-"

"He did." Alayne cuts her off quickly, breaking her gaze from Trey's in the mirror. She closes her eyes and slams back the last of her drink. It burned as it when down, but it chased the taste of acid out of her mouth. The glass hits the counter with more force than she intended, and when she opens her eyes the bartender is standing in front of her with his hand outstretched. Waiting for her to take her card and receipt. Kegan had gone quiet and was bowing her head.

Alayne takes the paper and plastic, shoving it into her pocket. She nods at the bartender and turns her back on the two. "Good luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Blake coming back down the hallway from where the restrooms were. She could feel his eyes on her and even though he moved out of her line of sight, she had no doubt he was already back at Kegan's side- being filled in about the current situation and how their lives were spared mostly on a whim. This would most likely be the last time she would ever see the two. Even if she was instructed to keep them as a bounty Alayne doubted that she would ever chase after them again. Somehow it felt right. Maybe because in a previous life, she had been expecting to be on the run like they were. Although she always expected it to be because Maxie had figured out that she had fallen in love with Trey, and by some twist of fate he had fallen for her too-not because she was at fault for ending the world.

She passes by their table which was empty, minus Trey's untouched beer. Without thinking she reaches out and snags the bottle, bringing it to her lips. It was warm and the taste made her crinkle her nose in disgust but she still drank it. Part of her was expecting the bartender to try to stop her as she pushed open the door to head out into the rain, bottle still in hand, but he didn't. Just another example of how much of a shit people gave now that they realized that the world was on borrowed time. Pausing under the tin awning, Alayne carefully swings her purse around and with her free hand began the dig for her umbrella. Like all necessary things it somehow seemed to have ended up at the very bottom of her bag, regardless of the fact that she had just used it a few hours ago.

‘Thanks.'

The voice was so quiet that there should have been no way that she heard it over the sound of the rain beating on the metal overhead. Then again she guessed that was the upside of having voices in one's head. No matter how softly he spoke, Alayne could always hear him.

For a long time, she's silent, just rummaging through her bag. Finally, she unearths her prize, still damp from her walk to the bar. With the press of a button, the travel umbrella unfolds, snapping into shape with a click that was drowned out by the rain. Alayne shoulders the umbrella, before bringing the bottle back to her lips to finish it off. One day, she probably would be able to enjoy drinking beer but for now, it was just another reminder of the fact that Trey… wasn't actually here anymore. Once the bottle was empty, she set it gently on the edge of the steps before stepping out into the downpour.

"You're welcome."

#I have no idea if I'll actually come back to this blog #this is just the first thing I've written since I've stopped writing here #And some select people wanted to read it #enjoy the sads

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glacivn · 5 years

Text

@flamereign

the first realization of a fluttering consciousness is a sensation of pain . he isn’t certain where it’s located , && the more he tries to pinpoint it the more it seems to spread , until he is finally able to open his eyes && cough out some of the red dust he has been breathing in while sprawled uncomfortably , unnaturally , on the familiar earth of the keyblade graveyard . the action sends a more recognizable spasm of pain through his ribs , && pieces of memory line up proper to confirm that , yes , the pain is not situated in merely one or two select spots , && the past many days have been filled with very clear reason for it .

part of him threatens to slip back into the numb solace of lethargy ( coward ! coward ! coward ! ) , but it is the faint sound of commotion in the near distance which pulls him back into the tangible world . specifically it is the familiar ring of keyblades that he can match to previous recognition , && thus he knows the precipice of xehanort’s final goal is in motion . && that maybe he is not too late . she’s not a nobody like the others . her defeat spells demise , not recompletion . if he can just get to her before the heroes of light . convince her to run , or hide , or surrender before they strike her down , then maybe . . . but he cannot jump to the desired solution without first putting together the equation . the first thing vexen does is scan his immediate surroundings from his location on the ground . the strength of wind implies he is still being kept at a high altitude . there is no sign of anyone standing watch to guard him or continue his torments upon his wake . he has no idea how long he has been out as this world lacks any natural cycle of night && day from his observations . perhaps they did not expect him to regain consciousness so soon , but more likely he imagines they no longer consider him in any position to be a threat . always underestimating , always miscalculating . small steps for small minds . the nobody’s first attempt to push himself up is a disastrous failure , leaving him gasping for air through stabbing pain that seems to draw attention to a new source with every breath . the energy he has to spare before the chance of slipping back into unconsciousness is very apparent in its limitations ; an equation of its own to work out in his mind : what is necessary to reach his destination , how best to divi up the resources of his own body towards reaching the desired outcome ? fully casting a cure over himself is undoubtedly out of the question , he would black out well before it could even complete . so as with any seemingly unsolvable problem , he goes back to the basics . both of his legs are broken in different areas . if he mends one to a condition capable of holding most of his weight , he can walk . the right appears to be the most viable candidate , as mending the patella to a functional state is far less intensive than fully reconstructing various spots along his tibia && fibia . he needs at least one arm in order to summon a shield if necessary , to cast magic with any real precision , to do the most basic caution of catching himself if he falls . he is equally competent with either one , he opts for the left in light of its minimal internal injury . the burns he feels he can tolerate , for reasons that do not even rise as a priority of noteworthy thought at the moment . ribs , spine , lungs , sternum . . . even runs through a mental diagram of the human machine until after a few minutes he is settled on the specific repairs necessary for minimal function , && casts the spells accordingly . regardless of the carefully planned efficiency he feels it take its course on his already short supply of energy , && patchwork healing magic is never pleasant to suffer through , but he is still awake , && that means at least the first problem has been solved . now it is onto the next .

