me

Hi! Right now I'm trying to find purpose in my dull life. I am an amateur writer, and I love making headcannons. I have so many projects I’m working on but am happy to do requests! Follow me on AO3 and Wattpad under the same name ♡

[so-sures-blog]

Hey hyd? You alive?

Hey! Yes, I’m alive but barely — I’m swamped with assignments, procrastination, laziness, and the actual stories I want to write, which is a lot!

Each folder has, like, 3-5 stories I half wrote down, so it’s a lot. I hope to have it all cleared out before I graduate, but it might take a while because of my unmotivation. Still, you can expect to see more writing pieces!

Follow me on Archive of Our Own and Wattpad under the username: so_sure_

There, you will get multi-chapter fics that I will not be posting on Tumblr. Thanks! <3

PS: For future references for my fics I want to claim that all art is not mine. They are simply images that I have found in the internet and thought suited the theme for my story. This is not done out of malice or for taking credit, but simply through pure awe of the work. Sometimes I have not put credit to the artists simply because I forget or because I do not know who drew it through multuple times in digging. Please do not misinterpret my actions and please enjoy 🙏

[so-sures-blog]

Teenage Mercenary Headcanons

(Most of these are of Dayeon Yu because she's my fave character, but the Numbers are thrown in, too!)

☆☆☆

— Dayeon absolutely knows Ijin's secret, but she isn't confronting him because she wants him to trust her and come forward himself. Dayeon is sweet, not oblivious.

Who do you think sews the clothes whenever he gets slashed? Washed out the blood? Takes out the trash that has all his bloody bandages? She's literally seen him try to stab someone's eye out with a chopstick. Fight against experienced killers when she was kidnapped with Yeona. It only takes a quick google search to find out Dushik Cha is the biggest gangster in Seoul, Korea — and Ijin has him on speed dial. When the Congressman and his childrens' crimes broke the news, you think Dayeon didn't see it — didn't notice that with all the videos posted on the internet, only hers wasn't shown?

Ijin got a job at SW, the most prestigious company in the entire world, as a bodyguard. You have to have an extreme amount of fighting talent and skill to be able to become a bodyguard there, even as a part-timer. Normally, that would take months, years to be accepted. Nobody knew how he was scouted, not even the higher-ups. Which would mean Ijin was personally hired and got the job through connections with the CEO of SW.

The point is that Ijin is the most unsubtle person on the planet, and Dayeon is ready.

— The Numbers have tattoos! After they got initiated, they all got tattoos of their numbers. It serves as a reminder that they belong to The Camp and have no identity beyond that.

— I feel like Dayeon would be really into psychology. Being bullied by Huijin for years, I think that Dayeon would pick up behavioral cues from her as a coping mechanism. She is very observant, so I imagine she psychoanalyzes those around her to determine whether or not they are good people. I also see her use her psychology skills to translate into being a detective for learning about Ijin and the Numbers. I can picture her basically backing the Numbers into a corner and forcing them to talk about their feelings. She has a lot of impromptu therapy sessions.

— Ijin and Dayeon go to a rich kid school but live in a bad neighborhood. Yeona Sin, granddaughter of the SW CEO, goes to their school, and so did the Congressman's children, so it has to be a rich kid school. I headcannon that Grandpa Yu worked hard to send Dayeon to a good school, so that's why she goes there even though they don't have money. Also, they live in a bad neighborhood because how else would Ijin beat up high-school assholes and live within motorcycle-riding distance from Dushik Cha, Seoul's #1 gangster?

— The Numbers speak multiple languages! Being sent on multiple assignments in different continents, I feel like they would pick up different languages in order to blend in.

— Dayeon is good with first aid! It's not through want, but when she was being bullied, she had to patch up her own injuries by herself, so she became well practiced in it. And, when she was younger and first learning how to cook, she kept on getting cuts on her hands from the knife. But she didn't want her grandpa to worry and send her to the hospital for stitches, so she learned to do it herself! 

(Inspired by my mother, who cut herself with a knife and promptly sewed herself up with a needle and thread with no tears or medical experience whatsoever.)

She helps heal her brother's injuries. She's not as good at stitches as Ijin is, but she insists she has to when he comes home with injuries, and it's the thought that counts, right? Also, she took it upon herself to learn CPR for her grandpa when she was really young in case he had a heart attack from his weak heart ;(

— Dayeon steals her brother's jackets and wears them around. At first, it was merely coincidence — her just grabbing the first thing when she's in a rush — but soon it becomes a habit to reach for Ijin's jacket instead of her own. They're comfy and oversized, and she loves it. Her favorite is the grey one with white armbands Ijin often wears. Ijin doesn't mind. Her wearing his jackets actually protects her more even when he is not around. He goes out and takes care of high school jerks often so that they start to recognize the clothing he beat them up in.

High-School Gangster: (sees Dayeon walking home alone innocently) Ooh, cute girl!

Gang: (goes up to harass her before pausing when they see her jacket.) Wait ...

(Recognizing Ijin's jacket, paling, and realizing that he with absolutely fuck them up if they mess with his little sister.)

Gang: (jumping the guy who pointed out Dayeon, beating him up.) You piece of shit! Don't you drag us into your goddamn death wish!

Ijin traumatized all the gangs in the area, and it's beautiful.

— Ijin and Dayeon have dimples! At first, it was only Dayeon because I researched and found dimples represent a sign of beauty and cheerfulness in many cultures, which I thought suited her perfectly. But then I wanted Ijin and Dayeon to have something in common due to resemblance, and the dimples appeared. Also, I wanted the Numbers to have that extra wow factor when they see Ijin's smile and realize he has dimples.

— Grian is a melting pot filled with orphaned children of all ethnicities. I imagined that missionaries from all countries came to Grian to try and "fix it up" before having children with the locals (or they were trafficked). Maybe the parents were killed, or they abandoned them, but the point is that most of the children there grew up orphaned before they were inducted into military camps.

— Besides Ijin and 032, all of the other Numbers are in their mid-to-late twenties. Think about it — it's been 10 years since the plane crash, and they were all teenagers when they were in the Camp. And none of them look especially older or younger.

— Ijin takes after his parents in looks. He has his mom's hair and his dad's face. You can tell he was their son just by looking at him. That's why Grandpa Yu was so emotional when Ijin came back. It was like seeing his son and daughter-in-law come alive again within his grandson. But Dayeon?

Dayeon looks exactly like her grandma, so much that sometimes it literally hurts Grandpa Yu to look at her. It almost seems like a cruel twist of fate — to leave him with the little girl that looked exactly like his wife to raise when he should've been left with Ijin, so Grandpa can still have some part of his son and daughter-in-law with him (Dayeon internalized these thoughts when she was younger).

— Dayeon knows how to do makeup! Again, this was mostly out of necessity — she had to learn how to cover up the bruises when she was being bullied. The bullies were smart enough to not go for her face, but sometimes when she fought back she'd catch a blow across the cheek — hence, she was forced to learn how to cover it up with makeup and over the years has perfected the art of hiding bruises. Sometimes, when Ijin comes home with bruises, she drags him to her room and helps him cover it up with makeup.

— Ijin and Dayeon actually have a lot of similarities and neither of them realize it. They have the same habits and quirks, and subconsciously hold the same fears of revealing their past traumas. It's honestly a bit ironic and hilarious, seeing as physically Ijin and Dayeon look nothing alike for siblings. For example, Ijin works out and goes on runs when something is weighing on his mind while Dayeon paces the floor until it is practically worn and tries to busy herself with chores.

It always makes Dayeon petulant when one of her friends or the Numbers point it out because she knows firsthand how frustrating her brother can be.

— When Yeona gets drunk she has the habit of buying an excessive amount of things for her friends. Dayeon's cold? Watch her buy a full set of expensive winter gear for her. The guys are feeling hungry? She'll clear out the entire convenience store. She has zero recollection of what she bought the next day and Hyeokjin and Jaehyeong find it hysterical when they see all of the absurd, random things she's bought. The whole group makes fun of how much money she wracked up in a single night. Seokju always has to take away her wallet beforehand whenever they go out.

— After the whole kidnapping arc with Dayeon and Yeona, Seokju took it upon himself to teach the girls some basic self defense. Mostly it's dodging and escaping holds, and they've both gotten pretty good! When they first started out, Ijin would be staring lasers at Seokju on the sidelines whenever he would handle his sister, which he felt he could personally do without. Now, Ijin helps out with the training while Yeongchan, Jaehyeong, and Hyeokjin spectate and cheer. While it irks him, the girls love it and take the opportunity to show off what they've learned.

— Jaehyeong says that he doesn’t know what he wants to be in the future, but secretly he wants to be a race car driver. He loves cars. As soon as this guy gets his hands on a license, he’ll be driving everywhere. Constantly gets pulled over for speeding tickets. If the friend group was ever in an apocalypse, Jaehyeong would be their getaway driver simply because he’s crazy behind the wheel, and can probably pull off all those stunts you see in the movies. His grandpa is the chairman of Gihyeon Motors, so you bet he’ll have access to the best vehicles there is. He’s the guy who’ll pull up to school or a McDonald’s in a sports car just to brag (he’d get it in orange, simply because it’s his signature color and he likes to be obnoxious). He was both jealous in discovering Ijin had a motorcycle (technically borrowing, and without a license!) and delighted when he found out Seokju rammed someone with a company car.

Keeps his dream of being a race car driver private because he doesn’t want his family to take that away from him (which they could). So far, his plan is to complete his military requirement after high school to stall his way from the family business — because unlike Hyeokjin, he hates business — but after that he’s got nothing. However, after seeing Yeongchan pursue a career in streaming, he found he can become much more courageous in voicing his opinion of his future.

— The funniest thing about 004 is that he actually has a resting pretty face but chooses to look like a straight up sewer demon on a regular basis. 005 said once in passing that “004 can actually look good if he just shuts his mouth” and instead of taking it as a challenge of being attractive while talking like a normal person, he chose to twist his facial features into the most horrific expressions possible while spewing nonsense. Still, in the rare moments when he is calm, his face softens and you can properly see the ‘pretty boy’ face he hides behind his ‘bad boy’ exterior.

— 016 is actually a bit of a baker amongst the Numbers. It was a hobby he indulged in recently when he found he had a bit of free time, and it had appealed to him because it required a lot of measurements and techniques that he — as a sniper — appreciated. It was a lot of trial and error for him since he literally had no idea what he was doing but he picked up the skill quickly and soon was making sweets from scratch that the Numbers frequently stole. He found that he doesn’t agree with having too much sugar in his desserts (hard to have much of a sweet tooth growing up in poverty) so he mainly makes desserts without much sugar, like shortbread.

— Ijin loves stargazing. He’s had the habit since he was a kid, constantly looking up since he knew he came from the sky when he was at the Camp. When he was on the run as a mercenary, he often turned to the stars to guide him when he didn’t have a map. When Major Kang found out Ijin liked stars he made sure to buff up on astronomy knowledge so he could teach him about constellations and such (Ijin never really got it which made him sulk). He thinks that something as beautiful as the night sky should simply be admired, not understood. It was the only thing that brought him peace when he was alone. He likes the silent beauty the stars can bring him; he can get lost staring at them for hours. It was a shame when he found out he can’t see them anymore thanks to Seoul’s light pollution, and it was one of the few things he missed when he was back in Grian.

[so-sures-blog]

to love and to learn

I’ve had this request since 2022 and had half done for more than a year now. Sorry it took so long! 😭

Summary: (to have and to hold)

Zoey navigates her relationship with Mike and co. throughout the year, learning that just because things are tough doesn’t mean you shouldn’t hold onto who they are.

A girl with a heart as big as hers shouldn’t be afraid to speak it.

| he is so many things. he is everything. she loses her heart and gets it back, this time ready to hold on. |

*♥️*🩵*

Mal (Spring)

Zoey unlocked the door to her place, purposefully making more noise than necessary as she closed the door and placed all her belongings on the table.

“I’m back!” She called out.

The empty house said nothing back and Zoey sighed, heart sinking. She didn’t know what she was expecting, to be honest. Her house was always empty, always silent, always dark. Normally, that would be any teenager's dream, but Zoey had always felt constricted when she was alone — like she was one tug away from panicking.

Separation anxiety, is what Courtney would call it. Neglect.

Zoey the Lonely, is what the elementary school kids called her.

It wasn’t like Zoey’s parents were bad or anything like that. They were just … never around. They were busy with work and away on trips often, which was fine because they were making money and putting a roof over her head. So Zoey didn’t say anything when they didn’t call her and she always smiled when the neighbors asked how her parents were and if she was fine …

Zoey shook her head out of the thoughts she wandered in. She had friends — close friends, better than anything she could have asked for — and that was enough.

Zoey walked over to the fridge and opened it — only to find absolutely nothing at all. Zoey quickly began looking through the shelves in the pantry and resisted the urge to sigh.

Right, she was supposed to go grocery shopping like, a week ago, curse finals for making her forget —

Zoey grabbed her wallet, keys, and phone and walked out of the house even though it was midnight.

Anything was better than being alone in an empty house.

* * *

Zoey is a sixteen year old girl walking home alone late at night, and apparently that’s some sort of welcome mat to get mugged.

Her credit card is weeping from the amount of things she’s bought but the food will last her a while so she doesn’t have to go shopping again. Zoey’s in good spirits as she crosses the street.

Normally, she would take the buses, but she doesn’t want to wait around outside when it’s one am and she has school tomorrow — well, today. She's also relaxed enough for the first time in about three months to let her guard down a bit, so it's a real shame that she immediately gets jumped by thugs the moment she does.

Zoey shrieks when a heavy hand covers her mouth and she gets dragged into an alleyway. Her back slams into a wall behind her, and Zoey counts three big, dark, intimidating thugs in front of her.

"Hands up, sweetheart, nice and easy," the biggest guy says, waving his gun at her.

Ice-cold fear shot in her veins and she instinctively reached for her pepper spray. Her heart skipped a beat when she felt empty space. She forgot it!

"He said hands up, kid!" the second guy barks at her, his own gun leveling out somewhere wildly above Zoey’s shoulder.

Zoey flinches. Great, not only would she be killed by thugs, she would be killed by amateur thugs. With the way they were holding the guns, she would most likely be shot by their own carelessness rather than actual intention.

"We don't want any trouble, just your money."

Zoey bit back a retort. Yeah, because teenagers just happen to be real millionaires. Who's even teaching these guys how to pick targets —

The thugs move forward, and Zoey cuts off her inner dialogue. Adrenaline races through her veins and her hands tremble at her sides. Just as she tries to summon her voice to call for help, or to desperately use one of Courtney’s self-defense lessons —

“Hey.”

All four of them jump, and the three thugs turn around to see two figures. Zoey couldn’t make out their facial features in the dark, but one was short and stocky while the other was tall and lanky.

The short one took a menacing step forward. “Leave the girl alone, and I promise we’ll leave you with your teeth intact.”

The thugs laugh. “Oh yeah? Last I checked, there’s three of us, and two of you. And we have guns.”

The tall one walks forward, and the thugs gasp. From her place Zoey can’t see who he is, but it makes the thugs tremble.

“B-boss … it’s the Malevolent One! And … the short mohawked green punk!”

Short mohawked green punk? That sounded like someone she knew, but who was the Malevolent One?

Caught up in her musings, Zoey almost didn’t notice the conversation going on.

"Hey kid, we said — hey, stop that creepy grinning, we're pointing a gun at you — "

Duncan just grins wider, cracks his knuckles, and throws himself into a fight.

Zoey screams as Duncan tackles the thug that called him short and gleefully begins going to town on him. The Malevolent One moves like a shadow, knocking the gun from the thug leader and sending him unconscious.

Slowly, they both turn to look at the last thug standing.

The thug’s face loses all its color and he jumps back in terror, screaming as he drops his gun in his haste to escape.

Zoey is frozen, gasping hard as her knees tremble. The two took on three armed thugs and managed to escape with only bruised knuckles.

Zoey’s legs suddenly give out.

“Hey, Zo, are you okay?” A hand is placed on her shoulder, and Zoey looks up to see Duncan staring down at her.

Zoey can’t help but smile. Duncan liked to put up this bad-boy image to make him seem tough, but secretly he had a soft heart. Zoey was glad to be one of the few to see it.

“Yeah, I — um, yeah. Just in shock. No need to worry about me.”

Duncan offers a hand to help her up, handing her the groceries in the process. Zoey shakily stands up, letting out a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Duncan.”

She looks at the other guy, whose figure was hiding in the shadows. “Thanks …” she trails off hesitantly.

He steps into the light and her heart stops. Mike, is her first thought. The tall, lanky body, the skin color, the face. Then she looks closer — the frown on his lips, the dark look on his face, the hair covering his eye.

“Mal,” Zoey says. Her throat suddenly feels extremely dry and she resists the urge to swallow.

“Zoey,” he responded neutrally.

Duncan looks back and forth, obviously picking up the strange air between them. “So, are you headed home?” He asked. Zoey and Mal both broke off the weird trance they found themselves in from staring at each other.

“Yeah,” Zoey nodded. “I was just walking back.”

Duncan takes the grocery bags and turns away. “Come on, we’ll walk with you! Don’t want you to get mugged again, do we?”

Zoey exchanged a bewildered look with Mal, but when he merely raised a brow she quickly flushed and hurried after Duncan.

No way was she letting herself be robbed two times in a night.

* * *

“Hey,” Zoey suddenly asked on the walk back. “Where’s Scott?”

Scott, Duncan, and Mal were the “bad guys” of the neighborhood, the misfits. They liked going out at night and causing trouble — nothing serious or endangering, but just enough graffiti to give the police a headache.

Zoey wasn’t very fond of Scott, but if his friends liked him and they were happy, who was she to judge?

“He stayed in because he had to do a biology project.” Duncan said casually, swinging her grocery bags from side to side. On her other side, Mal was carrying her other bags.

Zoey raised a brow. “And he cares because …”

“He’s failing. He spent three hours begging Dawn to help him out.”

Zoey cringed. He must really be desperate if he went crawling to Dawn. She hated his guts more than Zoey did.

“Right…” Zoey said, because she didn’t really know where to take the conversation.

“Anyway, where’re your parents?” Duncan asks. “Should they be the ones doing grocery shopping? Or at the very least, make you do it at a decent time?”

Zoey shrugged, suddenly not in a very chatty mood. “Oh, uh, they’re on a business trip.”

Duncan narrowed his eyes. “Wait, didn’t you say that last month? What —”

Zoey cut him off. “Duncan, I’m tired. So please drop the topic or else I'll text Courtney that you were on the streets beating up thugs at two am on a final’s night.” Zoey waved the phone for emphasis.

Duncan instantly backed off at the threat of bringing Courtney in. He definitely didn’t want his on-and-off girlfriend to get on his case again (even if they were broken up now). “Okay, okay, fine. I get it, I’ll back off.”

Zoey sighed in relief. “Thank you.”

She turned to look at Mal and found his eyes already on her. They were dark and scorching, and it felt like they were burning her body apart to look into her soul. It felt like he knew every secret scrawled under her skin and was taking it apart to observe at his leisure.

Zoey looked away, her heart beating nervously as her skin tingled under his eyes. “This is my stop.” Zoey stopped walking in front of her house. “Thank you for walking me home and for carrying my bags. That was very nice of you.” Zoey sent Duncan a cheeky grin, knowing how much he disliked being called “nice”.

“Just don’t tell anyone about it,” Duncan huffed, handing her the bags. “Probably about time to start heading back anyway. Later, Zoey. See ya, Mal.” With that, Duncan turned away and walked down the street.

Leaving Zoey and Mal standing alone together on the sidewalk.

“Thanks for walking me home, Mal. I appreciate it.” Zoey held out her hand for the other grocery bag.

Mal stared at her open hand uncomprehendingly, long enough for Zoey to get uncomfortable before saying, “I’m supposed to be walking you to your house.”

“We are at my house.”

“No, we’re in front of your house,” Mal corrects.

“My house is literally right there,” Zoey stabs a finger up the front lawn. “I can carry a couple of bags across the lawn. I’ll be fine.”

But Mal just stared at her unwaveringly, so Zoey huffs and marches towards the door. Mal trails after her, and it’s only until she unlocks the front door and opens it when he gives the bags to her.

Zoey flicks on the light, already feeling unsettled by the darkness before she turns to Mal. He’s already staring at her intently, and Zoey bites her lip uncertainty. “Thank you for walking me back,” she says. “For real, this time.”

“No problem,” Mal shoves his hands in his pockets, eyes flicking behind her to see the undeniably empty house. He turns to walk away, before he hesitates. “If you’re ever feeling lonely …” he starts, looking like he was already regretting it, “call me. I’ll always be there.”

Zoey’s face explodes in red and her mouth drops open. Mal quickly turns around and hurries away, leaving Zoey to gape after him in shock.

She closes the door before leaning against it sliding down to the floor. She buries her face in her hands, cheeks hot from her blush.

Yeah, she would call him. She did have his number after all.

She had all of theirs.

* * *

Vito (Spring)

Now, Vito has always been a massive player.

While Manitoba liked to flirt, Vito actually went out with girls. When he wasn't busy starting fights, he was chasing skirts — and while his behavior had always bothered Zoey, lately it bothered her for an entirely different reason.

That reason used to be because she hated the way Vito eyed girls like they were a piece of meat. The smug smirk he wore whenever he flirted with them made her want to punch him.

These days, it was because he flirted with girls. Period.

Not because he was a jerk about it, not because he was crude, not because he finally realized females were more than just boobs and a butt.

It was because every time she caught him winking at a girl or talking her up, it sent her blood spiking. Zoey would find herself gritting her teeth and clenching her fists and she didn't know why.

(Well, she did know why. She just didn't like it, so she ignored it.)

But the fact remained that something had changed, and it was aggravating the life out of her.

Despite everything, Zoey had resolved to simply ignore it. Whatever had happened to her would fade over time, and Vito was his own person (well … sort of. As much as he could be with five others in his brain). He was allowed to make out with whoever he wanted to.

Zoey also knew she was a major people’s pleaser and the type to obsess over every single detail — so she stuck to the mindset of ignoring Vito as well.

And it served her well, until one day after art club she rounded the corner and nearly crashed into Vito, who was currently sucking face with Anne Maria.

Zoey gasped and skidded to a halt. For a moment she simply stood there, gaping. Her feet were glued to the floor and her heart was pounding rapidly.

Zoey clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palm to clear her head. Zoey could feel a powerful emotion bubbling up and she bit her tongue.

What was Vito doing here? Football practice was over, he should have driven home by now. If he wanted to make out with Anne Maria then he should have done it under the bleachers — unless it was occupied by Geoff and Bridgette again. But why would he bring her here? He knew this was the path she always took to get to the bus —

Zoey suddenly stopped at the thought.

She watched as Vito pulled away and noticed Zoey staring at them in shock. For a moment their eyes met, holding a connection as they looked at each other.

Then Vito had the audacity to smirk at her, mouth pulling up in a cocky smile. His hands rested on Anne Maria’s hips and Zoey’s blood boiled.

She wanted to punch him. She wanted to punch him so bad, and she wanted to rip Anne Maria off him and yell and yell and yell until he made her shut up. But she knew what Vito would look like if she did that and Zoey would rather die than give him the satisfaction.

So instead Zoey clenched her fists, scoffed in annoyance, and brushed right past them with her head held high.

Zoey was jealous. Vito didn’t need to know that.

* * *

Chester (Winter)

Zoey was late, and she was dying.

The girl flies by pedestrians, red hair blowing out behind her as she runs down the sidewalk in a full sprint. Her legs burned and her lungs ached as she took heaving breaths of cold air.

It was one of those days in Canada where the air was so frigid it literally hurt to breathe, but the clouds still stubbornly clung to the snow that would fall later. She was late to her shift at work — too busy studying for classes after school — and had missed her bus, leaving her to wait for the second one impatiently.

Zoey burst into the shop. “I’m here!” She announced grandly.

Gwen looked up mid page-turn from her book at the register, observing the disarray that was Zoey. “You’re late,” she raised a judgemental brow.

“I know, sorry. I was just so caught up with school I lost track of time.” Zoey sighs, taking off her coat. Things would be so much easier for her if she had a ride … unfortunately, she and her ride had had a falling out a while ago and she doubted they would want to talk to her anytime soon.

Shaking off the negative thoughts, Zoey falls into the routine of getting ready. She worked at a small vintage shop that was tucked into the corner of the block for decades. Gwen had introduced it to her, and she had fallen in love with the still, older vibe of the place. Zoey was naturally attracted to older aesthetics, so it made sense that she fit in here.

Gwen and Zoey worked in tandem, attending to customers and working the register until people came in fewer and fewer. After a few hours, Zoey took a breath, checking her phone. Evening had come early, the sky turning a gorgeous shade of midnight blue outside.

Gwen reappeared from the back, bundled in a beanie and scarf. “I’m going to head out early. You okay with closing?”

Zoey smiled. “Of course,” she said, waving off Gwen’s guilty eyes. “Go have fun with Trent. I’ll see you at school.”

Gwen turned crimson, said a quick goodbye, then ran out the shop to the car parked outside at the curb. She slammed the door shut, and Zoey caught a quick glimpse of Trent waving at her before they took off.

Zoey sighed and started to close up. She was glad Gwen and Trent were back together after the rocky hardships that had actually led them to breaking up for a little bit. She wasn’t sure about the details of it — some jealousies and lack of communication — but she knew for sure that Gwen had found it hard to deal with her boyfriend's OCD, and struggled to manage it. She had confessed to Zoey about it, how she struggled to keep a normal relationship with Trent when his mental disorder was constantly interfering.

Gwen had come to her about that, asking for her advice about how to have a partner and manage their mental health, and Zoey had given it, feeling like a total hypocrite in the process.

The ding of the doorbell interrupts her thoughts, and Zoey looks up with an automatic smile to treat the last customer of the day before she freezes as she recognizes the person walking through the door.

Chester.

The alter shakes out his coat, wiping snow with a decisive sort of disdain off his cane. He looks up, takes note of Zoey’s unflattering stunned expression, and says, “Are you goin’ to be sittin’ there starin’ till my bones drop off or are you goin’ to make me some tea?”

Snapping out of it, Zoey blushes, rushing to make the drink under Chester's freezing glare. She sets down the pot, pouring the liquid into the cup as Chester grumbles before sitting down awkwardly.

“So,” Zoey manages to get her voice not to squeak. “How have you been, Chester?”

“Like you care,” Chester says gruffly and takes a sip of his tea. Perfect, just how it's always been. He and Zoey always had the same taste.

“I do care, that’s why I asked,” Zoey responds patiently. Without realizing it, her tone slips into the familiar, soothing, serenade that usually came out whenever Chester made a mean comment. “Just because we haven’t spoken in a while doesn’t mean I don’t wonder how you or everyone else is.”

Chester eyes her suspiciously, and Zoey finds herself randomly struck with how she sees him as Chester, and not Mike. To anyone else, it would look like a teenage boy was acting like an old man, but that wasn’t it. Chester hunched in on himself, and had crooked fingers that always itched for his cane; he subconsciously squinted in one eye and spoke with an inflection that Zoey never knew came from. Mike was the total opposite — he walked straight, but with a small slump in his spine as if to make himself less taller; he used enthusiastic hand motions and spoke loudly when excited. He didn't even like tea like Chester — he preferred juice.

“I’m as fine as these old bones can be in this weather,” Chester says after a moment.

“I see,” Zoey smiles. “You should stay inside and keep warm — what will happen if you slip and fall?” Even if Mike’s body was still young and strong, he had Chester’s psychology — so if he fell, he’d be in immense pain because he believed he had the bones of an old man and wouldn’t be able to get up on his own because of the psychological limits in Chester’s own mind.

“ ’s not like I meant to come out on my own,” Chester scowls. “The boy was already frustrated before that darn hooligan ran the red light while we were crossing. Nearly hit us too, that no good son of a —”

“You’re walking in this weather?” Zoey interrupts before he can go on his tirade. “What about your car?” Mike’s parents had bought him a car in the middle of autumn for passing his drivers test, a beat-up old thing. But still, Mike loved it, and the rest of his alters did too, taking it and driving it around to all their individual appointments.

It had been a fight for Mike to get his license — officials were too worried about him disassociating and switching out while he was driving — but thanks to his psychiatrist’s approval and his adopted parents pushing, he was finally able to get it. She can still remember how proudly Mike's eyes had shone when he first showed her his ID.

“Parents took it away,” Chester grunted. “He was switchin’ out with the rest of us too much.”

“Oh,” Zoey’s mouth felt dry. “I —”

“He's a mess without you, you know. They all are, those stupid young fools. But you should know, with what you said before.”

Zoey feels the words hit, like a sucker-punch to the gut. Her mind flashes back to the time when she asked Mike out. She had worn her favorite red halter top, with wildflower sticker tattoos stamped up her arm as she had rubbed it shyly. She had been so nervous; it had felt like the nerves her belly had turned into a livewire full of electric butterflies.

The words she’d said to him came back to her when he asked why she liked him.

"It's just that … the sort of mess you are ... has always felt like the sort of mess I am.”

How cruel of Chester to bring that up so suddenly. But then again, Chester never really had a problem with being cruel when he wanted to get his words across. Zoey found herself momentarily at a loss of words, stomach flipping in guilt. “That’s not … I didn’t …” What was she supposed to say? Sorry? As great at apologizing as she was, that felt too insensitive to say.

She was self-aware enough to know that she couldn’t keep her friendship with Mike, not after how much she’d hurt him. Maybe if they talked more, if she’d been more commutative …

The familiar sting of tears building up mortifies Zoey and she hides her face behind her hand, squeezing her eyes shut. That only makes it worse as the pressure causes a few wayward drops to slip out. God no, she wouldn’t cry in front of Chester, she wouldn’t …

Zoey waits for the sound of disgust that should be coming from him, a grumble about how sentimental young people were, but —

Something soft touches her cheek and she looks up to see Chester avoiding her eyes, holding out a handkerchief. She sniffles, taking it from his hand and unceremoniously scrubbing her eyes as hard as she can.

“You want to help everyone. You're too sweet to be alone,” Chester says gruffly. “Too dependent on others. You’d save a houseplant if you thought it could be your friend.”

Zoey lets out a choked laugh, not sure if she should be amused or offended at the words. “I just — I thought I'd get over it by now. We weren't even together that long anyways.”

Chester stared at her. “Why do ya still miss him? You’re the one that left.”

Zoey stares down into her cup, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. “Sometimes you don't get a choice. You think about someone ... a lot.” After she broke up with Mike, she had hoped that that would be the last of it. That he would fade into the background of all the other students, and that the only thing left would be a bittersweet memory.

But no. He still lingers, in her heart and in her mind. He was a bolt out of the blue, and a catastrophe that shakes her to the core. She could go about her day just like any other, and like a habit, she'd think of him.

“That’s what happens when ya give up on somethin’ ya care about. You grieve it just as much as you loved it.”

Zoey glances up at Chester before looking away again.

“What do I do now?” She whispers.

Chester takes a sip of his tea. “Ya know what you did wrong. Ya know what ya wanna change. The only thing that you can do now is try to be better next time around.”

Zoey blinks, the bowstring tightness drawn around her shoulders loosening at his words. She gazes into the mug like it holds all the answers, thoughts swirling around her head like a whirlwind. The fears and insecurities still weighed in her consciousness but now — although tentative — resolve was there as well.

She took a sip of her tea as well, chamomile lingering on her tongue. She could still try.

She wanted to try.

* * *

Svetlana (Winter)

Zoey watches on the sidelines as Svetlana dances on the ice, lost in her own music. The scrapes of ice against her blades are the only sound in the rink. It's completely empty, which she felt fortunate for because now Svetlana can completely focus on her routine while Zoey sits on the sidelines.

Svetlana skates by again, arms moving like the wind, somehow making the most complicated movements look like the easiest thing in the world.

She was intricately beautiful, and Zoey can’t take her eyes off her. Even with all the inner turmoil in her head, she can’t help but stop and stare at her. She knew this place — here, on the ice rink — was where Svetlana belonged. Skating was her passion, and the movements of the dance were her religion. The air rushing by her ears could clear her head more than any words can, and Zoey knows that she is the reason why Svetlana is out on the ice.

The cold bites her fingers numb and brings a rosy color to her cheeks, stinging like a slap. Zoey didn’t bring gloves with her, a self-inflicting punishment for what is to come. If this was, perhaps, a month ago, she would have been out on the ice with her, sliding on her skates and trying to catch up to Svetlana. Laughter would be echoing throughout the rink as she kept on slipping, not the void of silence now between them.

She couldn't do it anymore.

She could feel her mind fracturing the more she was stretched thin.

She was just so tired. She couldn't handle it. Dating five personalities, each with their own individual traumas, was too much. The stress, the insecurities, the fears were piling up and she just wanted a break.

She thinks (or hopes, maybe) that the others can sense it — her pulling away. It was cowardly, but she hoped that they would willingly drift off into the sea of faces in the school so that Zoey wouldn’t be able to say anything at all.

Svetlana dances across the ice, blissfully lost in her own winter wonderland and slows to a stop. She opens her eyes and catches Zoey’s. She isn’t quite sure what look reads in her gaze, but Svetlana doesn’t skate forward and close the seemingly sudden large gap between them.

Zoey was gonna break her heart. Take the fragile organ that all of the alters held so dear and shatter it into a million pieces.

* * *

Manitoba (Fall)

Manitoba pulled her along by her hand, dragging her to wherever he was taking her. She honestly had no clue. Mike had switched when he was in gym class, and the now-present Manitoba Smith had promptly ditched and went to seek Zoey out, even though she was in a different class at the time.

It had been … an experience to find out about Mike’s alters. She had known that he had some sort of disorder, because he always seemed to have a pink slip note of visiting the counselor’s office. It wasn’t until Mike had told her about his Multiple Personality Disorder —or Dissociative Identity Disorder, as Cameron often corrected— and Cameron had explained what it was when she suddenly understood.

Apparently, back at his old school, Mike had been severely bullied for his disorder and was often called a freak. Monster. Jekyll and Hyde. It had enraged Zoey beyond reason. She herself had been picked on for being different back in her old town, and she knew how much words could hurt.

When he came here, Mike’s plan of laying low was shot when he saw Duncan, who recognized him when they were in juvie, and from Scott, who had wrangled the truth from Cameron with slightly unethical means. Because it was a small school, the information traveled around the grapevine. Nobody batted an eye. Wawanaka High, if nothing else, was filled with eccentric people.

Mike had explained that he didn’t tell her about his personalities sooner because he was afraid she would think he was a freak, but Zoey had simply laughed and told him how much she loved oddballs. But secretly, she was nervous. She had no idea on how to handle his alters, or his trauma that sometimes arose at the most random things. It had been weird, and scary, and confusing, to see the boy she liked (like … really liked), acting like someone else entirely. His posture, his voice, his entire attitude did a complete turn around, and she didn’t know how to handle it.

“Why are you dragging me out of class?” Zoey complains. “We have midterms coming up, and—”

“You’re focusing on the wrong things, treasure!” Manitoba laughs. Zoey trips at the nickname. “You only live once! Why not make this one worth living with adventure!”

Easy for him to say. Mike was the only one who had to focus on school grades and studying. All the others were there for fun.

Manitoba leads them up the stairs to the roof and Zoey withdraws when she sees the Emergency Exit plastered on the doorway.

“Wait, what are you doing?!”

“Huh?”

“You’ll set off the fire alarm!”

Manitoba laughs like she’s said something cute. He opens the doorway to the rooftop and Zoey holds her breath, waiting for the alarms to start. When there is nothing, she lets it out almost disappointedly. A dud.

Manitoba doesn’t let go of her hand as they walk onto the roof and Zoey doesn’t pull away either as she looks around. So this is where Manitoba went whenever Mike switched out with him. Since Mike had a full-time pass to the counselor’s, he was technically obligated to go there whenever he felt like he was about to dissociate, but he and the others never did. She knows that for a fact because the other alters have been caught trying to leave school (Vito and Manitoba mostly) and now Zoey finally knows where one of them disappears.

Zoey can’t help but stare at him while his back is towards her.

She liked to keep busy. Needed to, really, because then she can ignore the persistent loneliness that ached whenever she was alone in a house that was too big for only her. So she made friends, joined clubs, and studied hard. She took it as a challenge when Cameron had asked if she would date any of the alters since she was dating Mike. If her boyfriend had more parts of himself then she wanted to know them as well.

And she liked them, too. Zoey didn’t doubt that before long she would like them just as much as she liked Mike. Svetlana had a beautiful soul and Zoey loved spending time with her. Manitoba was wild but captivating and she could feel herself getting used to him as well. Vito was coming around as well, taking her on drives whenever possible. She was slowly finding the gaps in Chester’s prickly nature and she remained a polite distance with the ever-elusive Mal.

There were doubts, perhaps, that she had been too hopeful. Not that she would ever think Mike a freak, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she had bitten off more than she could chew. If she was truly the right person to handle this. Zoey had her own problems and insecurities, and she could admit that she was prone to keeping it in due to her upbringing — unlike Mike, who knew how to communicate thanks to his training with his therapist.

“You get quiet when you’re stressed.”

She blinks, broken out of her thoughts due to Manitoba’s casual remark.

“Sorry,” she said. “I think more in my head than aloud.”

“I know, love.”

Zoey is glad Manitoba doesn’t comment on the small jerk she makes at his nickname and her furious blush. It was still embarrassing to get used to the others’ affection.

“Now, get on the ledge, Sheila.”

Zoey raises a brow.

Manitoba’s mouth curved into a smirk. “’Course, if you’re feeling afraid I’ll have no problem holding onto a beautiful—”

Maybe it was because of the thought of Manitoba thinking that she was weak or too afraid or boring to do it, but before she thought about it she grabbed onto the metal bars separating her from the ledge and leaped over them. Her converse hit the other side and Zoey spun around to face open air. The wind wasn’t too bad, but if she let go of the bar it would only take a push to send her careening to her death.

Zoey glanced over her shoulder, a smile tugging at her lips. “You were saying?”

Manitoba gazed at her, none of his usual cockiness in his eyes. “Look.”

She's never had a fear of heights, so she isn't afraid when she stares down at the world. Trees dappled with red, orange, and gold leaves lined the block of houses they adorned. The cars looked like toys on the winding road, the people so small they looked like ants. She hears Manitoba jump on the ledge to join her but doesn't turn her head.

“Wrong place, Shiela.”

“What?” Zoey asks. She turns to look at Manitoba only to see him watching her already.

“You’re looking in the wrong place.”

Without any further comment, he takes her chin and gently lifts it up so her gaze shifts upwards. Away from the town and to the world beyond that. Midnight-colored lakes, rolling plains, and forests stretching as far as the eye can see. And even farther, mountains peaking towards the blue sky, desperate to touch the clouds.

The air rushed out of her in her next breath.

And suddenly, Zoey understood what Manitoba was trying to make her get. There was a whole world out there. A whole country, and whole continent, even, and Zoey was still lost in her head. Her problems seemed like nothing in the grand scheme of things, and Zoey was just letting her life pass her by because she let them consume her.

She stands on the edge of the rooftop. Wind brushes along her skin, causing goosebumps to rise along her arm, but Zoey doesn’t say anything. She didn’t bring her jacket, and Manitoba wasn’t wearing one either. Even if he was, she doubted she would ask for it. She stands on the ledge, making no move to shield herself from the wind and looks at the Canadian wilderness in front of them.

She tips her head back and closes her eyes, the wind making the loose strands of her hair fly around her. Her feet felt rooted to her place, but she imagines herself as free as a bird. She could taste the tantalizing weight of wilderness on her tongue and wants.

So Zoey stands, and stares, and breathes.

* * *

Mike (Fall)

Zoey walked into her last class of the day, Chemistry. It had taken her a while to find the classroom, so most of the tables were filled up. She spotted Lightning in the back showing off with Cody staring up with adoring eyes. Noah was on the other side of the class, rolling his eyes at the antics before burying his nose in his book.

Apprehension pooled her gut. She didn’t know who to sit by and barely knew anyone. The class was mainly filled with seniors she only knew by name with only a handful of juniors she had never spoken to.

Zoey feels sick. She wants to walk right out. Why was her social anxiety starting to act up now?

She spots a boy sitting with a table to himself, a giant bookbag next to him. He’s hunched over, like he wasn’t used to the open air around him, and is wearing thick glasses and a giant red hoodie that hide nothing with how scrawny he is. Zoey is surprised to see him have such a big bag, seeing as how the boy is basically twigs it looks like even the weight of a butterfly could knock him over.

He seemed like the safest bet to sit next to.

Zoey walks towards the small boy — anxiety trembling in her bones — and gives him a nice smile, trying to appear more confident than she truely was.

“Hi!” She greets cheerfully. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

The boy jolts so hard that he nearly topples to the floor. “Oh! Yeah, sure! No problem!” He eagerly swipes all his belongings off the side of the table to make room for her.

“Thanks,” she says, taking a seat. Continue the conversation, ask questions rings in her head from all the How-To-Make-Friends podcasts she had obsessively listened to over the summer. “I don't think I've ever seen you around before. Are you a freshman?”

The boy lights up, and soon he is talking a mile a minute. His name is Cameron, and he's sixteen like her — which surprised her, given his small stature — but this is his first year of attending Wawanakwa High after being homeschooled all his life. Apparently his mother was obsessively overprotective of her only son and as a result, Cameron was what was known as a “bubble boy”. He was sweet though, and eager, even though he lacked any real world experience he was quite knowledgeable in academics.

By the time Cameron kindly offers her some hand sanitizer, Zoey is estatic to find that she has made her first real friend of the year.

Their conversation comes to a natural lull and Zoey busies herself organizing her backpack and pulling out the notebook she will need for the class.

Officially, chemistry should have already started, but none of the seniors pause in their continuous chatter and after waiting for another awkward couple of minutes, Cameron turns and asks a senior, Courtney, where the teacher was. The honors student makes a face, nose wrinkling in a way that makes her freckles scrunch cutely and responds, “Our teacher is Blainely. She never shows up to class on time, no matter how much Principal McLean complains.”

A desk over, a girl named Heather with beautiful, glossy long hair, scoffs in a way that shows her just how much she’s a fan of their teacher and goes back to filing her nails. Zoey wants to compliment her on her hair, but something primal very deep inside of her tells her that any word spoken to her would be met with a nasty comment on her hair.

She goes back to doodling on her own notebook before all of the sudden the door slams open and a harried teen rushes in. He’s holding a pink slip that meant he was coming from the office, and after seeing that the teacher is nowhere in sight, looks for a table.

He lights up as he sees the only open seat on Cameron’s other side and hurries towards it, practically dumping all his belongings on the table as he collapses in his seat.

“Hey,” he says, running his fingers through his spiky hair. “Did class start yet?”

Cameron shook his head no.

“Really? But didn’t class start like —” he glances at the clock, “— ten minutes ago?”

“Well, our teacher for this class is Ms. Blainely, and I heard she doesn't care about tardiness because she's always late.” Zoey reports back what Courtney said to her.

“Can’t see why,” the boy responds flippantly. “We’re as pleasant as all the teachers in the school.”

Zoey feels her cheeks pull up in a grin and she giggles. “Nice to meet you. I’m —”

Blainely slams through the door of her classroom like a typhoon of bravado and too-much confidence for a teacher who was late to her own class by ten minutes. “Alright, you little brats, it’s time for Chemistry!” She sing-songs.

There’s a thunk from behind of Bridgette slamming her head into her table and her deskmate Lindsay sympathetically pats her on the back. A few tables over, Heather fake gags.

Blainely, in her true, characteristic nonchalant fashion, tells them to have at it in mixing the chemicals after barely skimming the safety protocols and handing out labs.

Her, Cameron, and their new teammate work in tandem together, like they’re a well-oiled machine. He cracks jokes with Cameron and laughs with Zoey, and she feels her cheeks getting sore with how much she's grinning.

She hasn't had this much fun in a long time. Their new teammate is charismatic. And cute. And nice. Zoey didn’t really have a type, but if she did …

Well. It would probably be him.

From over Cameron’s head where he’s chattering, Zoey chances a peek at the boy to see him already watching her. Her heart leaps in surprise and she can’t help but stare at him even after he quickly glances away. Does she have pen ink on her face? It wouldn’t be the first time. Zoey opens her mouth to ask, but before she could —

The bell rings.

The students stir and begin packing their bags with vigor, chatter filling the air as the last class of the day is finished. Cameron bids them goodbye and leaves quickly, and Zoey waves as he practically sprints towards the door, saying something about his mom picking him up.

She spots the boy beginning to pack his bag with the new chemistry papers and realizes amongst all the fun they had together, she has yet to learn his name.

“Hey,” Zoey smiles over the space at the boy. “My name is Zoey.”

The boy blinks, then gives her this big, beautiful, beaming grin that seemed to light up his entire face. Zoey feels her heart skip a beat, then trip and stumble and crash against her ribcage at the sight of it. Oh boy.

“I'm … Mike.”

* * *

[so-sures-blog]

Different Scents

This idea is sort of small and random, but if I get any more inspiration for other characters, I'll add it here!

Ijin: fresh linen, the steel blade of knives, the rubbery smell of bandages, medical alcohol, sometimes the faint whiff of blood, freshly cut vegetables. He doesn’t wear cologne so he smells very fresh, but his scent is naturally intoxicating and he smells appealing without even trying. When you hug him you just want to stay in his arms and inhale his scent for as long as possible.

Dayeon: flowery shampoo, subtle sugary perfume, sweet lip balm, spices from cooking, the warm heady scent of lit candles. When you catch her scent it's like a shot to the gut, it's so sweet and inviting. People are captivated when they smell her, they want to stay by her side forever.

Grandpa Yu: cotton, apples, butterscotch candies, aftershave, glossy photographs, that scent of old cologne no one anyone wears anymore. He just smells really comforting and familiar, like someone safe.

Dushik Cha: cigarette smoke, expensive cologne, scotch, hair gel, that metallic scent that comes from both his bat and blood, homemade food, the faint whiff of car grease.

Major Kang: sandalwood, freshly baked bread, the fancy soaps Jiye bought for him, spicy cologne, the slightest hint of gingerbread. He smells very homey and when Ijin first hugged him, he was grasping the back of his shirt so hard it became wrinkled. It was the first time he realized that touch didn’t always hurt.

Liam: gunpowder, sweat, cheap cologne, the faint whiff of cigarettes, coffee grounds, that dry scent that tells you he’s carrying money in his pockets. He's got a musky scent, but it's comforting all the same.

Maya: jasmine shampoo, pine trees, leather, coconut lotion, the faint scent of smoke. She doesn't like perfume because it overwhelms her and hurts her nose, so she smells very natural.

002: envelopes, printer ink, the cold metal of his handgun, expensive liquor, the imperceptible scent of takeout. He likes to wear expensive colognes because he never had that growing up, and now that he has the freedom to choose what he wants he gets the best luxury brands he never could have afforded. Also, since he is the current leader of the Numbers he feels like he has an image to keep up.

016: gun oil, machinery, pencil dust, old books, buttery popcorn, the faded aroma of baked sweets, the earthy scent of rain on hot pavement.

032: campfires, cinnamon, late night espresso shots, sharpies, the faint scent of blood, that familiar smell computers seem to have.

008: charred flesh, explosions, sizzling steam of cooking oil on a hot pan, spicy cologne, musk

018: spilled ink, gunpowder, grease, eyeliner shavings, antiseptic liquid, the rubber smell of bandages.

003: lavender, the spray of blood, heavy lilac perfume, the sharp scent of steel from the knives under her dress, glossy hair conditioner, silk pillowcases, ashes, dwindling wax candles, the sickly sweet stench of rotten bodies under flowerbeds.

Alice: earthy soil, rainy days, smoke from city cars, cedar perfume, rich essential oils, flower bouquets for her brother, the cold scent of days spent in the hospital, lemon hand soap, curl mousse. She smells like a mix of a rainy city night and a woodsy forest. 

004: blood, sweat, rust, copper, fried chicken and beer, the sharp tang of something sour, and the unnamable scent of wildness that comes from being in nature. He smells both of a humid jungle after rainfall and a restaurant during rush hour.

Seoha Cha: flowers, warm amber, sweet caramel body oil, brown sugar scrubs, hints of sandalwood. She opts for sweeter, heady scents where you can practically taste them on your tongue, and it's intoxicating.

Jiye Sin: tea, french vanilla, the light fragrance of high-quality fabrics, and the faint aroma of fruity shampoo. She makes the point of wearing very expensive perfume, but it pays off because she always gets complimented on how alluring her scent is. The first time Major Kang smelled her scent he instantly fell in love with it. 