carefully ( slower than he should like , but he knows he cannot afford to test his limitations here . ) he is able to bring himself to his feet , && when he is comfortable enough with his balance to feel assured he will not sway off , even limps closer to the ledge for a better outlook over the surroundings . it is then he realizes the cliff he is on is now serving as a form of wall to a labyrinth that most certainly was not here prior . everything is taken in as quickly as his mind can register it : the tunnel ways made for funneling the heroes of light by the whims of xehanort , the larger segments of land squared off for what he can only rationalize is meant to cage the battles necessary for the x-blade to be formed . one of these is currently sequestering the older keyblade wielders , aqua && ventus , as they stand against vanitas && one of xehanort’s many past incarnations . another within sight is the battle ground of marluxia , larxene , && luxord , against what he can barely make out to be sora && his king companion . the third he cannot see the ground of from this angle , but the walls are sporadically lit up with the familiar purple glow of xigbar’s weapons && the occasional flurry of darkness he would recognize from his own creation even the butchered pieces of one at any distance . which leaves the fourth . . .

even lifts the arm not hanging limply at his side && stumbles into the dark corridor .

#flamereign #【❉】ic . ━━━━━ divergence . the equation of flames && rebirth .#✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ooooooh my gooooood i'm sorry this got so long #it's really just #so much context && inner thought processing please do not feel like you need to match it in the slightest #i was going to write him actually seeing lea && kairi when he got out of the portal but i just #knew it would add another 5 paragraphs at least so i'm washing my hands of this right now good bye *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧#torture implied //#bone injury //#ask to tag //

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royallypsychotic · 3 years

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Christian Dior Purse Photographs And Premium High Res Footage

Apparently, in 1995, France’s then First Lady Bernadette Chirac, gifted Lady Diana with the latest creation from the House of Dior. The Lady Dior was first introduced in 1994 beneath the inventive course of Christian Dior’s successor, Gianfranco Ferré. Initially, the bag was nicknamed Chouchou – French for “the favourite” – and was only renamed a yr after its first launch. wikipedia Harry Archer is an editorial assistant at Editorialist engaged on trend, beauty, and every thing in between. A recent graduate from The London College of Fashion, he has interned at Esquire, the Gay Times, and Attitude magazine. When he is not invested in pop culture, you'll discover him engrossed in a book, working from natural choice, or doing a red wine rendition of Can't Fight the Moonlight from the critically acclaimed movie Coyote Ugly. The bag was first launched in 1994 by then-creative director Gianfranco Ferré, and the style was famously beloved by Princess Diana, who was gifted the accessory by France’s First Lady, Bernadette Chirac, in 1995. Ferraro has posted tons of photographs prior to now few weeks with Dior luggage, backstage, and in full make-up and clothes from the brand, and nearly every time has captioned the picture with #ad, and even credited the photographer. In any case, the folks chosen to promote the Saddle Bag 2.zero all have one thing in common. The reimagined version of the classic Lady Dior purse was the second collaboration between Chicago and Dior Creative Director Maria Grazia Chiuri. Another one of Maria Grazia Chiuri’s creations for Dior, the Dioevolution Bag proved that trend is all concerning the revolution. First launched in Dior’s Spring/Summer 2017 collection and discontinued by 2020, the Dior Dioevolution Bag was created to make a daring trend statement. The Caro flap bag additionally features the brand’s “CD” emblem with a twist clasp while Dior’s tackle “30 Montaigne” is embossed on the again. A detachable chain-link strap enhances the handbag that is out there in two sizes and multiple shades such as mint green, rose, and black. Although the basic hobo silhouette bag was initially created in the Nineteen Fifties, the bag's declare to fame skyrocketed when Kennedy touted the bag around. Clean lines and a classic shape are delivered to the fore and the reversible flap lends it a bold character that appeals to Dior’s trendy feminine viewers. Available in three sizes and various colourways, there's a Diorever bag to go well with to each mood and magnificence. He has now been replaced by Belgian designer Raf Simons, former inventive director with the Jil Sander trend house, who's honoured to be responsible for probably the most elegant and famous French brand on the planet. On the contrary, with greater than 230 outlets worldwide, it is doubtless considered one of the main manufacturers in the luxurious market. Dior Couture posted half-yearly turnover of 632 million euros on 31 October 2012, up 26% compared with the identical period in 2011. Dior’s Maria Grazia Chiuri, as an example, has been mining the legacy of not solely Monsieur Christian Dior himself, but additionally his successors, among them John Galliano, whose saddlebag debuted in 2000 to instant success. Of course, Kardashian West is not one to let her possessions collect mud. Given her love of wearable art—remember that George Condo–painted Haut à Courroies she wore back in 2013? — it was only a matter of time earlier than she paired her saddlebag with a coordinated outfit. Today, the Birkin bag is stored at a high stage of exclusivity by the model. 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Buy second-hand classic Dior Clutch bags for Women on Vestiaire Collective. There are at all times more decadent versions available out there; the Christian Dior 2017 John Giorno Lady Dior Medium Handbag went upto US$4500 (Rs 3.5 lakhs). As a half of Art Basel Miami, Dior collaborates with a quantity of artists from everywhere in the globe and unveils a line of artistic Lady Dior bags with the starting price of US$5000 , going up to US$14,000 . Ultra chic and with beautifulcraftsmanship, the bag has survived an evolving market for almost 25 years and grown beneath six inventive directors. Forged with craftsmanship, expertise, and technical innovation, this special edition assortment includes a recent take on a handful of a few of the most sought after RIMOWA designs. Do you realize if the miss dior promenade clutch pouch is discontinued? I can't find it on the Dior website and I would like to buy it whereas in paris at one of many boutiques. 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