Yeona Sin: vanilla lotion, banana milk, frozen blueberry popsicles, sweet-mint lip balm, fruity shampoo, the faint smell of fast food. She really loves scented hygiene products even though she has slightly sensitive skin, which leaves her with scratchy red spots all over her body.

Seokju Ko: pens, hair spray, new novels, the imperceptible hint of blood from paper cuts, the faint whiff of ocean breeze, the scent of gym equipment after a workout. When he first officially joined the SW security team he wore a really heavy cologne to appear more grown up to his coworkers. To his embarrassment, unfortunately it had the opposite effect and his coworkers pestered him with different cologne suggestions. Now he chooses a lighter, more cleaner fragrance that suits him better. 

[so-sures-blog]

Earthbound

earthbound definition: attached or restricted to the earth.

In which Cole stands up to a tyrant that is cruel and unjust deep within the mountain. Because he made a promise.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

It doesn’t take a genius to see that Cole’s losing.

The cave is in chaos; the sound of screams and clanging weapons fill the air as two sides clash against each other.

Vangelis and the Skull are toying with him, and he knows it: they’re circling him, trying to throw him off by telling lies about his mother. Cole blocks the hits from Vangelis and the blasts from the Skull, feeling like a fly they were winding up in a web of lies.

Vangelis rises above him, resembling a winged creature of death with his blank mask and the glowing Skull of Hazza D’ur in hand. “And now, her deceit has doomed you!”

“Her only son,” the Skull rasps.

Vangelis hurls the Skull at Cole; growing brighter and brighter the closer it gets. He stands his ground and braces himself.

The Skull collides, and the blades …

… shatter.

Cole is thrown back, the air knocked out of his lungs as his body rolls to a stop. He sits up weakly, before throwing back his mask to gasp at the sight of the broken Blades of Deliverance.

“No!” He cries. With trembling fingers, his gloved hands hold onto the shattered pieces of the black and white blades. “It can’t be …”

His mother … lied …

“It is,” Vangelis glides towards him menacingly. “And now, you will pay the price for your mother’s lies.”

“Lies, deceit,” the Skull rasps.

Cole screams in pain as the Skull unleashes fire upon his fallen form.

“Your cause is lost.”

More fire.

“Have the grace to admit defeat.”

More fire. More, more. Blistering pain wreaks havoc across his broken body.

It’s hopeless. He’s finished. He’s too weak. It’s over. He just wants to —

He remembers his mother.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

“I want you to promise me, Cole. That you will always stand up to those who are cruel and unjust. Always.”

“Always.”

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

His mother … her strength hadn’t come from the Blades of Deliverance. She’s always been strong. She had been sick all his life, yet no matter how weak her body had gotten she had moved through her life with implacable momentum. Impossible to sway or dissuade. Ever since he was young, his mom had power — from her beliefs … and from the Earth.

“It was her,” he realizes. “It wasn't the blades. It was her. The power inside my mother.” The power inside of me, his heart whispers. Not the Spinjitzu Burst. The power of Earth.

“It was all her.”

“Alas,” Vangelis laughs cruelly. “You are not half the warrior your mother was.”

Pain and grief bite through his being, but Cole forces himself to his feet to glare at the Skull Sorcerer. “Maybe not, but I am her son.” Conviction buries itself deep into his being. “And I made her a promise to stand up to tyrants like you! Always!”

The mountain rumbles its agreement. Cole digs his fingers into the rock and feels it mold around the shape of them. Every grain of earth begins to glow as his power seeps into it.

“What are you doing? What is this!” The Skull Sorcerer demands.

“It's the Burst!” He barely hears Master Wu cry above his roaring element.

But no. It's not, and Cole can feel it. It's something different. Deeper.

His power was strongest when he was the closest to the earth and he’s never been farther underground. He was basically at the bottom of the world. Never has he been more surrounded by the very thing that powered him. The Skull Sorcerer thought he was burying him — but what if bringing him closer to his full strength? To the source of his elemental power?

Cole could feel it — the connection to the earth. He could feel it reaching out towards him, coming from the ground all around him.

He stands and lets it in. He let the energy of the earth infuse him, deep into his core and surging forward. The Skull of Hazza D’ur comes flying forward to finish him off and Cole bursts to life.

Unparalleled power explodes from the earth, bright and blinding, and Cole feels more alive than ever. His skin disappears, being replaced with magma and rock as the mountain quakes under his force.

The battle halts as everyone stops at the sheer force of the Earth; Ninja gape in shock, the Shintarians fly back in fear, the cave-dwellers stare with awe.

“Son of Lilly,” the Geckle and Munce whisper.

Cole rises with the power of the Earth; the Skull spiraling, lost, as he reaches for it with a molten hand and throws it down against the Earth. Destroying it.

The battle — one that had been reigning in secret for decades — is finally over.

🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤 🪨 🌋🖤 🪨 🌋 🖤

Vania dips her head as the last servant that has finished attending her and shuts the door.

She takes a deep breath, listening to the fading footsteps of the servant and the guards clanking armor move away.

Then she springs into action.

She quickly changes, flying out of her normal, queenly wardrobe into more plain, neutral robes. She glances at Chompy, who’s watching her from his bed. She touches the dragon’s head.

“I’ll be back before morning — promise,” she whispers. He makes a chattering noise, telling her he’s displeased. “I know! I will, I promise. I just …” she bites her lip. “I just can’t leave him alone down there.”

Maybe Chompy can hear the pain in her voice, because he doesn’t argue — simply pushes his head into her hand with a small chur of forgiveness.

Vania pushes past the grief and stands, lighting a candle before leaving. She sneaks through her own palace silently, moving past guards like a ninja as she heads for the gardens.

She makes her way to the entrance of the garden alcove leading into the mountain, her heart steadily beating harder. The caves beneath the mountain were deserted, with the Geckle and Munce people deciding that they wanted to live their new lives above the mountain.

She scurries down; down and down the winding mountain, past cramped caverns and twisting turns, the cloying darkness only fought off by a single flame.

Finally she reaches it.

The Heart of the Mountain.

The legendary temple for the Masters of Earth. Ancient scriptures written in the Old Tongue read: Let pass through here, into this refuge and sanctuary, only those who are One with the Earth. Orange flames danced off the walls, even though no one had been down here to light them. Power shined through the giant doorway as Vania drew nearer.

Creak …

The door opened slightly.

Vania went inside, following the carved path molded by Geckle and Munce. Statues of ancient Earth Masters and their stories echoes around her, and she ignores the familiar goosebumps that rise along her skin. Her eyes linger on the statue of Lilly, before moving on.

Statues are more than solid pieces of art. They are immovable, unbreakable monuments that enrich storytelling, making the experience of living more profound and unforgettable. They remind us of the strength of traditions, the power of history, and the enduring spirit that echoes throughout the ages.

She draws closer to the one standing in the middle, heart beating loudly in her chest. It's tall and strong, newly carved. Awake and glowing with the surging elemental energy. She reads the plaque in front of it.

This statue was carved with love and gratitude by Geckle, Munce, and Shintarian craftsmen in honor of Cole Brookstone: Ninja, brother, and son.

Vania places the candle on the stone ledge and takes a seat on it, facing away from the statue. It feels like yesterday she was trapped in here with the Upply and Master Wu, trying to figure out a way to stop her father. She forces the memories away when she feels the mountain move.

“Hello, Cole,” she says softly. The Earth rumbles under her feet, before slowly forming and making a vague shape of the person she used to know. Orange light shines through the cracks of rock as he peers at her curiously, waiting.

Vania smiles.

“So, what story would you like to hear today?”

[so-sures-blog]

Icebound

icebound definition: surrounded, obstructed, or covered by ice.

In which Zane uses his element against the Overlord to save the city and his friends. Because it wasn’t about numbers, it was about family.

❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️

It is the end, and Zane knows it.

The Overlord is conquering Ninjago City, webs of gold stringing across buildings like Christmas lights and tying up his friends like flies. They struggle, but it is useless under the might of the Overlord.

Zane flips out of the way of a golden band reaching to ensnare him and lands on a roof. All of his friends are tied up, and only Zane is free. He knows what he has to do. He is the only one who can.

“Support me, friends. For one last time.”

He takes a running leap off the ledge, and Jay flips midair so his feet plant squarely on top of his. Then Cole, Lloyd, Kai, Sensei Garmadon, and Wu.

He soars, flying straight at the Overlord, and grabs onto his golden fangs.

Immediately, he feels its power, and its agony. Pain rips into every crevice of his body; his jolts rattle and shake and his wires spark under his skin.

“Let my friends go!” Zane shouts.

“Go where, Doomed Ninja?” The Overlord sneers. Its eyes, red and hateful, glare into him.

Zane writhes under the immense pain and power. His body cannot handle it, he knows, and he feels himself falling apart under it.

“The Golden Weapons are too powerful for you to behold. Your survival chance is low.”

But Zane isn’t trying to hold them. He’s trying to destroy them.

He thinks of his brothers. He thinks of PIXAL. He thinks of his father. He thinks of an old man with long white hair as pure as snow and ice blue eyes that visited him a long time ago, who had come and left as quickly as winter did and had breathed that power into him because he saw him worthy of it.

“This … isn’t about numbers … It's about family!”

The golden webs holding the Ninja fall and they escape. He can hear them screaming, telling him to let go, and he thanks them for that. Wu and Garmadon grab onto them and yank them back, away from the oncoming destruction.

His core — his heart — started reaching critical mass. Frost began creeping upon the Overlord’s fangs. Something blue and blinding in his heart freezes under his power, and Zane embraces it. It's his power. His choice.

“I am a Nindroid. And Ninja never quit. Go Ninja … go!”

He is the Master of Ice. He was built to protect those who cannot protect themselves. He stands for peace, freedom, and courage in the face of all who threaten Ninjago.

Frostbite burns his skin away; jolt and wires freeze under the cold; until he is left completely bare.

The last glimpse they get of Zane is him surrounded by a blizzard of his own making, bright and beautiful like a supernova. Burning blue and white with the terrible brilliance of his own determined choice.

Zane died; not as a machine, not as a human, not as a tool of anyone or anything — but as himself. Zane died to save the ones he loves.

And woke up as something completely different.

❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️🩵❄️

PIXAL climbs her way up the steep cliff side, careful to place her foot in secure crevices in case she slipped and fell from the icy mountain. Heavy snow blinded her vision as the blizzard whipped around her, but she kept her pace steady and sure.

It had been months since she had left Ninjago City and began her search. Months since Zane’s death and memorial. PIXAL knew, logically, that she should be back there, properly mourning him. But she could not.

He had never given up on her, not when she was under the Overlord’s control or when she was struggling with the newness of emotions.

And that meant she could never give up on him.

When she had first met Zane, she became more than a machine meant to function. He was vital to her, and she was a part of him.

She carried half his heart, and against all logical explanations, she knew he was still alive.

She did not tell the Ninja of her suspicions: the immediate aftermath of Zane’s loss had been devastating. She’d watched as the team fractured, splitting at the seams as they all fled their separate ways, too heartsore and dizzy with grief to do much otherwise. She did not tell Cyrus Borg where she was going either, for she knew if he begged her to stay, she would.

If she had told them she had seen a snowy wraith emerge from the destruction of the frozen, apocalyptic atmosphere on the rooftop, she would have been told she had imagined it due to her grief.

And while she was grieving, she was not imagining it. She is a Nindroid, and she did not have an imagination. PIXAL was built to observe, to analyze, to collect data and gather information. She built theories and hypothesized, not assumed.

So she followed the signs. She kept track of all weather anomalies that happened across Ninjago — sudden snowstorms, cold drops in temperatures that swept through small villages and towns. It led her all across the country until it ended here, with her climbing up the frozen, snow-peaked mountain.

Finally, PIXAL arrived at her destination.

The Ice Temple.

Slowly, she makes her way towards it. Her sensors indicate the temperature dropping the closer she gets. For a normal human, they would have already gotten frostbite without the proper equipment and numb with it, but PIXAL was made of metal. The cold did not bother her.

She peers into the glacial architecture, but does not enter. Or more like, she is unable to. It feels as if there is some sort of force of winter that is keeping her at bay.

“Zane?” Hope finds its way into the desperation of her voice. Freezing winds whip her hair out of its ponytail and against the purple circuits on her cheeks, but she barely notices. “Is that you?”

There’s nothing except for the howling wind, then her eyes catch movement. Slowly, almost like a ghost, a figure starts to come closer, making a shape against the blizzard.

If PIXAL had lungs, all the air would have rushed out of them.

A being made of pure winter floated in front of her. Formed of ice and frost and molded by the wind, it stood there and looked at her. Opaque ice carved the face that has been imprinted in her memory drives, the one she had traveled across the entire world to see again.

It was frozen, and beautiful, and Zane.

Inside her neural drive, alarms were blaring into her system, flashing behind her eyes. Warning: Severe weather alert. Temperature reaching sub-zero levels. Retreat into a warmer climate —

PIXAL shut off the notifications.

“Hello,” she says. Zane does not move. She dares a step closer. “Do you recognize me?”

He says nothing, so PIXAL continues on. It feels like their roles were reversed when they first met: she, the one struck speechless by the other’s beauty. Him, stoic to it all.

“I’m PIXAL, the Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Lifeform. I’m a … friend. I came searching for you to bring you home. There are things about you that you don’t understand. That you have yet to discover. I am here to help you remember.”

Zane is quiet, but she senses that he is listening. Something glowing in her chest aches.

“It is alright if you don’t remember me,” PIXAL says. She cannot cry, but is she would she could. She is still new to emotions, and many are overwhelming her: joy and grief and something fierce and pure deep in her heart. “I remember you. And we are still compatible.”

Zane tilts his head and drifts closer. The snow slows its fall, the wind stopping altogether. Snowflakes gently coat her hair. Now that he is closer, she can see the differences that make him unlike the old Zane: he doesn’t have the one dimple on the right side of his cheek, or the small beauty mark on his collarbone, or the tiny scar on his index finger from his shuriken.

But he is still Zane, even as an icy spirit.

She held out a hand. “Your brothers miss you very much. Will you come back with me, Zane?”

He is silent, staring at her. Unlike before, it is impossible to know what he is thinking. She gazes up at him, imploring. His eyes have no irises or pupils, so she is simply staring up at pinpricks of pure blue light.

Slowly, his hand reaches out of her.

BANG!

A loud sound echoes across the ice, and out of nowhere chains of Vengestone come flying out and capture him.

Fear slams into her. “Zane!” PIXAL cries.

Ice races out from his body and across the chains as Zane struggles, but no matter what, he can’t break them.

PIXAL whips around to face the assailant.

A man in his thirties, wrapped in a thick parka to prevent the cold and wearing a red mask. He has shoulder-length brown hair and is wearing a dyed red straw hat, and under it she can see he is hiding an eyepatch.

“What are you doing?” PIXAL shouts. Anger — an emotion she rarely feels — burns through her.

The man lowers his gun and pulls out another one before she can even blink.

“Sorry, sweetheart. Just following orders.”

Before she can question what that means, he fires. A net tangles her limbs together and brings her down against the cold snow. Before she can fight against it, electricity courses through her.

And then everything went black.

[so-sures-blog]

Kimbaps & Kind Talks

Summary: a girl found a boy being cornered by some bullies. homeless, alone, and starving, the boy asked the girl if she could please buy him some food.

the girl said yes.

***

(Their first meeting isn't really a meeting, but more of a moment where their lives briefly touched then went their separate ways.

But everything starts from somewhere.)

***

She meets him again when she is walking home from school, the light of the sunset dying the sky hues of orange and gold.

They both stop, equally surprised when they see each other again.

“Oh, you’re the…” Dayeon trails off, not sure how to finish that sentence. Homeless boy? Runaway that was starving and asked me for food? Kid who’s all alone? None of those sound particularly appealing, and she doesn’t want to be rude.

While she’s lost in thought, the boy rummages through his pockets before finally pulling out what he wanted— the money she had given him the day before. She notices that half of it has been used.

“H—Here,” the boy holds out the crinkled money. “Thanks for before, you really saved me. This is all I have, but I'll pay back the rest soon.”

Dayeon hesitantly takes it. “Oh, you don't have to do this… will you have anything left for yourself?”

“I'll be alright.” He reassures her.

“Well, if you say so.” Dayeon goes to bow before she suddenly hears a stomach growl loudly. She looks up to see the boy turning bright red.

“Oh?”

“…”

Dayeon can't help but let out a soft laugh when she sees the boy's embarrassed face.

“You know, I'm actually feeling a little bit hungry myself. There's a convenience store right around the corner, care to join me?”

“ … yes, please.”

Dayeon begins walking, and after a moment, the boy follows her. Dayeon glances at him. She can already tell he's a bit on guard and on the quiet side, so she tries to loosen him up.

“You know, now that I think about it, I never got your name last night,” says Dayeon. The boy tenses for some reason, so Dayeon tries to put him at ease by introducing herself first. “I’m Dayeon.”

The boy hesitates, jaw working, like he was struggling with himself. Dayeon turns to look at him, and he meets her eyes. She waits, smiling patiently, and slowly, some of the tension dissolves in his shoulders.

“My name is… Isak.”

“Isak,” Dayeon repeats the foreign name slowly, and the boy gives a strange sort of shudder, like he's never heard his own name come out of another's mouth before. She eyes the reaction curiously and gives him a smile. “That's a nice name.”

The boy doesn't look like he knows what to say to that. “Um, thank you,” he says. His face is still stained with blush.

They walk in silence for a few minutes, and Dayeon steals another glance at him. He’s relaxed a bit more, so he isn't hiding his face under his cap like before, and now she can see the giant bruise swelling on his cheek.

“Hey,” she says, snapping his attention back to her. “Are you alright? You have…” Dayeon trails off and gestures helplessly to his face.

He blinks in surprise, almost as if he's startled she noticed the fresh bruise painting his face. “Oh. Um, yeah, I got into a fight earlier today.”

Dayeon gasps. “Was it those guys again?” She cries, dismayed.

Isak flinches. “Well, I did run into them again…”

Call it a habit she’s inherited from living with Ijin, but Dayeon is able to spot a half-truth a mile away. Her eyes flicker down to his hands.

(His knuckles were split and had fresh bruises. He didn’t carry himself as someone who had been injured. He hadn't been defending himself. He'd been fighting.)

A niggling feeling worms its way into her stomach.

“I see,” she says when she realizes she left him hanging. “You should be careful around here. Seoul is pretty safe, but there are a lot of gangs around these parts. Lots of rich kids try to pick fights with each other and get away with it because they have money.”

“Alright,” says Isak. He suddenly flinches like a thought has come to him and turns to her. “Will you be alright?”

Dayeon blinks, surprised. At first, she has no idea what he is talking about, but then she realizes what he means. She’s a teenage girl walking home all by herself in an area where she said there is a lot of criminal activity. And she knows firsthand how much men like to harass teenage girls.

His red-colored eyes stare into her, and it feels like he’s probing her soul for answers.

“I’ll be fine. I’m a fast runner,” Dayeon reassures him. “Lots of experience.” That probably wasn’t the most reassuring thing to say, but it was true. All the times of outrunning her bullies, drunk old men harassing her, and teenage boys who wouldn’t take no for an answer has practically turned her into a professional track star.

Gaining a brother had decreased those problems significantly, but old habits die hard.

Isak nods silently, and Dayeon somehow feels like he's more aware of what those experiences are than most boys are at their age.

They walk into the convenience store together, and Dayeon immediately sets out to ask Isak what he wants. He gives her a noncommittal shrug, so Dayeon is left nervously deciding what to pick out for him and second-guessing each item. Isak is hovering over her shoulder and trailing after her like a lost puppy, but every time Dayeon asks him what he would like he keeps on shrugging and saying variations of “I don't care” which inadvertently makes her more awkward. Finally, she suggests that they'll have better luck picking out items if they split up and choose.

Dayeon fingers the mouth of the cold soda, eyeing Isak across the store. He's studying the packages of kimbaps, looking a bit overwhelmed and flinching every time he meets the employee's gaze.

(Sometimes. Sometimes Ijin would flinch whenever someone called his name. Like he wasn’t used to it. Like he didn’t recognize it. Like he didn’t know it.

Like he was never called it.)

“ISAK!” Dayeon calls across the store, and he jerks so hard he knocks down the rows of food-filled plastic containers on the floor.

Dayeon is shocked. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she didn't expect that reaction. Spotting the cashier scowling, she hurried over to Isak, who was hurriedly picking up the food.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he mutters. His whole face is red with embarrassment.

“It's okay,” soothes Dayeon, helping him pick up the mess. “It's my fault for calling you so loudly in public. I didn't mean to startle you.”

Dayeon neatly stacks the meals on the shelves while Isak picks them up from the floor. She glances at him when he isn't looking. She doesn't even know why she is wary of him, but it's just something about this boy that is sending some sort of signal to her.

He's different. Not in the way of a foreigner, but of something else. He walks like he's half-expecting to be stabbed than be offered a handshake. His words are mindful, but not in the way of not knowing the language but of carefully wording out information.

And his eyes.

Watchful and wary, darting around like he is looking for something— or hiding from it.

He reminds her of Ijin, and she wants to know why.

And then she does.

It happens in an instant. So unnoticeable that Dayeon would have missed it if she was paying less attention. Isak hands her the final plastic container, and as he does so, the sleeve of his red hoodie slips up.

And she sees it.

There, on the inside of his left wrist, written in small fine-print black ink, is:

032.

Suddenly, the air just leaves her lungs. Her ears can hear nothing but a high-pitched ringing. Dayeon suddenly feels dizzy and faint.

(Her brother had a tattoo on his wrist. It was small and he tried to hide it, but they lived together so it was impossible to, really. Sometimes, when they washed dishes together, he would pull up his sleeves and Dayeon would catch a glimpse.

Inside of his right wrist was the number 001 .)

Dayeon tries to force herself to think it's a coincidence. This boy was likely a runaway, and that's why he wasn't used to his name. He was so jumpy and careful because he had likely lived on the streets, not because he was looking out for something. He had the tattoo because — because — just because!

(Something tells her it isn't.)

“Hey, are you okay?” Somebody asks. Dayeon snaps out of her daze to see the boy — Isak — staring at her with concerned red-colored eyes. His brow is furrowed, and it causes a crease in his face.

“Yes, I'm fine,” Dayeon's heart is pounding, and she doesn't know why. She forces a smile. “Sorry, I just blanked for a second.”

Shame and guilt sweep under her skin. Who is she to throw her half-baked suspicions onto him? She's probably on edge from Yeona’s kidnapping and seeing that blond foreigner that had thrown Ijin off for days. Right now, she’s just jumping to conclusions about who or what this boy is with only a gut feeling and circumstantial evidence.

From now on, Dayeon would just treat him as a— a normal boy.

In recompense, she offers him the ice-cold soda and he takes it confusedly. “We still have to pay?”

“It's for your bruise,” she says, gently tapping the side of her own jaw.

He blinks, startled. “Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. Did you want to buy this or are you ready to pay?”

“Pay, please.”

Isak trails after her, soda to his cheek as he watches her pay. They make their way onto the porch, and as soon as she dumps all the food on the table, Isak gobbles it up like it's his last meal.

"You should leave some for spending next time. I wasn't expecting you to pay me back,” says Dayeon as Isak chomps down on the kimbaps.

"Of course I should pay you back. You're not supposed to wait until you have extra to pay someone back for their help." Isak scoffs.

"True," Dayeon counters with a smile. "But haven't you ever heard the saying, 'kindness is free'?"

The boy lets out a sharp, barking laugh like she’s said something hilarious. “Not from where I’m from.”

“Well, then clearly you didn’t grow up in the right place,” says Dayeon.

Isak stares at her, a curious, surprised, studying look appearing as he takes her in consideration. After a moment, his mouth twitches into something of a smile. “Maybe,” he agrees softly.

There's a beat of awkward silence as the two teenagers stare at each other until Dayeon clears her throat and gestures to the food. Isak flushes and digs in.

Dayeon can't help but stare at him while he's busy eating.

She didn't really notice the last time they met, but this was her first time seeing the boy in a real light instead of being cast in shadows or the dim glow of the convenience store.

His face is fair and slender, wisps of blond hair escaping his black cap. His lashes were blond, but they were long and thick and in the dying sun, cast shadows under the startling red-colored eyes that Dayeon first noticed.

He was actually… really pretty.

Dayeon knows that pretty isn’t really something that should describe a boy, but she didn’t know how else to describe him. He just… was.

Were all Western boys this pretty?

His eyes flick up questioningly, and Dayeon practically jumps when she meets his gaze.

“So, how old are you?” Dayeon blurts out the first question that comes to mind.

“Me? I'm seventeen…”

Dayeon gasps, a pleasantly surprised smile blooming. “You're my age.”

“R-Really? We're the same exact age?” Isak looks up, shocked, like he’s never spoken to another person the same age before.

“Yup, I’m seventeen years old too!” Dayeon beams. “Let’s speak comfortably now!”

“O-Okay. Do what you want…”

Dayeon looks at the kimbap he’s eating longingly. She’s feeling kind of hungry right now, but it would be rude to eat the food she had bought for Isak when he was likely much more hungry than she was. Isak notices her staring and nudges a kimbap towards her with a slight smile.

“You’re from overseas, right?” Dayeon asks, gratefully taking the kimbap from him.

“Yeah, I’m traveling right now.”

“With your friends?”

“By myself.”

“By yourself?” Dayeon exclaims, far too loud.

Isak flinches. “Y-Yeah.”

Dayeon had to physically bite back the concerned questions rising up from her tongue. Why on earth was a kid her age traveling all alone? Where was his family?

(Who even was he?)

“Oh wow. You’re traveling all alone? How many countries have you been to?” Dayeon asks once she’s sure the concern won’t leak into her voice. At least her question is genuine in its awe and curiosity.

“I dunno, I never counted, but probably over twenty countries…” Isak trails off and shrugs, obviously relieved she isn’t pressing his traveling alone-ness.

“Whoa… you must really like to travel,” comments Dayeon.

“Not really, I just sort of ended up with this job where I usually have to travel to different countries to complete different assignments.” Isak fiddles with the cap of his soda, and Dayeon clocks in on the nervous gesture instantly.

(Not telling the full truth, then. Hiding something.)

“What about you?” Isak asks, and Dayeon snaps out of it.

“Huh?”

“You seem really interested in going abroad. Your eyes lit up,” says Isak, then seems to immediately regret admitting to paying that much attention to her. His face turns bright red, and he stutters, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright. You’re right anyway,” Dayeon laughs good-naturedly. “What person wouldn’t like to travel to other countries? I’ve stayed in Korea my whole life. I’ve never even left Seoul.”

“Why not?” Isak asks curiously.

Dayeon shrugs. “Money expenses, mostly. Going abroad is pretty expensive, and I don’t have that kind of money.” She thinks of the first time she and Yeona had met up after she’d returned from America and how she had devoured the stories Yeona had from overseas. She had brushed off the question of wanting to study abroad, but secretly, in the darkest corner of her heart, she wanted to go.

But then if she did, her grandpa would be all alone… and Ijin too…

“Not to mention, my family’s here. I would get homesick.” Her lips curl in a slightly wry smile. Maybe she just wasn’t meant for traveling.

“Oh,” says Isak quietly. He looks like he wants to say something else, but ultimately stays silent.

Dayeon studies him for a bit. He looks lost in thought, forlorn, and runs his slender finger around the soda can again and again. Strangely enough, she finds that she doesn’t like that expression on him.

“What about you?”

“Huh?”

“You must speak a lot of different languages if you're traveling all over the place,” says Dayeon. “You’re Korean is very good. How long have you been studying?”

The boy flushes but can’t hide the proud smile on his face. “A few months.”

“A few months?” Dayeon splutters, and the boy laughs.

(He has a nice laugh.)

“Yeah. I also speak English, Mandarin, and Arabic. I know a bit of Spanish, too. And—” he cuts off when he sees the slack-jawed look on her face and laughs again.

“You know that many languages?” Dayeon stutters, disbelief written all over her face. "And you learned Korean in just a couple of months? How is that even possible?”

“To be fair, I knew a bit of Korean before I started to learn it. There were a couple of Korean missionaries in the place I grew up, and I had a… friend, who spoke it when we first met, so I sort of understood the basics. To be honest, the one who knew the most Korean was my broth—”

Isak stops, his smile freezing as his fingers tighten around the soda until indents appear in the metal. He suddenly looks lost, red-colored eyes flickering, and biting down on his lip so hard she’s surprised it’s not bleeding.

Dayeon swallows; a sudden knot in her stomach.

Oh. She’s hit a sore spot, hasn’t she?

“I’m sorry,” she offers, quietly. She recognizes that grief-look on his face.

The boy snaps his eyes up, looking like he is about to snarl, ‘What does sorry even do?’ when he sees her eyes and realizes how genuine she is; how honest. She knew, better than anyone, that sorrys couldn’t take back the time spent in pain from loss. But as she grew older, she realized that people said them because they were offering condolences, showing their sympathy, offering support to ease the burden of grief. It wasn’t to make them magically feel better, it wasn't meant to do anything, it was—

It was just meant to tell them, subtly, that they cared.

He nods, and the grip on his can slowly relax. Silence grows between them, and she feels awkward and guilty for being the cause of it.

“So how long will you be in Korea?” Dayeon asks.

Isak pauses, a strange expression crossing his face. “... Until I'm done with things here,” he says, like something final.

Dayeon can sense the undercurrent of something but decides not to press it. “I see. You must be staying nearby since I ran into you again.”

“No, I just had something to take care of here… but I guess you live around here?” He suddenly straightens, eyes wide as a hand covers his mouth. “Ah, that's a rude question, isn't it?”

Dayeon laughs. “No it's not. My school is nearby—”

The next following moments happen in the span of three seconds.

Dayeon screams as out of nowhere Ijin tackles Isak, sending the food tumbling to the ground and the table flying as they grapple.

In the blink of an eye, Ijin snatches a single chopstick and tries stabbing it into Isak's eye. Isak grabs his wrist, barely blocking it, and Ijin snatches another chopstick with his other hand and slashes at him. Isak twists his neck to dodge, releasing his grip. The air shrivels up in her lungs when Isak kicks Ijin right in his broken ribs. Ijin falters with pain, and Isak is able to push him off and spring to his feet, her brother doing the same.

Dayeon’s feet are frozen to the ground. The whole fight happened so fast, and it was lethal. If Isak hadn’t dodged the slash to the neck, it would’ve hit an artery.

Ijin would’ve killed him.

Over her brother's shoulder, Dayeon meets Isak's eyes wildly. His eyes flicker to her before turning back to Ijin.

And then he begins speaking in a foreign language.

Dayeon feels her heart stop.

The language is guttural, tongue-twisting, and undeniably unlike any language Dayeon has ever heard. But she recognizes it. She recognizes it because she’s heard it before.

(Yeona’s kidnappers spoke it. That blond foreigner man spoke it.

Ijin spoke it.)

Dayeon finally finds her voice.

“Ijin?”

They both stop.

“Ijin, what are you doing here? What's going on?” Dayeon says desperately.

Ijin doesn't turn to look at her. “You should get out of here, now.”

“Huh? What do you mean…” Dayeon's voice drifts off as she notices the dangerous look in his eyes. He's looking past her, right at Isak, like he’s a threat, like he’s dangerous. She recognizes that look… it was the same one he had worn when he rescued her from Yeona’s kidnappers.

Cold and ruthless, just like how he fought.

Dayeon's eyes drop down to his shirt, and to her horror she sees it bloodied, his side slashed. Was he stabbed?

“Ijin, you're bleeding…” she whispers.

“You two… know each other?” A voice breaks through her panic, and she turns to see Isak staring at them.

“Huh? He’s my brother.”

“As in…”

“My older brother.” Dayeon says.

Isak struggles to keep his face from showing anything and fails spectacularly.

“I'm sorry, he's not usually like this. There must be some sort of misunderstanding…” Dayeon falters off when she sees the look on the boy's face. It's harsh and disbelieving. The boy looks nothing like the one she'd been happily chatting with a minute ago, and it makes Dayeon come to a chilling realization.

Right. How well can she know a boy she only met a day ago?

Ijin moves in front of her, protecting her. “Can you give us a moment, Dayeon?” He speaks up.

Dayeon jolts. “Huh?”

Ijin stares at the boy, hard and intense as he glares right back. She can feel a fight rearing up, the tension crackling in the air.

Dayeon wants to say no. She wants to argue. But as she gazes between the two of them, she knew she had no place here.

“… Okay.”

Dayeon walks off the porch, her heart racing and legs numb as she leaves the two of them standing there. Even though they’re busy glaring at each other, she can still somehow feel their eyes burning into her back until she rounds the corner of a building and leaves their sight.

As soon as she does she doubles over, gasping. Her heart is pounding out of her chest and her legs are weak and shaking.

The fighting skills. The mannerisms. The foreign language. The tattoo.

This boy was a part of Ijin’s past.

And she had left him alone with him.

Dayeon pokes her head out from the pillar she is hiding behind. Right now, her brother and the boy aren't currently fighting, but if they did, Dayeon had one hand on her cell phone, ready to call the police. While she doubted they could do anything, at least it would break up the fight and send the boy running.

Ready to duck if they looked her way, Dayeon watches as the tension slowly works its way out of the atmosphere. Suddenly, Ijin bends down… and starts picking up the trash? Dayeon blinks, hardly able to believe her eyes as the boy he had previously tried to murder, the one who had been glaring daggers at her brother like he was his most hated enemy, bent down to help him.

Dayeon gapes, rubs her eyes, and wonders if she’s dreaming.

The two finish cleaning, and the boy begins walking away before he suddenly looks up— and meets her eyes. Dayeon startles, and even he looks surprised. Ijin joins the boy, and they exchange a few words before Ijin makes his way towards her while the boy hangs back.

Dayeon hurries over to Ijin. “Are you okay?” She asks urgently.

Ijin looks down at her, at the worry pouring off her in waves, and softens. “I'm fine,” he says.

“Is… he okay?” Dayeon glances at the boy, who is anxiously hovering a few feet away. He jumps when he meets her eyes.

“ … Yes. You don't need to worry, Dayeon,” says Ijin.

“Good. Then I want to talk to him.” She looks up at Ijin boldly. “Alone.”

Her brother looks like he's about to argue before he stops. He takes in the stubborn set of her shoulders and the way her lips draw into a firm line and knows there's no dissuading her.

Dayeon takes a deep breath, looks over at the boy, and refuses to show her nerves. He was fine. She was fine. Ijin wouldn't allow him near her if he was going to attack her, nor would he be acting all buddy-buddy if they weren't friends.

Dayeon slowly approaches the boy, giving him plenty of time to panic.

“So.” Dayeon says. Just because he and Ijin were on good terms now doesn't mean she's about to go easy on him.

“So.” The boy echoes. He looks mildly afraid of what she's about to say next.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume that you were the one who stabbed my brother?” Dayeon goes right for the throat.

The boy pales. “Um—”

“And would it be a shot in the dark to assume that your business in Korea has suddenly ended and you have to leave?” Dayeon arches her brow.

The boy looks like he quite possibly wants to die on the spot. Dayeon wonders if it's possible for the blood to both rush to your face and leave it at the same time.

“I—I'm sorry,” the boy blurts out almost desperately. His hands wring nervously. “It was a misunderstanding.”

Dayeon says nothing but shows that she's listening. The boy continues rambling. “I thought— I thought your brother had something to do with my brother, and I was angry and impulsive, so I came here without thinking. But it turns out I was wrong and my brother is alive. But, um— I'm sorry for attacking your brother. And dragging you in it. It was— I didn’t mean for it to happen.” The boy’s eyes are wide and sincere as he fumbles through his apology.

Dayeon studies him for a long time. “... I believe you,” she says, and means it. From the look on the boy's face, she can tell he's surprised she does too.

“I just have one question,” she says, and he tenses. “Your name.”

“Huh?”

“The name you gave me. Isak. Was it your real name, or a fake one?”

The boy stares at her.

Dayeon had just blurted out the question and now immediately felt embarrassed under the boy’s gaze. Heat rises to her cheeks.

Well, too late to take it back now.

To be honest, Dayeon wasn't really sure why she asked that. She has lots of questions, and he likely had lots of answers. She doubted he would have told her the full truth, but the point is that she could have asked him anything.

But for some reason, the only thing she can focus on is his name.

(She knew, vaguely, that names were important where they came from. It was the only thing that couldn't be taken away from them.)

The boy stares at her, studying, suspicious, like he is trying to see if she has any ulterior motives. Dayeon keeps her eyes genuine and posture open, letting him see she isn’t hiding anything. Her heart is beating rapidly, and she’s strangely nervous, but she hopes he can see her.

Finally, he relaxes, and a small smile crosses his face. “Yeah, it is.”

“Really? That's your real name?” Happiness bursts from her chest.

“Yeah,” Isak smiles.

(He has a nice smile, too.)

“Right.” Dayeon sighs and leans back on her heels. “Well, that's all I wanted to ask. Thank you for answering my question… Isak.”

“No problem… Dayeon.” Isak turns scarlet when he says her name.

“Good luck in whatever you have to do,” says Dayeon. “And take care.”

“Thank you,” replies Isak. He hesitates, then almost sheepishly, adds “... you too.”

Dayeon beams.

Ijin approaches, and Isak jumps in what looks like fear and before backing up from her. Dayeon raises a hand to wave goodbye, and with a small smile hidden under his cap, Isak does the same.

Now for Ijin.

“So you two knew each other?” Dayeon asks once Isak leaves.

Ijin jumps. “Yeah.”

“Then why were you so harsh earlier?” Dayeon watches him closely. She knew she had said not to ask anything about his past, but she wasn’t really breaking her promise. He had attacked a kid out in the open and then made up with him in the next ten minutes. Surely he was expecting her to ask some questions about that?

But she had literally seen him try to stab someone’s eye out with a chopstick, so she was curious about what kind of excuse he would come up with—

“I thought some weird guy was hitting on you because you are pretty,” Ijin whips out, cool as can be.

Dayeon’s jaw drops. “What?”

She stares at Ijin.

Ijin stares back.

They both just stood there, staring at each other blankly for what feels like forever.

“Let’s just… let’s just go back home,” Dayeon manages faintly.

“Alright. Are you going to tell Grandpa about this?”

“Only if you don’t let me stitch up that wound, I will.”

***

It isn’t until much later when it hits her.

After Dayeon had done an appropriate amount of fussing over Ijin’s wound and had cleaned and bandaged it before he had kindly but firmly kicked her out of his room so he could brood, she was sitting in her room contemplating the day.

Meeting Isak had revealed a lot about Ijin and his past today. She closes her eyes, her thoughts flying around like a whirlwind in her brain: comrades and numbers and fighting; quick-to-kill hands, secret names, and tattoos. Even though there was animosity, it’s clear there’s some sort of innate trust in each other. Bonds are hard to break, after all.

That blond man that came before Isak— he’s another one of Ijin’s old comrades. Yet when they saw each other, they were eyeing each other like predators ready to kill one another instead of friends. Old comrades — friends — but ready to kill each other on a moment's notice.

(Who’s notice?)

Dayeon sighs and opens her eyes. It seems the more conclusions she comes to leave more questions to be answered. It feels like there is a string being drawn in her chest, slowly becoming tighter and tighter the more Ijin’s secrecy piles up. She fears one day it might snap, and whatever emotions she has carefully stored away will come breaking out.

Dayeon absently scrawls 032 in her notebook. She wonders if he’s somehow managed to leave the country yet, or if he’s still in the city. It would be hard to leave Korea without any money—

Her brain screeches to a halt. Wait. He didn't have any money. He was broke. Which means he likely wouldn't be able to eat for who-knows-how-long again.

Dayeon jumps to her feet and begins knocking on Ijin’s door frantically. “Ijin! Ijin, open up!” She whispers.

After a moment, he pokes his head out, dressed in new clothes. “Dayeon? What is it?”

“We need to go to the convenience store. Now.” She says urgently. “Do you have your wallet?”

To his credit, Ijin doesn't question her even though he looks extremely confused. He nods, and soon he and Dayeon are on their way to the convenience store by their apartment.

“Why are we going to the store in the middle of the night?” Ijin asks.

“Your friend,” Dayeon begins, and ignores the way he subtly tenses. “He's broke. I forgot to mention it to you, but that's the reason you found us eating together. He was starving so I offered to pay for his food.”

Whatever Ijin is expecting her to say, it certainly isn't that.

“Oh,” he says. “You gave him food?” For a split-second she can see fondness for his old comrade — no matter what history there was — play on the shadows of his face.

“Yeah. And we’re going to buy him food now. Do you have any idea where he’s staying?”

“A couple but…” Ijin hesitates. “You can’t come.” It might be dangerous, is what’s left unsaid, and she doesn’t argue.

“So I won't be able to see him again?” Dayeon asks. “That's too bad. I thought he was pretty cute.”

Ijin trips on the curb as they enter the convenience store.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Dayeon laughs at the scandalized expression her brother wears as he buries his face in his hands. He looks like he regrets this entire conversation. Dayeon flits around the store, grabbing food and drinks from the shelves like a storm. Ijin watches her and pulls out his wallet when she joins him by the cashier.

The lady begins scanning and bagging the items and Dayeon’s hand lingers on one of the packages. It's one of the meals she had spotted Isak wanting, but didn’t buy because she was paying.

Dayeon stares at the packaged meal, and in a split-second decision, digs into her bag and pulls out a sticky note. Ignores Ijin, who has given up all pretenses of busying himself with paying and is blatantly staring, and writes down a note.

Dayeon caps the pen, forces down her embarrassed hesitation, and smooths the sticky note down on the plastic. She fixes Ijin with a stern look. “No. Peeking.”

“What’s so important about that note that I can’t even see it?” Ijin scowls— no, sulks.

“It’s nothing,” Dayeon says quickly. “Really. Just… an inside joke.”

Ijin raises an eyebrow about that, likely wondering how Dayeon and Isak had gotten around to sharing inside jokes, but thankfully doesn’t press the issue.

The woman who was checking out their items — and Ijin, by default — looks jealous of her boldness.

Dayeon avoids each of their gazes.

***

Isak finally threads the last stitch through his flesh and gasps in pain. It’s been around half an hour since 001 had come and saved his life, and he had finally managed to patch up all the injuries Aiden had left him.

He eyes his blood-soaked hoodie crumpled in a corner and scowls. Aiden, that bastard; that was his favorite hoodie. Blood took forever to get out. That coward had almost managed to bring him down with an ambush— if he had fought him head on, there was no chance the mercenary would’ve been able to land as many hits as he did.

He pants, giving himself a moment to calm his heart and settle his thoughts. He had to get back to The Camp quick, before whatever assholes they sent next decided to fuck him up even more. He is in no condition to fight, and the thought of moving caused him physical pain right now, but he has to get out of here before whatever shady cleanup crew 001 got his hands on in this country came over.

Isak eyes the plastic bag on his right. 001 had said his sister had told him he was broke and had bought him food.

… Maybe he can stay for a quick meal. Now that the immediate danger is gone and his pain has subsided into a dull ache, he’s actually feeling kind of hungry. 001 had already dragged Aiden’s ass out of his hideout, and it would take some time before someone came to clean up the evidence. He has time.

With a groan, Isak reaches over and hooks his fingers into the plastic to drag it forward. The bag is bulging with the amount of food stuffed into it. Isak roots through the packages and recognizes some of them as the food he had been eyeing at the convenience store when he was with 001’s sister.

His fingers brush against something odd. Frowning, Isak pulls out a plastic package of food— with a sticky note attached. He peels off the note.

Don’t forget kindness is free, but if you really want to pay me back, then remember to come back and say hello!

— Dayeon

He can’t help but laugh. He laughs until his ribs hurt; until he’s breathless and his cheeks ache from grinning ear to ear.

Holy shit. That girl is something else.

From the very beginning she’s made an impact on him; he doubts he can ever forget her if he tried. She paid for his food when he was starving— and went even more by leaving every piece of money in her wallet for him because she knew he needed it more than she did.

When they met again, she was still kind, still caring: offering him companionship, sympathy, care— even though they were practically strangers. He thinks of her kindness that is so rare from where he’s from, her knowing eyes, her secret smiles.

It was so weird; in the short time they met, he’d been so aware of her. She had gotten him to let his guard down in such a short period of time; she’d gotten him to talk about his childhood, about his brother—

Even when he had almost fucked up and killed her brother, she gave a chance to explain himself and apologize— and she accepted. She forgave him, and now, was leaving him with a final gift.

Haven’t you ever heard the saying kindness is free?

He rubs his thumb over the ink on the sticky note. He still didn’t believe that, still believed that kindness can still be used as a way to stab someone in the back, but—

He guesses with Dayeon, it might be true.

***

[so-sures-blog]

First Meetings

Summary: May and Drew meet for the first time, and it goes about just as well as you expect it to.

……… | flirting, fighting, and explosions. Not necessarily in that order. |

DREW

………

Drew against the bridge that was facing the shoreline and watched. The girl in a red bandanna was flinging frisbees at her Beautifly — and failing.

“Amateur,” Drew said in his head. The Beautifly had just failed to complete the move Silverwind. “You’re too nervous, Beautifly is sensing it.” He thought.

“You’re not on the same wavelength. You’re rushing your commands.” Drew recited in his head. He watched the three guys cheer up the girl that had just sunk to the ground in defeat.

A rugged boy around Drews age with messy raven hair and a red hat was encouraging the girl enthusiastically, a Pikachu by side.

“Whatever,” Drew let out a breath and closed his eyes, flipping his green hair from his face. That girl could try her hardest to perfect Silverwind, and those guys can keep on being her personal cheerleaders, but by the end of the contest he was going to end up on top.

“WATCH OUT!” a feminine voice suddenly shouted at him.

A lazy smirk glided along Drew’s mouth like an unwinding ribbon, and he didn’t move a muscle. Drew held out a hand and let the frisbee fly right into it. The cold, hard plastic pressed against the palm of his hand as he heard the girl footsteps against the sand as she reached the front of the bridge.

“I’m sorry,” she panted when she came to a stop.

Drew leaned against the banister and spun the girl’s frisbee around his finger, scoffing, “Please don’t tell me you’re planning on entering the Pokémon contest with the cheesy act like that.”

Drew almost jolted when the words came out of his mouth. He was almost about to apologize before he stopped. He was Andrew Hayden, and Andrew Hayden never apologizes.

Eyes still closed, Drew tossed the toy at the girl's feet and jumped off the bridge, navigating his way to the girl and her personal cheerleaders with ease. Now closer, Drew could feel her offense rolling off her more than the waves behind her.

“You have no finesse. No moves.” Drew continued. The mean words wouldn’t stop rolling off his tongue.

“Hey, who are you to tell me that!” The girl raged on like a Toros.

“If you must know, I’m Drew.” The said person did a cocky flip of his hair, smirking. “Pokémon Coordinator.”

Drew let his eyelids rise and came face to face with the most stunning pair of blue eyes he had ever seen.

………

MAY

Green Guy opened his eyes, and May felt caught off guard when she faced the most stunning pair of eyes she had ever seen.

They weren’t emerald, exactly — they were a lighter, softer shade of green that May would no doubt ponder about later at night. But right now Green Guy — Drew — stared back at May with a strange expression on his face. His pupils are dilated, and May couldn’t help but feel self-conscious as his eyes drank in her every feature.

May felt, as accurately as possible, like a Goldeen out of water.

“Really?” Ash's voice cut through the tension, and both coordinators snapped out of it. “That’s just like you May!” Ash exclaimed happily.

Drew cringed like the very thought of being related to May was painful and Max and Brock practically fell to the ground.

“Please, no comparison,” Drew flipped his hair and held out his hand in front of him, as if he couldn’t bear the sight of them. May looked ready to order Torchic to use Ember on the arrogant excuse-of-a-coordinator.

Drew continued insulting May as Beautifly flew down and elegantly perched herself on her head, tilting her head with curiosity. “You and your Pokémon here,” the green brat addressed May, “you have no style.” He turned his head away from them pridefully.

And … that’s it.

With an animalistic growl, May dove for the boy, literally ready to tackle him in her rage. Luckily, (for Drew sake, everybody but the two thought) Brock lunged forward in the nick of time and grabbed the girl by her forearms, successfully preventing May from her attempts of murder.

Drew didn’t flinch as May struggled to get out of her friend's grip.

“HOW DARE YOU! YOU CAN MAKE FUN OF ME ALL YOU WANT, BUT DON'T YOU DARE MAKE FUN OF MY POKÉMON — MMPH!?”

Drew pressed his hand against May’s trap to prevent his eardrums from being injured. He tossed her a careless smirk, amused and not at all intimidated by her temper.

May squirmed angrily in Brock’s death lock. This guy — this arrogant, cocky, grass-headed guy — had the audacity to touch her after insulting her and Beautifly? He must be joking.

“Whoa, just calm down little girl. I know you want a piece of this —” Drew gestured to his body with his other hand, “but I’m not interested in children.”

May got immense satisfaction when Drew actually took a step away from her as she went in for the kill again, dragging a shocked Brock along with her. Pikachu quickly shot off his partner's shoulder to grab onto the leg May was prepared to kick with. Beautifully quickly dropped back down on the brunette’s head to calm her down.

May took a deep breath, shutting her eyes for a second. She focused on the comforting weight of Beautifly weighing down on her neck before releasing her breath.

“Who are you calling little? We’re the same age," May retorted.

Drew simply ignored her comment and flipped his hair, purposefully ticking her off further.

Max jumped into the conversation, sensing his sister was about to blow again. “May, don’t listen to him," he said, sweating at the way May was eyeing Drew like a Mightyena would pounce on its prey.

“Yeah, why don’t you show us all your great Pokémon,” Ash butted in.

Drew rolled his eyes and answered snootily, “Why, what good would that do?”

Drew flipped his majestic (please note the sarcasm) green hair and locked eyes with May again. “I think,” he continued slowly, “that you all should be on your way.” Drew didn’t take his eyes off the blue-eyed girl as he jabbed his thumb behind him to the five-star hotel none of them had noticed before. “This is a private beach reserved for people like me staying at that hotel.” Drew tilted his head to the side, slightly challenging May — challenging them all — to argue.

May dragged her eyes from the fancy hotel to the boy standing a few feet ahead from her.

She hated him.

Rivalry burned in the pit of her stomach and she made sure she channeled all that heat into the glare she was giving him.

“Let’s go,” Ash broke the silence, grabbing May's wrist and tugging.

“Pika,” Pikachu, who was still at May’s feet, agreed and jumped on Ash's shoulder as the latter turned away and walked in the opposite direction.

“Yeah,” Brock said, unlocking May from his death grip and following Ash. Max followed the others, not before glancing nervously between the two coordinators who were in the middle of a face-off.

“Would you stop glaring at me like that? You look like a Gible,” Drew broke the silence as soon as the boys left.

“No,” May snapped back, anger evident in her tone. Beautify flew off her head and hovered above her.

Drew ran a hand through his hair and let it rest for a moment on her. Then he flipped his hair out and walked right up to her, not stopping until he was inches away from her. “I’ll see you at the contest, May,” he said teasingly, daring her to push him away.

May felt her hands ball up on instinct and her face burned with anger and embarrassment. The girl willed her feet to move, but to no avail.

That’s right,” May heard herself say. “You’ll see me win.”

Drew’s smirk grew wider and he leaned closer. Sapphire and emerald eyes burnt into each other. Both coordinators just stood there, staring at each other, standing in each other’s personal bubbles until May finally had the strength to pull away. Both watched each other like a hawk as May backed away from Drew scowling.

“Come on Beautifly, let’s go,” May finally said.

“Beautifly,” her Pokémon agreed.

Still, the trainers would not move, nor remove eye contact.

Finally, Drew turned on his heel and left, heading back to the hotel he had previously pointed out earlier. May and Beautifly stood and stared at Drew’s retreating form and May was left to ponder what had just transpired, blinking.

“What in Arceus’s name just happened?” May thought bewilderedly. Beautifly startled her out of it by landing on her head once more and May smiled at her Pokémon.

“I’m going to pound that arrogant piece of green hair into the battlefield when I win that ribbon,” May murmured to herself.

The young girl turned around and broke into a sprint, shouting, “Hey Ash! Let's have a Pokémon battle!”

[so-sures-blog]

So … is he?

[I thought of this while showering at midnight, then wrote the whole thing in the next three hours on a school night.]

You're really gonna tell me they don't have the same eyes?

***

It always started as a question before it snowballs into something more.

“Dayeon, can we ask you a question?”

Dayeon turned to see 008 and 018 standing behind her. She smiled, trying to seem as open and friendly as possible. The Numbers were nice to her — intimidating in general — but indifferent to her mostly. They mostly kept to themselves and didn’t approach her often, but when they did she tried to be as genuine as possible. Ijin saw them as family and trusted them, so that meant Dayeon cared about them too.

“Yeah, what is it?” She asked 008, who was the one who spoke first.

The man — giant really, because Dayeon had to crane her head all the way up to look at him — shifted his feet, appearing oddly uncomfortable. 018 crossed his arms, defensive and avoiding her eyes.

“Well, 018 and I were discussing about 001 and his normal life — how he’s interacting with normal people his own age and —”

“Oh my God,” 018 interrupted, rolling his eyes. “We wanted to ask, is he gay?”

Dayeon choked and did a double-take. “What? No, he’s not. Why would you say that?”

“Because he has girls literally hanging off him and he doesn’t even notice! No guy would ever act like that unless he’s gay.”

“He’s not gay, just oblivious! This is the first time that he’s interacting with normal girls his age — he’s totally clueless when it comes to romance!” Dayeon argues back.

“Are you sure? Even if he’s oblivious he’s sure to pick up the cues of a girl liking him. He was literally trained to read body language,” 018 pointed out.

Dayeon pauses; that was actually a good point. She thought of all the times Yeona’s crush was painfully obvious. Was Ijin actually oblivious, or was he faking it? “Still, it's not like there were any girls that were interested in him back in the Camp for him to pick up signs; he was nine years old and all he was focused on was surviving.”

“Yeah, but so was 032 and he still —” 008 smacked 018 and he quickly stopped talking.

“What are you talking about?” 016 materialized behind her and Dayeon jumped; she didn’t even hear him coming.

“We’re asking her if 001 is gay,” 018 interjects bluntly before she can open her mouth.

“Is he?” 016 raised a brow. “I mean, it would certainly explain why he doesn’t notice all those girls.”

“Thank you,” 018 guestured to 016 empathetically.

“No, he’s not!” Dayeon said. “He’s shown no interest in guys!”

“If 001 has all those pretty girls hanging off of him and doesn’t have a girlfriend by now then he really is gay. Even if he’s oblivious he would notice someone taking an interest in him.” 016 pointed out.

“That’s because he isn’t even interested in romance. He’s more focused on his family and living his normal life. Besides, he isn’t really … emotionally available, if you know what I mean.” Dayeon winced, trying to phrase Ijin’s decade of trauma as delicately as possible.

“Oh, but 032 is?”

“What?”

“Nothing,” 016 dismissed immediately.

“Alright then. If you want to know so bad, I’ll just ask him myself,” Dayeon said. She turned around and scanned the area, taking note of where everyone was. 002 was off to the side restocking the supplies while 004 was beside him, cleaning his knife. 006 and 032 were settled down across the camp having lunch. She spotted her brother on the other side of the clearing.

Dayeon walked up to Ijin, who was busy organizing his guns.

“Ijin, can I ask you a question?” She asked, adopting an innocent expression. Her brother looked up before smiling that small, sweet genuine smile he always saved for her. For a moment, Dayeon almost felt a bit guilty before she shoved it away.

“Of course. What is it?”

Dayeon plopped to the ground beside him before taking a deep breath and saying —

“Ijin, are you gay?”

On the other side of the clearing, 006 spat out his drink.

“W-What?” Ijin looked startled at the question.

“Are you gay?” Dayeon repeated calmly. Vaguely, she can hear the sounds of 032 choking on his food and the thwack, thwack, thwack, of 006 smacking his back to clear his throat.

“N-No …?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes …?”

“Alright! Just wanted to know!” Dayeon said brightly before kissing his cheek and walking away. She could feel the eyes of all the other Numbers burning into her back and she tosses the group of 008, 018, and 016 a sweet, victorious smirk before heading to find 005.

She would find this hilarious.

[so-sures-blog]

Teenage Mercenary Aesthetics

So, if you don’t know this webcomic download Webtoon right now and read Teenage Mercenary!

Summary: At the age of nine, Ijin Yu lost his parents and was the sole survivor of a plane crash. Stranded in a foreign land, alone and amnesiac, Ijin was forced to become a child mercenary to stay alive. Ten years later, he returns to his home country, Korea, to reunite with his family and live a normal life. But the past has an awful way of dredging itself back up …

***

“What’s in a name? It brings meaning to the meaningless. Because a name gives recognition.”

***

[so-sures-blog]

Of butterflies and roses

Summary: Drew hadn't fallen for May first; he been struck, curious about this doe-eyed girl in a bandana — distracted, fumbling, so very nervous —and her Beautifly. Drew liked to pay attention to people, how they got to who they were. It helped him in contests, to weed out who would be the real competition. Drew saw May playing with her little frisbees and thought, “She wouldn’t make it.

But now — now, Drew leaned forward and stared as May stumbled onstage and proceeding to blindside the audience with her plastic frisbees; with five Stringshots, a Gust, and one beautiful Silverwind.

A small smile made its way onto his face.

“Huh, what do you know?” Drew said to himself. “That wasn’t too bad at all.”

***

Or: a love story about surprises and realization

***

When Drew first sees May playing on the beach with her plastic pink frisbees he thought she was a joke.

Contests were a serious thing and they weren’t for the faint of heart. Drew has seen many bright-eyed amateurs bounce on stage to perform their shallow appeals before running off in tears when they lost. Drew knows this girl will be no different.

Because her idea of an appeal was pathetic and lame. Her performance lacked flair and finesse, and was much too shallow. She had no style, baseless confidence, and her naïveté was going to get her as far as her performance will.

Beautifly sends a Gust at the frisbees, and the girl daintily catches two of them on a spin as her friends cheer.

Drew watches in amusement as the third sails right over her head and catches it.

***

The girl passes the appeal round and is matched up with Drew right off the bat.

After their first meeting, she is determined to beat him and win the contest, and Drew scoffs at the fairy tale. He has more experience than she could ever hope for under his belt, and he can’t wait to beat her.

In the end, he leaves her in tears on the stage. She’s slumped to the ground by her Beautifly, her lips pressed into a wobbly line as tears glass her eyes. Drew gets a sudden sense of deja vu as he stares at her; he’s reminded of his first loss — his very first loss against Solidad. He remembers the feeling of defeat and devastation and turns away.

At least in his first contest he made it into the finals. With her, it seems like she barely trained for the battle round at all. (He is a little bit disappointed — he was hoping she would put up as much of a fight as she did their first battle.)

With this loss, Drew would see what type of person May would be.

Would she give up like many others have when they faced him, or would she stand up and try again?

***

Drew takes his loss against Robert hard, but moves on by training harder and winning another contest. He tells Solidad about him in one of their weekly calls, but carefully leaves the girl he’s met out of it. He still hasn’t decided on what type of trainer she is, and there will be no point in telling Solidad about her if she never shows her face again after defeat.

He spends his time training Roselia and Trapinch, searching for a new partner for his team, and winning himself another ribbon before heading to Fallarbor Town for a contest. He’s heard the competition is going to be steep.

Occasionally, he thinks of the girl in the bandana and her Beautifly, but it’s a thin, fleeting thought he easily dismisses in his busy days.

***

When Drew sees her training in Fallarbor Town, he feels something startling and surprising in him. His eyes are immediately drawn to her and he can’t help but make his way over to her to tease her about her botched up combinations — (because really, how can a coordinator not know about combinations?)

Based on their first meeting, May doesn’t like Drew. He’s arrogant and criticizes her and offers nothing good to say about her combinations. Drew shows off his newly acquired ribbons and tells her she has no shot of winning a competition this steep.

He walks away, mouth uncurling into a grin and hopes the fire he’s sparked in May will be enough to make this contest a memorable one.

***

It's Drew who loses in the Fallarbor Contest, and normally he would be upset about that if it weren’t for the fact of who won.

May won the Fallarbor Contest, and with nothing but her own skill and talent. She took the same combinations he made fun of and turned them into something elegant and powerful. She and Beautifly beat Grace and won the ribbon — her very first ribbon — and May’s never looked more alive and in sync with her Pokémon.

Drew feels reluctant admiration, pride, and (strangely) joy press into his gut and leave a tingling sensation throughout his body.

May finally did it; and although Drew still thinks that she wouldn’t have been able to beat him if they were paired up in the first round, her fight against Grace almost deserves a congratulations.

***

It was Roselia’s idea to keep giving May roses, and Drew went along with it. He doesn’t know why exactly, but Roselia is very intuitive and reminds him of Solidad, who is spending her off-season in Kanto training.

He feels like the roses are falling into some sort of routine of theirs, and strangely enough, Drew likes it enough to not want to think about what it means.

“I suppose this rose is for Beautifly, right?” May spins the flower between her fingers and teasingly asks. Her smile is light and playful and Drew feels his stomach suddenly knot in on itself at the sight. He’s not quite sure what to think of that.

“Yeah, something like that.” He keeps his response vague and puzzling before turning away before she realizes that the rose is just as much for her as it is her Pokémon.

***

Drew starts to talk about her to Solidad at around the second contest she wins. That’s two times May has defeated somebody who has beaten Drew, and he is fascinated. He talks to Solidad about their first meeting, how she totally blindsided him with the sudden Silverwind in their first battle. He talks about the first contest she won, the Pokémon she used, and is completely, totally, utterly unaware of the knowing look Solidad has in her blue eyes.

“Looks like you have yourself a rival, Drew,” she interrupts with a grin.

Drew scoffs. How can May ever be his rival?

***

It’s a while before he sees May again, but almost against his will he keeps his ear against the ground for her. He hears she wins the Lilycove Contest and the Purika Contest — after a bit of difficulty, apparently — but hasn't heard anything else.

It’s six weeks until the Pokémon Grand Festival and Drew is just out training his Masquerain when he hears someone call his name. He turns around to see May and her friends waving at him so he makes his way down the cliff to them.

May shows off her four ribbons and informs him that she’ll be entering the Pacifidlog Contest with the same happy-go-lucky smile and bright blue eyes. And because Drew doesn’t not like how she looks at him and he doesn’t like how he doesn’t like it, he makes fun of her enough to challenge him to a battle. It doesn’t get far before a trio calling themselves Team Rocket burst from the ocean and proceed to vacuum them into a giant mechanical Magikarp before exploding.

This is what he gets for spending time with May, Drew thinks as he stares out at the foggy ocean. He and May had woken up on the beach alone, together, surrounded by wreckage and with no idea where the others were. Thankfully, Roderick comes and saves them from their incessant bickering, and they set off to find May’s friends.

Admittedly, Drew is a bit excited to have landed on Mirage Island of all places. Few people have managed to set foot on the land, and it was crawling with liechi berries. That’s why when Drew finally spotted them so close to the cliff, he wasn’t as careful as he could've been.

The earth gives out beneath their feet and as they’re falling the only thought Drew has in his mind is that he’s probably going to die. May grabs onto Bellsprout’s vine, and Drew can tell as she grasps his hand that it's not going to save them.

May’s grip slips and they both hit the water, hands still firmly locked with each other. The current rips them apart and Drew desperately surges to the surface, gasping for air.

“May!” He calls, using whatever air he has left in his lungs. The water is stinging his eyes and roaring in his ears, but he’s still desperately searching for the brown-haired coordinator.

He spots her up ahead, choking on the spray of water and being submerged again and again before Drew swims forward and grabs her arm. Her blue eyes find his green ones, and they’re big and wide and scared as she fights against the current. They struggle to stay above water, Drew trying to support May as much as he can before they hear Roderick’s yell above the buffeting waves: “There’s a waterfall dead ahead!”

Fear freezes his veins. If they weren’t going to die, then they certainly would now. There isn’t any time to think straight before it’s on them, but May tightens her grip on Drew as panic seizes them both and Drew clutches her wrist as hard as he can before they go over.

They slam against the bottom, the impact sweeping them apart before Drew falls unconscious.

When he wakes up it’s nighttime, but the first thing he sees is May’s worried face and big blue eyes. She’s crouched over him, and when he opens his eyes her face breaks out into a big, relieved smile. Drew doesn’t know what happened or where he is, but he does know his heart is doing acrobatics in his chest right now and he feels dizzy with the knowledge that May probably saved his life before the Wynaut did.

The Wynaut are nice and thoughtful for wild Pokémon, and with them Drew and May find themselves becoming more at ease from their near-death experience. May releases all her Pokémon and goes to play with the Wynaut while Drew sits to the side and watches with a small smile on his lips.

The May in front of him right now is totally unencumbered and free. Her smile is big and her laugh is bright and for the first time Drew is able to see her in the light that she is a girl, not just a coordinator. This is the first time they are together outside the context of contests, and that means that the girl he is looking at right now is the real May. Normally when they met May would put up a front and talk all big for the sake of their rivalry, but not now. Now, she is completely natural.

Almost against his will, Drew feels a powerful emotion grow inside him as he watches her.

***

May has grown — slowly and steadily, with the help of her friends and Pokémon. Drew sees her start to win contests, learn strategies, her trust in her Pokémon becoming more prominent with every move she calls.

Alongside his admiration, there is something new and exciting that pulse in his veins now, and it makes Drew determined to win. Solidad calls it competition from across the phone line in Pewter City, and Drew actually feels like laughing.

Because, him? Competitive about May? It hasn’t been that long since she was stumbling through coordinating and trying to figure out combinations. But then, he realizes, it has.

May has grown into coordinating, training her partners and catching new Pokémon. Drew thinks that she can make it into the Grand Festival, and looking deeper, he thinks that he wants to face her there.

Drew knows that Solidad can see the realization on his face and quickly hangs up before she can tease him.

His Vibrava had evolved into a Flygon a while ago, and Drew has a sudden idea about who he wants him to train for.

***

It’s not a surprise to see her at the Grand Festival, but Drew is never going to admit it. May lights up when she spots him and is quickly running towards him with a bright smile. Her enthusiasm makes him smile and as she snatches his rose almost petulantly, he feels the strange emotion bubble up again.

Unfortunately, Harley shows up and May is instantly swept up with his bravado and false promises. Drew already knew she trusts easily and is unfalteringly kind, but Harley was pushing it and May is totally unaware. She almost blows her chances at competing in the Grand Festival battle rounds.

Frustration bubbles up, and Drew knows it’s unreasonable, but May doesn’t get it. She’s made it all the way here, and she was talented, but she still doesn’t get it. To be a coordinator one had to trust in themselves and their Pokémon, and find their own style to make their own Pokémon’s appeal shine through.

And May didn’t get it.

Fortunately for her, she manages to impress the judges enough to pass the appeal round and win her way through the battle rounds — until she’s matched up with him. They face off against each other in the third round of the Hoenn Grand Festival; and as they stare each other down from across the pitch, Drew recalls their first battle. He hasn’t had a real contest battle with May since then, and although Drew knows how it’ll end he still wants to see how she’ll react.

Drew calls out Roselia and Flygon. May’s never seen his Pokémon before, and when he tells her that he raised his Flygon specifically to battle her he can tell she is both flattered and scared.

Drew makes the first move and the battle is on.

***

In the end, it isn’t Drew’s time as Robert comes out on top in the Grand Festival Finals, but it was a good battle and Drew gave it his all. He learned a lot from battling Robert and was already coming up with combinations for next year.

He impatiently waits his way through the closing ceremonies and as soon as the party starts he disappears to the beach to practice with his Pokémon. They train for about an hour before someone stumbles upon them, and Drew turns when he realizes it’s May.

She’s confused about why he’s still training and Drew is reminded that it is her first season of coordinating. He gives her advice before heading on his way, but can’t help but leave her with one last thing.

“I’m hoping to see you back here next year too, May,” he says. “You were good.”

She stares at him, gaping slightly. (Has he really never complimented her before? It seems like she takes up most of his thoughts to not have.) Her sapphire eyes are wide as the seabreeze tousles her hair. He’s suddenly aware of the waves crashing against the shore and the stars shining in the night sky. Drew can barely hear the sounds of the party drifting towards the beach.

For such an open space, it feels so entirely intimate in the moment. May looks beautiful in the moonlight, and the realization of what that means strikes him.

Drew walks away from her, feeling as though someone once so out of his reach becomes touchable for just a slither of time.

***

Drew goes to Kanto for the next contest season and is surprised to see May already there. She’s still as rose-scented, sun-kissed and vibrant as she was in Hoenn and Drew is unable to withhold the realization that he likes her. He really, really likes her.

The realization follows him throughout Kanto, so he throws himself into contests and combinations to avoid thinking about it altogether. His Pokémon notice, but Roselia is the only one who knows and Drew can sense her disapproval. He ignores it — they’re rivals above all and Drew values that — her — more than his feelings.

Still though, he can’t help but go see her. Drew knew so little about her. He could easily spot her voice out of a crowd, but he wanted to hear her stories. There was still so much to May that he didn't know. Drew never really minded being a mystery to the average person (sharing parts of himself was something he was naturally against), but with May he wanted her to know him.

He wondered if she had similar thoughts about him and if part of her wanted to know more.

Drew gathers his five ribbons and heads to the Grand Festival. He’ll see her there.

***

Drew meets up with Solidad the morning of the Grand Festival.

When they first met, Solidad had beaten him and Roselia in the final round of their first contest and then invited him out to lunch afterwards. Although Drew had his reservations, he still went.

Solidad explained that she had a season of experience over him, and that her battle with him had to be the most grueling one she’d ever faced. She was impressed with his performance and wanted to see him again in another contest.

As they competed together more throughout the season and their respect for each other grew, he started to open up to her more and meet up with her more often. It's only natural that Solidad is now his best friend.

They have run into each other a couple of times in Kanto, and had carefully shared contest information and have appropriately planned out their routes so they didn’t meet up at every contest. Still, Drew had looked forward to the towns where their paths were scheduled to cross.

“So, what did you think of May?” Drew asks a bit too casually as he sips his tea. He’s not really a fan of the taste, but Solidad loves it so he drinks without complaining.

“I like her. She’s really sweet and friendly. The total opposite of you,” she says with a teasing smirk.

“Uh huh, sure,” Drew rolls his eyes. “Do I even want to know what you two said about me?”

Solidad’s eyes twinkle. “That’s between girls only. Whatever May says is completely on her own volition.”

“Great. She’s definitely going to rub something in my face now.” Drew takes another sip of tea and struggles to not make a face. Solidad does the same, watching him with calm blue eyes.

“I’m a bit sad you haven’t introduced me to her earlier though,” she speaks up suddenly. “Seeing how much you talk about her. I can see why you like her.”

Drew chokes on his tea, and for once it wasn’t because of the taste.

Solidad knows. She's probably always known, Drew rationalizes, but the knowing smile the older coordinator wears cements the fact that nevertheless, Solidad knows.

But then again, if Drew had really wanted it to be kept a secret, he wouldn’t have introduced them in the first place. But Solidad was his closest friend and Drew liked May (enough to give her advice, give her roses) and he had wanted the two of them to meet.

“She — uh, I, uh — ” Drew stammers. He feels uncharacteristically embarrassed and it throws him off his game. “I — ”

“It’s okay, Drew.” Solidad thankfully cuts him off. “You don’t have to explain yourself. I’m actually glad you’ve found someone like May. She’s good for you.” Drew’s face burns and Solidad’s face softens as she observes his flustered reaction. “Just … don’t let your feelings get in the way of your performance, okay?”

Drew scoffs at the thought. “Don’t worry, I won’t,” he reassures her.

He may like her, but they're still rivals.

***

It’s a surprise when he sees Ash and Brock come to talk to him instead of Solidad, but figures she’s probably having a talk with May after he snapped at her.

Guilt twists in his chest as he thinks of her hurt expression before he ignores it and turns to face the sunset. Don’t let your feelings get in the way of your performance, Solidad had said. Drew internally scoffed. She should have said, “Don’t let her performance get in the way of your feelings.”

Seeing her perform with her Munchlax … it shook him. For so long, May had always been the one behind him, chasing after him. It didn’t hit him until today that … she can pass him. She can beat him.

She had changed; she was a threat. He had changed; he was no longer untouchable.

And that scared him.

“Look, I said it was on my mind, alright?” Drew snaps.

“I know that Drew,” Ash clambors down to join him. Pikachu hops down his shoulder.

“Solidad’s having a little talk with May right now. I think it would be a good idea to do the same thing,” Brock says. Drew hmphs.

“You know …” Ash breaks the silence, rubbing Pikachu’s head. “Watching you out there earlier made me think about all the rivals I’ve faced in battle over the years. I never talked to them about how they trained or anything.” Ash turns to face him. “We deal with that on the battlefield.”

Drew can’t help but stare, shocked at the comparison. It's no secret that a lot of competitive battlers don't take coordinators seriously. They saw it as more of a glorified beauty contest than showing off the strength of the Pokémon with appeal. Not to mention, coordinating was more seen as a feminine form of battling, with its emphasis on beauty and combinations.

For a while, Drew thought Ash was one of those battlers — that’s why he challenged him to a battle in Fallarbor Town. But no, Ash is here drawing comparisons from his battling to relate to coordinating. To him and May.

Ash and Brock are here, telling him in their own way that they understood him. That they took his side.

Drew relaxed. “I hear ya,” he chuckles. “We’re rivals, May and I.”

Somehow, that seems to sum up everything and nothing at all.

***

It’s the Kanto Grand Festival at the Indigo Plateau, and it's Drew up against May in the quarterfinals. He walks onto the stage and hears the cheers so loud it makes his ears ring. The atmosphere of the stadium is electric, and Drew keeps his head straight.

His eyes wander across the field to May and he sees the determined glint in her eyes that Drew knows is reflected in her own. Two years, two regions, and two talented coordinators.

They’ve been ready for this their whole lives.

***

In the end, it’s only one of them who can win, and after a long, grueling battle, the winner is decided.

The screams and cheers from the stadium are overwhelming so Drew closes his eyes and takes a breath, steadying himself.

The battle was incredible. May was incredible.

She is still standing there, staring up at the scoreboard in disbelief and unable to believe what it reads. She’s surprised, shaky from the battle, but happy-ecstatic and Drew is proud to have lost to her. It's been two years since they met, since he first saw her on the beach of Slateport City with her plastic pink frisbees, and since then she’s been surprising him ever since. They’ve both changed since they first met; the final battle an accumulation of everything they learned on their journey.

Absol slowly makes his way to him, head already bowed in defeat. His Pokémon took his losses harder than Drew did, but this time the trainer wasn’t feeling bad about this one at all.

Absol looks up in surprise when Drew reaches forward and rubs his head. “Thank you, you fought hard. You're the best, Absol.” Absol lights up at the praise, gratefully pressing his head into his hand.

Drew turns to notice May’s gaze on him, questioning and uncertain. She’s worried about how he’ll take the loss against her, and suddenly the feelings Drew has tried to keep from fully consuming his heart come forth.

It’s because she surprises him. She’s surprised him from the very beginning — from the first time they met, the first time they ever competed, the first time he truly saw her — and she kept on surprising him, whether it be her skill or her passion or her love towards people and Pokémon. Drew hadn’t fallen in love with May; he was struck, stunned by the care and awe he has for her. She completely blindsided him and turned his world upside-down. He never would have imagined that the girl he had met on the beach would turn into one of his greatest rivals.

Drew’s eyes soften, mouth pulling into gentle smile as he nods. It’s okay. He lost, but it was to May and he is okay with that because she more than deserves her victory. May beams at his approval, throwing her arm around Combusken in celebration.

Drew watches for a moment longer before closing his eyes and turning away, smiling.

***

Drew doesn't stick around after the festival. His bags are packed and he’s headed out. Drew has no new destination in mind, so he just travels around Kanto, exploring the parts he didn’t get to see before. He spends two months just wandering, training and discovering himself. His mind is on May, and coordinating, and on where to head next for the next Grand Festival.

Drew finds a beautiful lake — a glittering expanse of blue in front of him — with plenty of open space to practice some tricky appeals he has been working on. He calls out Roselia and Masquerain and they work on some doubles appeals for around an hour before Drew gives them a rest. Roselia wanders along the shoreline, looking happy and relaxed while Masquerain flutters around the lake.

Suddenly, to his surprise, Roselia runs towards her trainer, exclaiming happily. Drew blinks, alarmed, before he hears a familiar voice speak up behind him.

“Hey, Drew!”

Drew turns to see Solidad approaching with Slowbro, a smile on her face.

"What are you doing here?" Drew asks before he can stop himself.

Solidad laughs. "Jeez, it's nice to see you too."

Drew smirks and waves his hand at her. "You know what I meant."

"Well, am I not allowed to want to see you?” Solidad asks gently. “You practically ran away from the afterparty of the Grand Festival, and I’ve barely heard from you.” She settles on the grass right next to him as her Pokémon goes to greet his.

Drew runs a hand through his hair and winces. “Sorry. I've been busy.”

Solidad shakes her head. “Typical of you, isn't it? But don't you think you’ve trained enough?”

Drew shrugs and says nothing; she knows what his answer is. They both watch as Roselia comes forward and Solidad rubs her head. “So, have you decided on where to go from here?”

“I think I’ll head to the Johto region next.” Drew says. “What will you do?”

“Johto too, I think.” Solidad turns to meet his gaze. “Just because I became a Top Coordinator doesn’t mean I want to stop. I want to keep coordinating, traveling, and winning. I want to be a master coordinator and be accepted into the Ribbon’s Syndicate.”

Drew smirked and closed his eyes. “Yeah, you’re not the only one, you know.”

The Ribbon Syndicate was a big ordeal for coordinators alike. It was a private, special organization that only coordinators with a legendary status could call their home. Members would finally earn that sought after "Master" status and finally become a part of the world's elite, setting an example for all young coordinators alike.

Solidad smiles. It’s quiet for a while, both of them watching their Pokémon get along before she speaks. “I gave her your rose, you know. She caught you as you were leaving, right?”

Drew tenses, before he relaxes. “Yeah. Thanks for giving it to her. I … couldn’t give her that one in person.” It feels entirely too honest than he meant it to be, so he avoids Solidad’s eyes as she studies him.

When Drew had first given roses to May, it was a mocking. The flowers were filled with taunts about how her Pokémon were carrying her to victory. Then Drew had started to notice May, and his roses became fleeting — everyone knows what red roses meant. How could Drew give out roses when he didn’t even know who he was really giving them to?

But now this one was different. After everything — their fight, their battle, the final leg of their journeys — the rose held a different meaning now. It is a confession of his affection, respect, and awe for her.

It was the only genuine rose.

And they both knew it.

“Here,” Solidad holds out a shrunken Pokéball and Drew takes it. He glances down at it and blinks.

“This is Butterfree’s Pokéball,” he says, surprised. “Why are you giving this to me?”

“Because you need it,” she says simply. “You’ve done enough reflecting, Drew. You need to get out of your head, and the best way to do that is with a new partner. He’s yours now.” She stands up as Slowbro wanders towards her and returns him.

“Where are you going?” Drew is still reeling.

“To Johto,” Solidad raises a brow as if to say ‘obviously’. “And you’re going to Fennel Valley.”

“What’s in Fennel Valley?” Drew is scared to ask.

“You’ll see.” Solidad smiles.

***

Drew does end up making his way to Fennel Valley and runs into May. As soon as he sees her, he understands why Solidad sent him here instead of going to the Johto region first.

Drew feels like he’s seeing himself a week ago. May is lost, out of sync, and confused. It’s a mental thing he’s seen in himself and other coordinators stuck in a rut, and Drew tries to pull her out of it.

He challenges her to a battle, his heart beating faster when he sees the fire relight in May’s eyes.

They’re talking outside later — May sitting beyond the fence while he leans against it — and Drew tells May he’s going to Johto. He studies her reaction, trying to see how she’s feeling, and watches her eyes lower as she leans against the fence with him. “It’s pretty there, right now,” she says.

Drew gazes at her. She’s looking at the sunset, how the pinks, reds, and golds reflect off the mountains. The sprawling region in front of them looks beautiful, but Drew can’t seem to take his eyes off May. There’s no moonlight this time — May’s dripping with the sunset glow, chestnut hair waving in the wind, azure eyes deep and Drew feels like his heart is going to crawl out of his chest looking at her.

He really, really loves her.

Harley interrupts, as he always does, and soon he and Drew have to leave. May calls out goodbyes behind him as he walks away, and Drew raises a hand in return.

Life insists on — they’re rivals, May and him. They will always come together. As frequently as roses bloom, they will meet each other, again and again.

[so-sures-blog]

Pirate Jaya AU

Summary: There are three things Jay Walker knows right now in this point of his life. Number one: He hates pirates. Trapped on Nadakhan’s ship for a year, he has had enough of them for a lifetime. Number two: He is going to escape. Sure, his plans to do so are ducktaped together by adrenaline and hope, but come hell or high water Jay is going home. Number three: Jay has inadvertently caught the attention of another pirate crew with powers, a crazy old man, and the most beautiful and fierce pirate woman in the Endless Sea. He is so hooped right now.

Tags: Mentions of Abuse, Kidnapping, Hints of Trauma, Sexy/Badass Nya, “If-I’m-gonna-die-I’m-gonna-be-cool-doing-it” Jay

Inspired by the-modern-typewriter

***

The first thing Jay notices when he comes through is how the deck is in absolute chaos.

Jay sits up, dazed. He’s aware of something wet dripping down from his eyebrow, and his chest is still gasping from the shock of having his breath knocked out. Still, he staggers to his feet and looks around.

Clancee is beside himself, panicking; Monkey Wretch is leaping back and forth from the sails, screeching; Flintlocke is firing shot after shot with his pistols; and Dogshank and Doubloon are busy fighting. The rest of the pirate crew are scrambling to either fight or run from the chaos of the raid.

Well, raid is a more generous term. The word was massacre.

The deck of Misfortune’s Keep was splintered from the blast of cannons and spilled with the blood of pirates. The enemy ship had appeared out of thin air, only giving the crew a mere half hour to put together a proper defense before they were upon them.

Not that it mattered to Jay all that much. He is planning to escape. He does another round on the crew when he realizes: Nadakhan is nowhere to be seen. They were in the middle of a battle, where it is easy to get lost in the chaos. He can escape.

He can escape.

Jay snatches the satchel that holds his stash of food and bandages he’s been meticulously storing away before running. He has to get to the Quarter’s Deck, where the map to navigate the Endless Sea was. Without it, Jay would be lost. He’d die at sea before ever managing to reach land.

Jay leaps over broken bodies, ignoring the pain from his body. Ignores the rest of the crew as they fight for their lives. Monkey Wretch is trying to avoid a man with a metal falcon and Doubloon gets thrown back across the deck by a man with glowing arms.

Jay scrambles up the stairs, snatching the map off the desk and stuffing it in his bag. He glances at Clancee trembling behind Flintlocke and feels an ounce of pity. Clancee was the only one who was nice to Jay when he was on board — giving him extra food and bandages after rounds of Scrap n’ Tap. But still, Clancee would never leave with him. He was loyal to Nadakhan and the crew, and Jay wasn’t.

Jay runs as fast as he can — heart pounding, blood pumping, making his way to the rowboats desperately. He’s close, he’s so close to his freedom. After about a year of being captured by pirates and being their slave; he is over it. Jay yanks a bloodied sword out of a fallen pirate’s chest, nearly making it to the boats when —

He skids to a halt. There, right there between him and his freedom are two women. Dogshank — the most massive and terrifying woman Jay has ever met is throwing punches that would kill a normal man at a petite female.

The first thing Jay notices about this woman is the way she moves. Her steps are swift and steady across the bloodied deck of Misfortune’s Keep, unbothered by the rolling waves or the chaos surrounding them. It is the kind of ease which only came from having spent a significant amount of time at sea, and just as significant an amount of time with a sword in hand.

She cuts through Dogshank viciously, slicing and stabbing and not slowing down for even a second as she leaves her crumpling on the deck. This girl is fire and heat and hate woven in the shape of a human form. He watches as she mercilessly grabs the larger woman’s hair and sends her sword through her heart.

Jay is terrified. Jay is in awe.

The pirate woman whips to face him.

The second thing he notices is that she’s beautiful. Her skin is a rich tan color and her hair is night black, cut in a practical bob. She has a beauty mark under her left eye and a gaze so dark and consuming it feels like he has been swallowed by a black sea.

Jay swallows, takes a step back and tightens his grip on the sword. His heart crashes in his chest and he tells himself that it's the adrenaline that makes him shake, not the thought that this might possibly be the last day of his life.

The woman tilts her head and walks closer, making a quick assessment of him. Her lips are ruby red. But before she can do anything (like kill him) a voice rings through the violence.

“ENOUGH!”

Everyone pauses. There, emerging from the captain's quarters are two people: a blonde teenager with green eyes and an old man with steely eyes and a sharp countenance. The old man holds up a porcelain teapot in the sunlight.

“This is the Teapot of Tyrahn. A cursed artifact infused with the power to contain magical beings. The ancient markings on the side describe it's a powerful relic that can trap mortals. Your captain is now trapped in here, and you are outnumbered. Surrender the battle, or we will sink this ship — with you on it.”

While the old man is going through his speech, Jay takes the opportunity to peer closer at the teapot. It looks like an ordinary teapot, with strange inscriptions written on the side. As the old man raises it higher to the sun, Jay catches a flicker of orange reflecting inside the teapot.

No way. There is no way Nadakhan is in there. The Last Djinn, The Prince of Djinnjago, the Captain of Misfortune’s Keep — was defeated by a tiny teapot? That was all it took? Jay is gonna eat his shirt.

There’s a beat of where Flintlocke, the first mate, considers the proposal before he hesitantly lowers his guns. Every line in his face is etched with hate, but he’s smart enough to know that any more fighting would lead to his and the rest of his crew’s death.

They surrendered.

The old man makes a sharp movement with his head, and the blonde teenager begins yelling out orders to cuff the prisoners and take them to the brig.

Jay starts, panic shooting through him. How could he escape now? Nadakhan’s crew is captured, and technically, he is a part of that crew. He may be a cabin boy, but he still looks like a pirate with all the time spent in the sea and sun. He couldn’t be locked in the brig, he couldn’t.

The thing with pirates is that whenever they lose a battle the winning pirates maroon them on an island — and give them a gun with one bullet to end themselves. Jay didn’t know what fate would lay to Nadakhan’s crew, but he didn’t want to be a part of it.

Before he can take any more time (to panic), Jay feels a sharp point dig into his back. A sword. Jay grits his teeth and slowly turns around, hands raised, to see the pirate girl behind him. He didn’t even hear her coming.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Jay grumbles. The girl’s mouth quirks, ruby lips turning into a captivating half-smile. Her blade drags across his chest before hooking the strap of his satchel. A dead giveaway about what he was planning to do.

“I don’t think so. You’re a bit different from this crew. You’re meeting the captain. I’m sure he has some questions about what a runaway is doing on board.” Jay can detect a slight accent in her words, but before he can ponder about how disturbingly attractive it sounds she spins him around and begins walking him towards the old man by the wheel.

“Captain!” The girl calls, and the old man is pulled out of conversation with a man with black hair and biceps that can crush Jay. His eyes narrow as soon as he notices him, and Jay vaguely thinks that being poked with knives would feel less sharp than the way he was looking at him.

“I found this one by the rowboats. I think he was trying to escape.” The girl shoves him forward and Jay stumbles. Glancing at the old man, Jay notices how his sharp gaze seems more considerate as he strokes his beard.

“I see,” the old man says. “What is your name, boy?”

Jay keeps his head down. “Jay Walker, sir.”

“Jay Walker …” the old man smiles, and Jay feels more unsettled than he’d like. There’s something in that smile, like the old man had just realized something important with his name — like his name was a final piece of a map to some lost treasure.

“I am Wu, captain of the Destiny’s Bounty.” He introduces himself. Jay blinks in surprise when he hears the name of the other pirate’s ship.

The Destiny’s Bounty was the pirate ship of one of Nadakhan’s greatest rivals, Captain Soto. They were bitter enemies, often competing for the most gold and the title of most feared pirate in Ninjago. Lately, there had been a rumor across the seas that Soto had been overthrown and locked in Kryptarium Prison — Jay can take an educated guess and see that the rumor must’ve been true.

“This is my nephew and first mate, Lloyd —” Wu nods to the blonde teenager, “and my quartermaster, Cole.” He gestures to the man with black hair, who crossed his arms. “And the rest of my crew, Kai, Zane, and Nya.” Jay turns to see the two other crew members join them — a man with spiky hair and a man with a metal falcon.

Jay can’t do anything but nod. Why is he introducing his crew to him?

“Why are you on this ship, Jay?” Wu asks. Jay jolts — it's been so long since someone has said his name. Usually he was just called junkyard boy or cabin boy. “What are you doing here?”

“Me?” Jay asks. He wonders if he should lie — he doesn’t want to tell pirates anything about himself — before he decides against it. Perhaps if he told the pirates his sob story and that he wasn’t loyal they would take pity on him and let him go.

“I-I — they kidnapped me,” Jay stammers. “A year ago. I’m from the Sea of Sands, and I was just trying to sell some of my inventions at port when they took me. I’m just trying to get back home.” Jay tries to fight back the blow of aching grief whenever he thinks of his home.

Ma and Pa must be so worried — they probably thought he was dead. They worked so hard to provide for him, and Jay had just gone to port to sell his inventions to merchants. It would’ve scored big money if he managed to. Enough so that they could have meals without worry for months, and so Ma could buy whatever she wanted, and Pa could finally stop working until his hands bled. It was supposed to be for his family.

But then he got taken. Lured in by a promise, stolen because of his trust, desperate from his wish. Jay remembers Nadakhan’s silky voice, a blow from behind, and then waking up in the brig of Misfortune’s Keep miles away from land.

Captain Wu strokes his beard while staring at Jay thoughtfully. “Nadakhan took you … without you using a wish?” He asks.

Jay shifts, uncomfortable with the sudden turn of questioning. “Yes. I used two of my wishes while I was on board to escape, but he would keep twisting it until it was nothing like what I wanted. Eventually, I decided to save my third wish until I really needed it.”

Wu’s gaze sharpens impossibly at what Jay said. “You had a wish left and he still kept you on board? He never tried to get it out of you?”

Jay shakes his head. “He did try to get it out of me by manipulating and goading me.” He swallows at the thought of Nadakhan and his voice, the Scrap n’ Tap, the beatings. “But he never could.”

Wu hums and circles Jay, looking at him like he is a particular trying piece of a puzzle. After a minute he turns to his quartermaster, Cole. “Take off his shirt.”

Jay reels, positive he’s heard him wrong. “Wha —” He doesn’t even get a chance to finish his question before a hand grabs his collar and rips the front of his shirt open. At first, Jay is enraged. That was the only shirt he had, he was wearing that, who the heck did they think they were to rip that off him —

Then he hears the girl gasp behind him, sees the others gaping mouths in front of him, feels the burning eyes on his body before being hit by a wave of self-consciousness.

Oh.

His body.

It had been one week since the last Scrap n’ Tap, and his body showed it. Usually, the games went on for hours until Jay passed out and even then, the crew wouldn’t stop beating him until they got bored. Ugly bruises of all colors had bloomed across his body, a beautiful and horrific painting. Old scars littered his body — some from working in the junkyard back home, but the other, newer ones from his life with pirates. There were slash marks from knives he’d dodged, stab wounds from the ones he didn’t, and bullet shots from the few fights he’d been in.

But the worst was his back. Pale, thin lines scored across him, a lesson embedded deep into his skin and bones.

A flogging.

The first month after being on board, Misfortune’s Keep had docked at a small port off the coast of Ninjago City. Jay had ran. He ran as fast and hard as he could before being dragged back to the ship to face the captain’s fury.

Nadakhan had lashed Jay a total of twenty times, the knots from the whip digging into his skin and making the pain stronger. Even then Jay hadn’t shut up. Every smart remark and weak joke would infuriate Nadakhan more, and make him whip harder.

Jay had tried to escape over five times in the last year, and every time Nadakhan had caught him he added 10 more flogging to the additional number. So yeah, Jay’s back is a mess.

Jay feels his ears burn under the sun as the pirates take in his damaged body. He jumps when he feels a touch on his shoulder and turns to see the girl place a hand on the side of his face and stare at him with wide, beautiful dark eyes.

“Your eye,” she whispers. Her fingers slowly reach up and brush the leather of his eyepatch. “Did he do that to your eye?”

(Gleaming hook, on the floor, slashing downwards, blood, black, painpainpain —

“Believe me, aboard my ship you will break. I will make sure of it. And when that time comes I will be there so you can wish it away.”)

Jay flinches, and the girl gets her answer. She swears suddenly, violently, viciously, and the rest of the pirates look more horrified.

“Dude,” the man with the spiky hair breathes, “how are you even still alive?”

Jay ignores him and turns to the captain, who for the first time looks caught off guard. “So you can see,” Jay bites out, “I have no loyalty to this crew. I just want to go home.”

Wu drags his gaze from his bruised body before settling on his hands. Some of the light returns to his eyes and he furrows his brow. “Your hands … are covered with gloves …”

Jay feels his stomach drop out of his body. “I’m a cabin boy. I need gloves to keep my hands from bleeding from all the work.”

“Nadakhan wouldn’t keep anyone who wasn’t loyal to him on his ship if it wasn’t for a reason. Even if it were a cabin boy. And especially if they still have a wish left. He must have wanted you for something.”

Jay tries not to panic. “I told you! He kidnapped me because he wanted my inventions! I’m an inventor! He thought it could benefit his crew if he had them!”

“Show us your hands and we'll let you go,” Wu commands. Jay tightens his hands into fists and backs away, panic bubbling up.

“I-I …” I can’t, is what Jay wants to say, but that sounds too suspicious. His heart thumps in his ears and he’s suddenly aware that he’s hyperventilating. His hands. He can’t show his hands, because it was bad, it was dangerous, it — it …

Quick as an eel, the captain shoots forward and yanks off the gloves before Jay can stop him.

There were scars on his hands. But they weren’t like the ones that decorate his body — no, the pale pink scars that spread across his fingers and palms look branchlike and oddly different.

It looks like electricity had coursed through his hands.

“I knew it,” the old man says. “You are the Master of Lightning. It is your destiny to join this crew and stop the Skulkin Army.”

(Power outage. Electricity. Chaos. Screams. Uncontrollable. Dangerous.

“Jay, sweetie, you have to be careful. Not all of us can handle electricity like you can. We can get hurt. Lightning is a force of nature. It is not meant to be played. Just be careful, honey. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”)

Jay breathes. He feels knocked off kilter, cornered. The old man is staring at him with shiny eyes and looks a hundred years younger while the rest of the pirates have fallen silent.

“No, no. I don't want to be. And I won't be. I need to go back home. My parents are waiting for me.” Jay backs away, fully intending to flee and run away as fast as he can. It doesn’t matter if it’s a ship, he can run, he can escape, he can —

“Jay,” the old man implores. He avoids looking at him, instead noticing how the rest of the pirate crew is slowly circling him. Cutting off his escape. “I can help you. Everyone on this ship is an Elemental Master. I can train you to control your powers. It is dangerous for you to confine them!”

“I said no! I don’t want to be a part of your stupid destiny and join your stupid crew! I don’t want to be a pirate! I just want to go home!”

Surprisingly, the primary emotion Jay feels isn’t fear — it's anger. Jay has been trapped on the ship for a year, and had dealt with Nadakhan’s sly words and goadings and torture, and out of nowhere this strange pirate crew comes in and tell him to join their crew? Fight against the most powerful army in Ninjago? To basically ask him to die for them?

Sparks explode off Jay's fingers and for the first time he doesn’t quell it. Jay reaches down deep within himself to the writhing, electric power locked away and blasts them with lightning.

Screams and shouts are drowned out by wood ripping apart. The blonde teenager had tackled his captain out of the way and the rest of the pirates were on the floor, stunned. Jay is too, but he quickly forces himself to snap out of it and book it. To where, he doesn’t know — he just needs to get out of here. He’s had enough pirates for a lifetime.

A blast of water hits him in the back, knocking him off balance, before it surges around him. Seawater grips his legs shut, and following the line of water he sees the pirate woman holding out her hand. Controlling the water.

She is the Master of Water.

The woman drags him to her as Jay flails uselessly. Like a fish caught in a net. She swings her boot on his chest, pinning him before pulling out her cutlass against his Adam's apple.

Jay freezes. The tip is pointed almost gently against his throat, but for him to even twitch would be his doom. The girl leans down, her breath hot against Jay’s mouth. All Jay can see is her ruby lips and dark eyes. He resists the urge to swallow.

“I guess,” Nya whispers, “that you should have tried to escape earlier. That little stunt you pulled only made me all the more interested in you. And us pirates love to keep the things that are interesting to us.” She grins, mischievous and dark and so many other things at once. “You’re mine now.”

She straightens up as the others approach and lock his hands in chains, but doesn’t take her eyes off him until she is drawn into conversation with the man with spiky hair. Even still, as Jay is walked off to their ship he can still feel her gaze on him.

He feels as if he’s in a whole other realm of trouble than he was with Nadakhan. Somehow, Nya feels just as dangerous as the djinn himself.

Jay tests the lightning playing at his fingers.

Well. It’s a good thing that Jay is an expert of escaping danger as he is getting into it.

[so-sures-blog]

Detective Pixane AU

Summary: PIXAL Borg is one of the best detectives in Ninjago City. She can solve any crime, fight any bad guy, save every person. That is, until, the Sons of Garmadon grow right under her nose and she meets the flirty criminal Snake Jaguar. And he’s the type of criminal that breaks a career, not makes them.

Tags: Flirty Zane, BAMF PIXAL, Asshole-but-still-a-good-person Cryptor, Matchmaking Ninjas

Based off prompt from the-modern-typewriter

“Hello?”

Detective PIXAL perked up, turning away from the computer at the sound of the unfamiliar voice echoing through the empty police precinct.

PIXAL ran the voice through her memory banks and upon reaching a match she sighed and stood up, stretching her artificial joints before walking towards the entrance of the police station. “Yes? What is it you —” PIXAL’s smile dropped once she saw exactly who was at the front door. It wasn’t exactly the person themselves that made her pleasant smile fall, but rather what they were holding.

Right on the freshly waxed floors of the police station stood four of Ninjago’s greatest heroes, dressed in their brightly colored gi’s and holding a prisoner between them.

The Ninja looked extremely out of place, the Green Ninja’s feet shifting awkwardly and looking almost guilty while the Red Ninja merely crossed his arms. The Gray Ninja was holding the prisoner by the arm while the Blue Ninja stood a couple paces away, ready to zap him if he tried anything.

“Oh, hello, Ninja,” PIXAL settled on, because she didn't really know what to say. She kept her eyes fixed on the Green Ninja, steadfastly ignoring the prisoner gazing at her.

“Detective,” the Green Ninja nodded respectfully. “Sorry to bother you so late, but we recently apprehended one of the SOG members causing trouble while we were on patrol.”

“I understand,” PIXAL said. “Thank you again, Ninja. I’ll take care of the criminal.”

The Green Ninja nodded professionally and proceeded to shuffle out of precinct, looking more like an awkward teenager at his first school dance than the leader of an elite ninja task force. The rest of the Ninja bid their goodbyes, and soon it was just PIXAL and her newly acquired prisoner standing in the lobby.

PIXAL closed her eyes. 1… 2… 3

"You would think," Snake Jaguar said conversationally. "That dealing with all the hardened criminals on a day-to-day basis, your colleagues wouldn't be so afraid to pass me to you.” He smiled, blue eyes gleaming. “I am cuffed and harmless.”

"You,” PIXAL informed him flatly, “are the bane of my working life. And you are anything but harmless. Come. I need to revisit your file.” PIXAL grabbed his arm and dragged him to the interrogation room.

The precinct waiting room was empty apart from the two of them; it was late, with the Commissioner heading home and the rest of the officers calling it a night after they went over the reports the Ninja had deposited on of the most dangerous gang in Ninjago: The Sons of Garmadon. The Sons of Garmadon were a gang rising in prominence in Ninjago City. The threat levels were rising so quickly that the police force had grown concerned, and had to team up with Ninjago’s greatest protectors: The Ninja.

Now, PIXAL didn't mind the Ninja; they were vigilantes, but good people who risked their lives for others. They were a force to be reckoned with, going up against villains and winning with power, skill, and sheer willpower. They fought on when the police despaired but were still gracious enough to offer a hand and lend information to the police — even though it was clear that they could do more with the knowledge than the officers ever could.

What PIXAL did mind about them was how they kept bringing in a certain criminal to her, and how it was suddenly her job to extract information from him. Normally, PIXAL wouldn't mind this if it weren't for the fact that he was peculiarly flirtatious and always managed to escape the police after he had been apprehended.

PIXAL had tried to pass him off to her partner and half-brother, Cryptor, but he and Snake Jaguar had swiftly exploded into an argument that left both sides with more than a little animosity between the two. Not that PIXAL couldn't relate to Snake Jaguar’s bitterness — Cryptor was known to be antagonistic and temperamental. There was a reason she was partnered with him.

“Here we are,” PIXAL sighed as she reached the interrogation room and sat him down, still cuffed. The file slapped down on the table between them and she began flipping through his records.

Name: Unknown Alias: Snake Jaguar

Affiliation: The Sons of Garmadon

Allies: Rocky Dangerbuff, Mr. E, Ultra Violet, Killow, the Quiet One (?)

Profile: Criminal rose in the ranks of the gang after saving the life of SOG General Mr. E. He is a high-ranking member in the inner circle of the gang along with partner Rocky Dangerbuff. Information on the criminal before joining the Sons of Garmadon is unknown.

USE EXTREME CAUTION: Criminal is highly trained and able to escape the security measures

PIXAL frowned at the lack of information in the file. She tapped her fingers against the table, pursing her lips in focus. The portfolio of Snake Jaguar felt so vague, and left too many gaps. But PIXAL has seen him so frequently and she knew there was more to him. There was just so much going on, and so many open pieces of the puzzle. How can one know a person without truly knowing them?

"You look tired, detective," Snake Jaguar said softly. PIXAL broke out of her thoughts to see him watching her from across the table.

"Bane. Of. My. Working. Life."

“I could bribe someone to do the paperwork for you?”

PIXAL surprised herself by letting out a soft laugh, and through Snake Jaguar’s own surprise a pleased expression settled on his face. “Thank you, but I’ll do my own paperwork. You can help me by not committing crimes anymore.”

“Ah, but then how would I get an excuse to see you, detective?” Snake Jaguar teased back, at something inside her chest fluttered. Oh, she must be glitching again — that’s been happening more frequently while she’s questioning Snake Jaguar. She should probably check that out.

Before PIXAL can respond, there’s a screech of the door opening and Cryptor walked in. Quickly, PIXAL and Snake Jaguar straighten up, and to her horror she realized that she and Snake Jaguar had both been leaning towards each other from across the table.

"PIX, have you read the Ninja's reports from last week? It —" Cryptor stopped at the door, his red eyes flicking between PIXAL, who was promptly busying herself with paperwork, and Snake Jaguar, who was glaring right back at Cryptor.

PIXAL held her breath, waiting for the moment her brother would inevitably lose his cool and blow up …

“They dumped him back here again?” Cryptor scoffed derisively. He walked in, red eyes scoring across Snake Jaguar with contempt before turning to PIXAL. “As if the rest of us are equally equipped to deal with super villains. Bastards.”

PIXAL blinked. Well, that was unusually tame — for Cryptor’s standards, anyway. “We are nindroids, Cryptor. We are more than capable of taking care of gang members and lowlifes. I doubt the Ninja have found anything useful in their interrogation and handed him to us.”

“Leftovers,” Cryptor rolled his eyes. PIXAL shook her head. Unlike her, Cryptor was less fond of the Ninja — he had too much pride to ask for help and their partnership to take down the Sons of Garmadon more than aggravated him. PIXAL could understand where he was coming from, she supposed — this was the whole reason they were created. Cyrus Borg had only begun investing in AI when he saw how overwhelmed the police were with common crime.

While the Ninja were off defeating supervillains and saving the world, the police were struggling against common hoodlums. They didn’t even have any proper weapons! This was why PIXAL was created in the first place — her and Cryptor. They were made to assist, working with the police to create a safe place in Ninjago.

This was why Cryptor was so upset. The police had let the Sons of Garmadon — a simple biker gang — grow into power until they had to go asking the Ninja for help. They had failed their jobs, and now innocent people were at risk.

PIXAL shook her head again. Now was not the time to dwell on this.

“What was it you wanted to talk about, Cryptor?” She asked.

“It's about the Ninja,” he said, and his eyes flicked towards the prisoner. “I’ll tell you later, when you aren’t tied up with your … prisoner.”

PIXAL looked down, realizing for the first time that Snake Jaguar was still there, listening to the conversation intently. PIXAL felt a bolt of alarm. She had completely forgotten he was there. If he had heard something he could take back to his gang …

“Yes, that would make sense,” PIXAL nodded curtly. “Are you finished for the night?”

Cryptor nodded. “Unless you need help with that one?” He arched an eyebrow.

PIXAL shook her head. “No, that’s alright. I can handle him. I’ve done so before.”

Cryptor was already turning away and walking out the door. “Just don’t overwork yourself and stay up too late. You’ll just burn yourself out for tomorrow and be useless,” he said gruffly.

PIXAL shook her head, unable to hide the small smile against her lips. She knew he was concerned for her, in his uncouth way. “Goodnight, Cryptor.”

The nindroid slammed the door closed in response.

PIXAL turned towards Snake Jaguar to find his crystal blue eyes already upon her. A sense of almost anticipation swept through her, and it lingered throughout the entire room they were alone in. “You heard what he said. We’ve wasted enough time. Stand.”

Snake Jaguar stood from the chair he was sitting in during the exchange and walked towards her, hands cuffed from behind his back as PIXAL began thoroughly patting him down. Her hands traveled along the planes of his body, folding into leather and pockets and pulling out all matters of utensils to help him escape — anything could be a weapon. PIXAL could feel his eyes burning into her — bright blue orbs of knowledge that tracked her movements, drank in every detail of her; from the tips of her silver hair to the purple wirings on her cheeks to the green glow of her eyes.

PIXAL didn't turn to face the criminal. “Stop that.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that.” PIXAL tried to steel some authority in her voice. “You are beginning to get on my nerve circuits. Are you going to be staring at me the whole time?”

“Only if you continue to feel me up,” Snake Jaguar responded amusedly.

PIXAL cannot stop the indignant gasp at the shameless insinuation. “I am not feeling you up!” She glared fiercely.

“Oh no? This is the fourth time you’re feeling my chest,” Snake Jaguar’s eyes were very bright.

“One can never be too thorough when it comes to you,” PIXAL snapped back. She keeps her hands very professional as she searches his jacket pockets to come up empty.

Snake Jaguar let out an amused hum before falling silent. After a moment, he suddenly asked, “Who is he to you?”

“What?” PIXAL looks up from her searching at the sudden question. Snake Jaguar stares back at her, unusually serious.

“Your police partner, Cryptor. Who is he to you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just curious. He seems to care about you a great deal. You seem close.” Snake Jaguar averted his eyes. “At least, as close to someone with his personality can be.”

PIXAL paused in her searching, turning up to stare at him. Her processors whirred, trying to come up with a reason why he would ask something like that out of nowhere. An idea came to the forefront of her mind and she smirked.

“Cryptor can be prickly, I’ll admit. But that just makes the moments he’s not all the more special. He is simply very serious about his job.”

“As are you!” Snake Jaguar retorted. “And yet you do not get as temperamental as him.”

“Cryptor is only tempermental because he is frustrated. He is passionate about his job and is very good at it.” PIXAL said calmly.

“It seems you care about him a great deal,” Snake Jaguar said icily. It suddenly felt as if the room had dropped several degrees in temperature.

“Indeed. Cryptor is my partner at the police force,” PIXAL said lightly. “And my half-brother.”

She felt Snake Jaguar stop at her words, and was grateful her face was turned away from him so he couldn’t see her smirk.

“Your half-brother?” He repeated.

“Yes, that’s what you call it, isn’t it?” PIXAL hummed, more focused on searching the criminal for any weapons than the conversation at hand. “Someone created from the same source, yet different? Cryptor and I were both made from Mr. Borg, but we are both different in ways that can only be discerned as being half-siblings.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not at all. Cryptor and I both love each other, in our own way. It is what it is.”

“Do you have any other siblings?” Snake Jaguar asked curiously.

This time PIXAL looked up, narrowing her bright green eyes suspiciously. “You seem awfully invested in knowing about my family, Snake Jaguar. Any reason I should know why?”

He quickly shook his head, and PIXAL found the action oddly endearing. “No! Not at all. I was just curious. I just …” he trailed off, looking frustrated. At himself, at the situation, or at her, she didn’t know. “I just want to get to know you.”

PIXAL blinked, surprised, and something strange glitched in her chest. She must be malfunctioning again. She looked down again to hide the small smile growing on her face as a pleasant feeling bloomed in her chest.

“I have a younger brother.”

Snake Jaguar looked surprised that she even answered, but soon a bright smile lit up on his face. “You do?”

PIXAL nodded. “Yes, shared between Cryptor and I. His name is Mindroid.”

“Why is he called that?”

PIXAL’s memory banks were suddenly flooded with the jokes Cryptor said once they met their honorary little brother for the first time, and she couldn’t quite hide the grin that grew on her face. “Because he’s short.”

Snake Jaguar barked out a laugh, and PIXAL could not help the amused giggles that escaped her as she remembers Mindroid’s enraged and indignant face whenever Cryptor would call him “half-pint” or “toaster” or “last out of the factory line and ran out of scrap metal”.

When their laughter finally faded, PIXAL looked up to see Snake Jaguar already watching her. His crystal blue eyes were bright as he looked at her, and his smile was soft.

“You are beautiful when you smile like that,” he said. PIXAL was taken aback with how gentle his voice sounded. How fond . “I’ve never met anyone quite like you. You’re amazing.”

Snake Jaguar hummed in acknowledgement, not taking his eyes of PIXAL as he let her step back to regain herself.

PIXAL cannot quite stop the small gasp that leaves her at that, staring up at him with wide eyes. "R-right." PIXAL’s voice processor must be damaged. She never stuttered. "I think you're all done."

No, that was absurd. Not let. He was cuffed. He had no weapons on his person and no key to escape. He may be a skilled fighter, but he was no ninja, nor Elemental Master.

A shiver went down PIXAL’s spine at the thought.

"Come along," the detective said. "You know how it goes by now."

"Indeed." The Snake Jaguar’s head tilted. "You know, there is a reason that the Ninja keep dropping me off on your shift instead of interrogating me themselves. You know that, right?"

PIXAL froze.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

The Green Ninja’s apologetic looks.

The Red Ninja’s flirty winks.

The Gray Ninja’s amused eyes.

The Blue Ninja's excited glances.

"Just something to think about," Snake Jaguar said cheerfully, then walked off in the direction of the cells. "Now, come lock me up."

PIXAL released a shaky breath and quickly hurried after him.

She was going to murder the Ninja.

[so-sures-blog]

Hey so like I recently started getting into ikarishipping and I found your stuff and like???? It's so good???? I need more???? I wanted to request more fluffy hcs and stuff for them, but I totally understand if you don't wanna

listen

Ok, I know this isn’t a headcannon but I was inspired to write this little fic about them, so hope you don’t mind. This was sitting in my drafts for so long now until I finally worked up the courage to get it done.

º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º º

Dawn places the finishing touches on Piplup’s outfit, clapping appreciatively as her starter proudly strikes poses in his little cheerleader prince uniform.

“Let’s go show everyone your outfit!” Dawn picks up Piplup and beams as he chirps his agreement.

Dawn exits the room, heading out to meet Ash, Barry, and Brock to talk about the match today. It was the early morning of the Pokémon Sinnoh League, with Ash and Paul finally facing off. After a full year of battling and insults the two were about to meet in the semifinals.

Dawn makes her way down the hall, footsteps echoing. Ash against Paul … it would certainly be a battle to be remembered. It had been a long time since Lake Acuity. Since their very first battle. Ash and his team have only grown stronger since then, and so has Paul.

They all had.

“… I have one last thing to tell you,” a voice suddenly cuts across the lobby and turning around, Dawn gasps and ducks before Paul sees her.

Piplup turns around with a questioning “Pip?” and Dawn claps a hand over his beak. Piplup releases a silent squawk of rage before pecking her hand indignantly. Dawn shakes out her hand with a quiet hiss before pressing a finger to her lips and glaring in a ‘be quiet’ motion. Piplup glares right back before he settles down to eavesdrop. Dawn pokes her head over the counter to watch.

“Paul? Win this. Don’t underestimate Ash’s skill — then win the whole thing!”

Paul’s lips curve into a smile. “I will.”

Reggie hung up with a “Later, Paul,” before Paul turns around — only to meet Dawn’s startled blue eyes.

Dawn froze in embarrassment, a pink blush staining her cheeks once she realizes she’s been caught staring. Paul looks taken aback, staring at her with surprised onyx eyes.

Say something, stupid, her brain says as silence starts to creep between the two.

“Umm …” Dawn laughs nervously, and Paul turns on his heel and begins walking away. She nearly facepalmed herself. Really, that’s what she comes up with?

“That was Reggie you were talking to, right? So, is he coming here today?” Dawn hastily tries to cover up her lack of verbal skills by asking him a question, but she must’ve said the wrong thing because Paul begins walking faster.

Dawn felt stupid. Of course Reggie wasn’t coming, Paul was just on a phone call with him, and Veilstone City was too far to make it in an hour. Before she could wallow in her own self-pity, Paul spoke up.

“So, how’s he doing?” Paul practically sneers.

“Uh, you mean how’s Ash?” Dawn asks. She exchanges a questioning look with Piplup before realizing Paul is almost at the door. She runs after him. “Wait! If you ask a question, don’t you want to hear the answer?”

Dawn catches up with him, falling in a step or two behind him. The brisk morning air hits her face and clears her head. “Ash is doing some last minute training with his Pokémon. Want me to get him?”

“Please don’t. No need.”

“Why did you ask about him then?”

“ … I don’t know.”

Oh great, Dawn thinks sarcastically. Dawn realizes she’s fallen behind him and hurries to catch up.

What do we even say to each other? She thinks nervously. The awkwardness is probably one-sided as she doubts Paul cares about that sort of thing, but it’s all Dawn can think about. 

As a coordinator, Dawn prides herself on being able to entertain the audience and appeal to the judges. Her entire career depends on people’s opinions and how they view her. 

But Paul? Paul was unreadable. She had no idea what he was thinking, much less feeling. 

Should she just peel off, say she forgot something? But they were walking in the same direction. Should she ask him about his Pokémon, if he was ready for his battle? But would Paul get defensive and snap at her? Would Paul even notice if she fell back and walked by herself?

“I just don’t like him,” Paul says suddenly. Dawn’s head whips up. Was Paul actually talking about his feelings? Verbally expressing how he felt? In front of her?

Dawn suddenly felt like she’s walking on a live wire. 

“He talks just like my brother. Friends, trust … my brother says those things all the time too.”

“But Paul, Ash isn’t Reggie. Ash is Ash, and that’s that.” Dawn protests.

“PAUL!”

“Hey Dawn! Paul!”

The two look up to see Barry and Ash racing towards them with bright grins on their faces.

“Look, Ash is like any other trainer I’d have to battle in the quarter-finals … and I’m going to have to beat him if I want to win the Sinnoh League.”

Dawn stares at Paul with an open mouth. Wow. She had no idea Paul felt those things — that he is even feeling things at all. She knows Ash, his nervousness for the battle manifesting in his training and his determination. But Paul is feeling things about the battle too. 

Dawn feels his determination, his strength for what is ahead. The way he speaks and how his eyes focus up ahead — past her, past Ash — as if there is more waiting for him to achieve. 

It makes Dawn realize that being the Sinnoh Champion isn’t just Ash’s dream — it was Paul’s too. The way Paul trained his Pokémon and how he let go of Chimchar — it was ruthless and wrong, but suddenly Dawn realizes it was for a purpose. Paul wasn’t power-hungry for no reason. 

Paul is ambitious and determined and focused and level. His strength to push past things and focus solely on his goal is what makes him powerful, not his Pokémon. His ambition drives him to do better and his determination is what forces him to never stop. This battle with Ash is a stepping stone to something greater, and Paul is going to do everything he can to beat him. 

And Dawn could respect that. 

*** 

Ash and Paul’s battle is as heart-pounding as Dawn expects.

She’s cheering for Ash, calling out encouragement as Piplup cheers and Brock yells. She is rooting for him because she’s his friend, and one little conversation with Paul won’t change that. 

But still, between Barry screaming in her ear and the roaring audience, a small part of her thinks she wouldn’t mind it if Paul won.

[so-sures-blog]

Bros before Hoes

In which Duncan happens to find his neighbor cute, and his idiot roommates throw him a party because of it.

(AKA: The bros who drink together, sleep together)

Inspired by PPG/RRB fic on ao3

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

On a list of things Duncan would like to wake up to (women on the top, cops on the bottom), this is not it. Heck, this probably wouldn’t even be on the list. 

And by this, he means the completely trashed apartment littered with beer bottles, overflowing trash, and very questionable stains on the walls. Not to mention the dead bodies currently scattered around the living room.

Wait, not dead bodies, but Duncan can only wish.

How was this possible? He went to sleep at, like, ten last night and if he wasn’t mistaken, he had gone to bed while the house was quiet and the only people home were Geoff and DJ. So how the hell were there more than a dozen people in the living room and why did it look like an absolute shit show?

A groan emerges from the couch before a blonde head appears in sight. “Oh,” Geoff says when he sees Duncan standing there. “Sup, dude?”

“What— ” Duncan takes a breath. “ —THE ACTUAL FUCK HAPPENED HERE?!”

Geoff winces and raises a hand to rub his head. “Ouch, not so loud. I have a headache.” He whined.

So did Duncan. “What. Happened. Here.” Duncan narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice dangerously. Geoff laughs awkwardly and avoids his eyes.

“Oh, well, we sorta … kinda … uh,” Geoff gestures vaguely at the apartment. “... had a party?”

Duncan honestly doesn’t know how he could be surprised. This is what he gets for rooming with Geoff.

“How?!” He yells at him. Duncan wasn’t a really light sleeper, but he’s pretty sure he would’ve heard a party going on downstairs. “What time did these people get here!? How did I sleep through a fucking party?”

“Yeah … about that,” Geoff laughs nervously. “We sorta had a kickback last night but we knew you were asleep so we didn’t want to wake you up. Somehow, it became a game of ‘how quiet can this party be so Duncan doesn’t wake up' and we lasted the whole night! You didn’t wake up at all! Everyone was whispering and we had music playing at the lowest volume, and it was actually really fun. Super weird, but fun.”

Duncan is almost impressed. Almost. Trust Geoff to make a quiet party fun. “I’m not helping you clean up,” he informs him. He eyes a body on the floor that turns out to be DJ, cuddling an empty beer bottle while completely unconscious. 

“Aww, dude!” Geoff whines, “I hate cleaning! Come on, we kept it quiet for you!”

Duncan takes another look around the room and begrudgingly admits that it is kinda amazing that they managed to have a party without him waking up. It’s actually a little sweet that they took him into consideration. But still, fuck them.

“No.”

“Duncaaan,” Geoff groans, throwing his upper body off the couch. “C’mon, bro! Please? Dunky? Dunk-man?”

“Don’t call me that!” Duncan yells as he grabs his gym bag. “And this place better be spotless by the time I get back!”

He slams the door and a satisfied smile grows on his face as Geoff’s protests are cut off. Duncan turns to head down the hallway and nearly crashes with someone who lets out a high pitched squeal.

“Oh! I’m sorry!”

Duncan looks down and— oh hell, it’s her. Of all the people in the apartment for him to run into, why does it have to be her? Granted, she did live next to him— but still, why?

Wide brown eyes peer up at him and her head cocks slightly to the side as she blinks. “Oh, it’s you.”

“Huh?” He’s so close to her he can see the smattering of freckles on her nose. 

“Oh! Sorry, I just mean I see you around a lot because you’re my neighbor,” she stumbles, cheeks turning a little pink.

“Oh,” he says a bit more gruffly than he should. He tries his hardest not to check her out and fails. She must’ve just come back from a jog — her short brown hair is tied back and she’s wearing tiny gray shorts and a matching crop top.

“Are you going to the gym right now?” She asks, taking note of the gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Duncan grunts, staring at the staircase behind her. He will not be weakened by a tight fitting tank top, he will not. “I go early to avoid people, I hate crowded gyms.”

She makes a noise of understanding. There’s a beat of awkward silence, where she looks as uncomfortable as he feels before she sticks out her hand. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think I ever got your name.” She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear and Duncan’s eyes follow it, wondering why the hell he thought the little action was so cute.  

“Duncan,” he shakes her hand, hyper aware of how soft and small her hand is as his big and callus ones swallow hers. 

“Courtney,” she dimples and Duncan’s stupid heart skips a beat. “Well, have fun!” She smiles cheerily at him and Duncan can’t take his eyes off of her. What the fuck.

“Thanks,” he mutters as he walks past her. He catches a glance of her as she opens the door to her own apartment. Damn it, she has a nice ass.

Duncan contemplates throwing himself down the stairs before he decides against it. 

It’s a waste, he figures. One flight won’t really do any damage.

***

By the time Duncan makes it home it’s evening. Stopping in front of his door, Duncan narrows his eyes as he hears muffled voices inside the apartment. Either Geoff and DJ actually cleaned the place or he’s about to open the door to the same shitshow as this morning. 

For their sake, he hopes the former.

He pushes the door open and the apartment abruptly falls quiet. The two occupants have frozen in fear, staring at the door with varying degrees of terror. DJ is cowering behind Geoff, who isn’t making a very suitable defense seeing as he too, is shielding away. Duncan’s eyes flit between them and he’s pleased to see a cleaning device in each of their hands.

The apartment isn’t exactly clean, but it’s not a complete mess anymore. At least they’re trying, he has to give them that.

“O-Oh hey man, you’re back,” Geoff coughs, hugging a broom to his chest. “We were cleaning, I swear!”

“I can see that,” he grunts, closing the door. “Sup, Malibu?” He greets the other occupant in his apartment. 

Bridgette is sitting by the counter, skimming through a surf magazine while stroking DJ’s pet, Bunny. She looks up with calm green eyes and gives him an easy smile. “Hey Duncan,” she says. 

“What happened to being clean by the time I got back?” Duncan asks his roommates pointedly.

“Cut us some slack man, we didn’t really wake up until Bridgette got here,” DJ says from his spot by the sink. 

Duncan ignores him with a roll of his eyes, plopping down across from Bridgette. Bunny hops over to him curiously and Duncan sets him with a glare. Yeah, he might have gotten DJ his pet after Geoff and Bridgette might’ve killed his last one (Geoff kept insisting it was lost while Bridgette said it was eaten by a snake that was eaten by a hawk or something), but that didn’t mean he wanted that thing closer to him. 

Duncan didn’t do cute things. 

So lost in his (one-sided) glaring contest, Duncan didn’t notice the change in conversation until too late. 

“Oh yeah, who’s that cute girl by the way?” Geoff asks. “You know, the one who lives next to us?”

“Oh, you mean Courtney? Short brown hair, cute smile?"

It’s a little embarrassing how quickly Duncan perks up, and from the corner of his eye he can see Bridgette give him a knowing glance. Duncan scowls warningly. Out of the four of them, only Malibu knows about his little problem— and Duncan would like to keep it that way, thank you very much.

Except the thing is, he forgets how much Bridgette likes a good romance. “Oh yeah! The girl that Duncan likes, right?"

The reaction is instantaneous.

“What?! Bro, you have a crush? No way!”

“Why didn’t you tell us? My boy’s growin’ up!”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Duncan roars and Bunny leaps back in shock. 

Bridgette just grins and flips through another page of her magazine. Duncan is tempted to crumble it up. “Oh, you didn’t know?” She says casually. “He met her a few weeks ago and it was like love at first sight.”

It was not.

“You should’ve seen him! She stopped by to say hi, he said ‘nice to meet you’ and when she left he couldn’t get a word out for the next ten minutes. He just gawked at her, although, I guess I can’t blame him. She was cute.”

He did not.

“I’ve never seen him look so lost before, it was kinda adorable. I think he was blushing.”

He was not.

“Bro, I don’t think you’ve ever had a crush before, have you?” DJ asks.

“How would you know!" He shoots back indignantly.

DJ shrugs, unaffected by the rage that’s coming off of him in waves. “I dunno man, I’ve just never seen you show any real interest in anyone before."

Duncan is momentarily struck dumb. Shit, was DJ right? He’s had crushes, right? This isn’t so special. Of course he’s had his fair share of girls, dicked around with them like any other guy— but those had only been short flings, chicks he’d pick up in bars and fool around with until he was no longer interested. Has he never really had a crush before?

Geoff, thankfully, interrupts his spiraling thought process and slings an arm around his neck. “Dudes, you know what we should do?” He grins. “Let’s celebrate!” 

“Hell no!” Duncan shoves him away. “What are we even celebrating for?”

“Your first crush, dude!” Geoff beams and Duncan is this close to strangling the happy-dumb look off his face.

“It’s not a crush!” He yells.

“C’mon man, it’s Saturday,” DJ says. He even pulls out his puppy eyes, as if his sparkling round orbs are going to convince him. “What are you even gonna do today anyway, huh?”

Duncan grimaces and can feel himself actually give the idea some consideration. Why is he considering it again?

“We’ll get your favorites,” DJ adds. “It’s your party after all. You get to call the shots.”

Duncan winces. He takes a look around the room and sees their stupid faces beaming with excited grins. 

Duncan sighs. “Fine.”

***

One pack of beer, two bags of chips, and three pizzas later, and everyone is absolutely smashed. 

It’s at this point Duncan can say with complete confidence that he fucking loves his best friends. Sure, DJ can’t swim without a floaty and always listens to his mama and Geoff is way too happy and loud and can’t go a day without making out with Bridgette, but man, they’re just, like, such good people.

 Like, he just loves the fucking hell out of them. They’re the best guys out there, and have been with his shitty self since high school.  Duncan doesn’t know why he spent so long denying that they were friends— he wishes he could beat his younger punk-ass self for all the dumb things he said back then.

If only there was some way he could express how he felt.

“Hey, I fucking hate you guys,” Duncan says earnestly. “But, like, in the best way.”

They groan in acknowledgment and Duncan closes his eyes.

Girls are dumb. Feelings are dumb. Everything is dumb, but he doesn’t even care anymore. Why? Because he’s got his boys by him, and Duncan would fight the whole fucking world for them.

Yeah.

***

Duncan wakes up to something soft and fluffy smothering him. Fur is in his mouth, and he is suffocating on it because his head is pounding and he doesn't have the strength to pull away. 

Duncan groans, agonized as the fluffy thing slides off his face. He squints to see Bunny, furry butt in his face as it cuddles against him. You better not have pooped in my bed, Duncan doesn’t have the strength to threaten aloud. His mouth is tacky and his eyes are crusty and Duncan would very much like to wake up when the next century has passed, thanks. 

Duncan lets out an annoyed grumble and tosses the covers from his body. He’s about to roll over to the ground to do his push-ups (a habit he’s had since juvie) when he notices two things.

One: the sheer amount of nausea he feels. Duncan almost throws up if it weren’t for the deep breaths Malibu taught him to calm himself. Oh God, he’s definitely listening to her more when she goes on about him and the guys consuming poison. Hangovers are hell.

Two: the suspiciously familiar cowboy hat. 

“What the fuck?!”

His hoarse yell makes the other occupant in his bed jerk awake. “Man, keep it down,” DJ says. His bandana is twisted backwards. “It’s too early.” A hand appears to shove him back into bed.

Duncan is tempted to smack him away, but that requires effort and energy. None of which he has right now. He settles for a weak shove as DJ snuggles him like he would Bunny. Curse him and his incessant need for cuddling. “Why the fuck are you in my bed?”

Another groan sounds by his feet. Geoff yawns and rubs his eyes, lifting his head to look at them. He looks stupid without his ever-present hat on (he looks stupid with it on anyway) and is curled up like a puppy at the foot of the bed. Duncan is struck with the urge to kick him off before he decides that’s too cruel.

“Don’t you remember?” Geoff asks. “We all came in here to talk about our feelings.”

Duncan stares at him in disbelief. “No we did not.”

“Yeah we did, and it was magical,” Geoff responds, voice muffled as he buries his face into the pillow. “You wouldn’t shut up about the girl who lives next door.”

“Courtney,” DJ supplies helpfully.

Duncan stares in mute horror. How drunk did he get last night? He talked about feelings? And girls?

Who even is he?

“It’s okay Duncan. Mama always says that the more you deny the bigger the feelings are. You can keep pretending you’re not a softie. It’ll come out someday.” DJ pats his head, like Duncan’s green mohawk is supposed to be Geoff’s idiotic blonde mop. 

Duncan almost tells him to fuck off, but bites his tongue because DJ is too sensitive to be told that. Instead, he says, “And doesn’t your Mama say to never drink?” DJ reaches a hand out to cover his face and shoves him back down into his pillow. 

Wow, the bed feels amazing.

DJ tries to pet him like he would Bunny — all gentle and reassuring — but the big guy’s hand feels like a meaty deadweight hitting his face over and over again.

“I hate you guys,” Duncan mutters, shoving his hand away.

“Yeah, yeah, we know,” Geoff yawns. It sounds like he’s going back to sleep. That actually sounds like a pretty nice idea.

“You guys better get out,” Duncan grunts, feeling his eyelids grow heavy, “I’m warning you.” He lets himself sink deeper into his pillow. “Leave or die,” he mutters, eyes closing. The last thing he hears is Geoff’s quiet snoring.

They don’t leave, and Duncan sleeps peacefully.

[so-sures-blog]

Bury Me After I Fall

A suicidal person dangles their feet over a rooftop in the rain. They don't know if they jumped or not.

Liminal Space: occupying a position, or on both sides of, on the threshold of in between.

Purgatory: a place or state of suffering inhabited by the souls of sinners who are expiating their sins before going to heaven.

Chapter inspired by "i used to have nothing and then" by dirgewithoutmusic

"This wasn't real. They were either falling, or fallen. They weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When they hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) they knew what it would cost."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You didn't know what was going on.

You didn't feel themselves hit the ground — but all of the sudden, you were standing in an empty banquet hall with a mile-long oakwood table in the center, golden light glinting off the surface. There wasn't any sound except for your harsh breathing — residue from the adrenaline.

"Why are you here?"

The voice echoed from all around them. You turned, but didn't see anyone.

"Who's there?" You called. You spun again. "What's going on?" You blinked, breath faltering. "I — I died. I'm supposed to be dead." You blinked rapidly. "Why am I not dead?"

"Why are you here?" 

"I wanted to die," You said, simply.

"Why?"

"Why do you want to know?" You asked. "Are you God? Is this some sort of ... test?" You gazed at the hall. It seemed endless, stretching along towards the end of the horizon as strange gold light bounced off the banquet table.

"Why now?" 

"Because I wanted to."

The voice considered them. "Everything comes at a cost," it said. "But you already know that, don't you?"

You backed away as you were quickly swallowed by the plummeting darkness.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from a sixteen year old girl who committed an act she thought she was ready for. You were born in a cold hospital room, six pounds and eight ounces of screaming, quickly swaddled. Your mother wasn't ready, but she loved you even as she gave you up to the two husbands' in the room. The two men cried as they cradled their new child. They weren't blood, but they loved you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, knees slamming on the cement. "Fuck."

Harsh sunlight beat down you as you took note of your surroundings. You were on a playground, with plastic slides and metal monkey bars and creaky swings. A huge tree stretched to the sky a little ways away.

You slowly rose to their feet, joints creaking. "What am I doing here again?" You asked.

Again. You knew this place. You’ve been here before. You grew up here.

You walked past the playground and made your way to the tree, touching the bark. The summer sun dripped through the shaded branches.

"A cost," the voice hissed. "A life." 

You startled as a dull thud came from the other side of the tree. A boy, not older than eleven, gripped strands of hair from a kid as he slammed their head into the tree. A sneer twisted his face as the kid trembled beneath him.

"A cost," you watched in horrified fascination as the voice pulled at the boy's mouth. "A life."

You stepped back out of range of the boy, feeling sick. "What are you doing?" You asked. "Stop it."

The boy took a step forward and you flinched back, instinctively. He stopped and stared at you with an unreadable gaze. "You're still running away?" He said. "Even when you're older and stronger than me?"

"Shut up." You snapped. "What is this? A test? A riddle?" You glanced down at your own frozen face, your younger self unaware of the conversation as your eyes burned holes into the ground.

The bully perked up. "You were always better at tests, weren't you?" He said. "That's why I was always so mad at you."

"Oh yeah?" You asked sarcastically, hurt and rageful as you stared at the bully that took up so many years and thoughts and days. The bully stared back at you, the pimples dotting his forehead shiny and raised. He seemed so small for someone who had such a huge impact on your life.

"I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"I am. I cried when I found out."

"Found out?" You repeated. Your heart pounded. How could your heart pound? You were dead. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. You were either falling, or fallen.

This wasn't real.

The bully stared at you, and you stared back. Taking a step back, a tendril of darkness snaked around your ankle and yanked you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were raised once, from two loving fathers who would take you in their arms and smother you with scratchy kisses. From lazy Sundays with buttery sunlight creeping through the window's blinds. With pancakes and orange juice while watching bad cartoons dance on the TV. From crushing hugs and you being tossed in the air as gravity took over and you landed in their arms. 

Your dads always caught you. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You slammed back into you body as you gasped, kneeling on all fours. Trembling, you scanned the room, the itchy red carpet underneath you biting into your palms and knees.

You looked down. A flimsy drawing looked back, waxy colors scrawled all over the paper as crayons littered the floor. You knew this drawing. You knew this room, this carpet, this house.

You knew what would happen.

Arms wrapped around your torso, and you resisted the urge to scream as an overwhelming perfume made you choke from behind. "A cost," your neighbor hissed. "A life." 

You wrenched yourself out of the neighbor's arms, stomach turning. Your dads' were on date night, and decided to drop you off at their neighbor's place. The husbands' didn't notice how the neighbor's smile turned sharp and her eyes landed on you. Goosebumps had exploded throughout your skin.

"You know what it feels like to be taken apart," said the voice. "You know what it feels like to become unmade." 

Your neighbor's eyes blazed with sinful intentions as she took a step forward, a saccharine smile on her lips as she —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as they dangled their feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked their clothes. 

You hit the ground, and you were watching little kids running around, shrieking with joy as they ran over the place you were beat up yesterday —

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and were immediately slammed into a brick wall by your classmates —

You hit — your grades were dropping, and anxiety tightened your heart as the teacher held you back after class —

Again — your dads' were disappointed, one angry, one worried, as they took away your belongings after dinner —

You hit the ground — it was a cycle, wasn't it? Kids laughed at you when you did good in school, beat you up, you dropped your grades, your dads' got disappointed, and then the sweet neighbor offered to give you tutoring lessons while your dads' had date night and —

"Why are you showing me this?!" You screamed as bloody spittle flew from your mouth after all the times you hit the ground. "My life was shitty, I know! I don't need to see it again, I know! Stop showing me this!" 

The voice paused, considered. Then darkness grabbed hold of your ankles and dragged you down.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You were born once, from the first time when you visited the relatives of your dads. Grandma kissed, cousins waved, and aunts and uncles hugged. 

Your dads laughed as you squirmed away and dashed off to play with the other children.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"Everything comes at a cost. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

"Why are you here?"

"Why now?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, this time in soft green grass. It was early dawn, the sky opening a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You turned to look at the house, and in the shadows of the porch, you could see your dads' lean in for a long kiss as they basked in the quiet.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had they hit the ground?) you wouldn't land in a warm afterlife. These worlds God kept throwing you into were just painful memories that only solidified your reason for death.

Footsteps rustled through the grass behind you but you didn't move — just breathed in the sweet smell of wind and closed your eyes.

"Hey, kiddo," your dad said, sitting down beside you. Your other dad sat opposite of you.

Your throat suddenly clenched, burned. Your eyes stung. "Hey, dads'," You croaked. "I — hey."

"So ... what happened?" He asked after a beat of silence. You suddenly remembered his laughs, the way it would sneak past your bedroom door as you laid with closed eyes and bruised ribs, wondering if it would get better, wondering if you were ever going to be as happy as your parents.

"I couldn't do it anymore, dad," you choked. "I — I'm sorry. At school I could barely hide the bruises from you, and the neighbor — she just wouldn't stop, and I couldn't tell you because you were so happy. And I messed up your lives from coming home drunk and taking pills and doing cigarettes and —" I couldn't do it anymore. 

Your other dad looked at you sadly, an old look that you knew well. It was one of sorrow, of exhaustion and pain that weighed him deep in his bones as he looked at you when you came stumbling home after a night of shame.

"Why didn't you tell us?" He asked. "We could have talked about it ... given you therapy, meds. We could have talked to the teachers, and the parents of the kids, and had that neighbor arrested. We — we blame ourselves."

Your eyes blurred and you blinked rapidly as your dad's face swam into view. His broken look, his tearstained lashes, his red eyes. Grief was written on both your fathers' faces as he placed a hand on your shoulder.

Suddenly, your father's face shifted. "Everything comes at a cost," he said. "But you already knew that, didn't you?"

His palm suddenly felt heavy on your shoulder as you whipped around to look at your other dad.

"A life," your other dad rasped.

"No," you jerked back away from your dads', suddenly angry. "No. You don't get to use them. You don't ever get to use them. Don't ever touch them."

Your fathers' faces twisted into confusion, frustration. "I — I am trying. To ask. Why are you here?" 

"I just told you — told them. I couldn't do it anymore."

"Why now?"

You didn't have an answer.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. They are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. They know what it feels like to be taken apart. They know what it feels like to become unmade. 

You hit the ground, and the stinging alcohol sliding down your throat as buzzing lights danced under your closed eyelids. You wanted to forget, you wanted to be ok, you wanted — your locked eyes with a stranger across the room. You smiled.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

You hit the ground, and you took the first drag of smoke, ash staining your mouth as you used one stick, then another, then another, until the whole pack was finished in a day. You wanted to die.

You hit — you swallowed pill after pill like it was candy behind your locked door, and when the capsule was empty you curled under the covers and waited as a sickening weight built up in your chest —

You hit the ground, and you slammed against the banquet table, gasping as vertigo made your head spin. Your limbs felt cold as the lead in your chest built up —

"You have done terrible things to yourself. You can never repent."

"They did this to me, they did it first," you gasped. You were drowning as your lungs filled with water. Images in their brain filled up — good times and bad.

Early in the morning, you sat with your dads as you watched the sunrise. Later that day, you were slammed into the playground tree for being better than their peers. Later in life, you popped your first pill, lit your first smoke, drank your first shot.

Your grandma gave you kisses on cheeks, your cousins still waved, aunts and uncles still hugged you. Your neighbor slid her hands along your body just like that stranger did. Sunday mornings with orange juice and pancakes and cartoons were replaced with hangovers as you stared at the top of a building and pretended to see the curve of the horizon.

"They hurt me first."

"They don't cancel each other out. Souls are never scrubbed clean, but can be overgrown."

"What are you trying to say?" You spat. "That I should've lived? That I should've dealt with it? It's too late, it was too late, it has been too late! I wanted to die, so I killed myself. I don't regret it, I'm just sorry for my parents." You clenched your fists. All you could feel is the cold in the warmly-lit room.

"You want time," said the voice. "You want to see your parents again."

"Of course I want to see my parents again." You said. "I love them. But —"

Instead of falling, images rose above you like smoke.

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other. Your dads' woke you up at the crack of dawn to watch the sun rising for the first time, and it was one of the most favorite memories they had. Your dads' tossed you up, and you soared, before gravity quickly took over and your dads' caught you in their arms. Your dads' introduced you to grandma, to cousins and aunts and uncles. Sunday light crept through the windows and you toasted your orange juice to your dads' coffee.

"You will never get them back," said the voice. "But isn't that what you want? I will show you time." 

Your dads' pulled each other in for a kiss, murmuring about how much they loved each other in the early dawn.

Your dads' fell to your knees in grief and shock and horror, sobbing as men painted in red and blue lights wordlessly spoke of a suicide. Early sunrises were replaced with broken twilights as your dads found the pills, the bottles and the words on pages.

A man opened the news one day and recognized a classmate who killed themself. Horrified guilt made him weep tears of shame as he remembered how he slammed them into a tree for being better than him.

A neighborhood woman opened her door and was met with charges piled higher than her taxes as the police handcuffed her and dragged her to jail after years of freedom.

Your dads' walked up to a woman, a broken look in their eyes as they exchanged words and handed her a picture. The woman covered her mouth, stared at it blankly. You can only assume that this is the birth mother who was never a part of your life. Funny, you didn't even look like her. You must get you looks from your birth father.

Decades later, you watched as your dads' forgave themselves a little as they placed a white rose next to a wilted black one.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when they jump. 

"Everything comes at a cost." Said the voice, but this time it sounded kind. "You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What does this matter?" You said dully. "This isn't real. I'm already dead. I'm falling, or fallen. I'm not in heaven, or hell. I'm in something in-between."

"Do you want to die?" 

"Yes," You said. "But if I lived a different life, then no."

The voice paused, considered.

"I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me. I didn't want to get bullied, or touched, or hurt, or drugged, or anything. But what the hell does that matter? I'm already falling, or fallen. I'm already dead, or dying. I didn't want any of those shitty things to happen to me, but they did."

"It matters," whispers the voice. "That's what makes this a sacrifice." 

"I'm angry," you whispered. "No one should go through what I did. No one should feel what I felt. My parents —" you trembled.

"Be angry," said the voice. "I am."

That gives you more comfort than you thought it would. Your eyes stung with fury and hurt and sadness as your throat grew tight and your hands started shaking. "I didn't want to die," your voice broke. "I don't want to die. I just —" you sobbed, an ugly sound. "I just wanted it to stop."

The voice pauses, considering.

You don't fall, and the images don't rise, but suddenly your whole world went dark and you woke up in soft green grass as the early dawn opened the sky a purplish-blue as the pale sun peeked over the horizon.

You let your head tilt back for a moment, breathing, tears drying.

This wasn't real. You were either falling, or fallen. You weren't in heaven, or hell, but a space in between. When you hit the ground (had you hit the ground?) you knew what it would cost.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky opened up as you dangled your feet over the roof of a building, rain pouring in sheets as it soaked your clothes. The rain pours on the rooftop, dripping down the buildings as it washes into the sewers. You are coming apart at the seams, the stitches have been tearing for years. You know what it feels like to be taken apart. You know what it feels like to become unmade. The rain washes the world clean. The showering pellets will wash the blood clean, pooling it into the gutters from when you jump. You gazed along the length of the building you had chosen, heart heavy as you hope that your dads' love you enough to forgive you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

[so-sures-blog]

My Rainbow

This took way too long, I have so much work ...

Rainbow — Arcoíris

🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️

Pepa has been having a couple rough weeks.

She was acting moody — well, moodier than usual — and her weather was completely haywire.

There was hail and showers, snow mixed with wind, and sunshine with thunderstorms. She had no idea what was going on with her weather, and Mamá was starting to get on her case about how crazy it was.

Pepa didn’t want to deal with another lecture about how she had a cloud and about how she had to calm down and control herself.

Pepa sits down to the breakfast table, taking a sip of café con leche to get rid of the cloud hanging over her head. She had woken up alone this morning and feels like she had gotten no sleep at all.

“Pepa, estás bien?” Julieta asks, concerned. Her hermana stands by the doorway of the kitchen, keeping an eye on Pepa while simultaneously watching to see if Agustín burned himself while cooking again.

Julieta is now a couple months pregnant, a small bump showing from her blue dress, and Agustín— being the doting husband he is— refuses to have his wife stand on her feet and work all day while she is pregnant. So, he has decided to take up cooking to help her out, no matter how many burns he received.

“No,” Pepa grumbles as she takes a sip of café. Her cloud lightens, but traces still remain. “I didn’t get enough sleep last night. Dónde está Félix?”

“He went outside to garden,” Bruno says as he joins the table. Thankfully, he didn’t have any rats on him, but Pepa still scoots away.

Agustín pokes his head out and winces when he gets a look at each of them. “Dios, did the three of you get any sleep? I mean, I understand Juli not sleeping because of the baby, and she looks beautiful anyway …”

Julieta blushes and Pepa and Bruno glare at their cuñado, a dark cloud materializing over Pepa’s head again. She went to get another sip of her café, only to realize its empty.

Frustration bubbles in her blood and the wind picks up. Bruno glances over in concern. Julieta frowns as she notes her mood swing. “Pepa, you should eat something. Agustín is done.”

There is a yelp, a clatter, then a curse of “Miércoles!”

Julieta sighs, “Almost done.”

She disappears in the kitchen, and a moment later reappears with with the food, setting them down at their respective seats.

Pepa glances down at the plate, and her stomach churns. It was just a normal breakfast, and a delicious one at that, but suddenly Pepa feels sick. Normally, she had a light meal because of her nervous stomach, but now, looking at the food makes her want to throw up.

She has to eat, so her Mamá wouldn’t begin looking at her with frustration, so she wouldn’t have to lecture her about being a Madrigal and controlling herself, and then Pepa would be sent out to do her chores and get the weather all wrong, which would set Mamá in a bad mood again and Dios, where was Félix clear skies, clear skies—

“PEPA!” Her family shouts, and Pepa snaps out of her anxious tangent she see wind and snow rushing around the room in a blizzard.

She freezes, and the wind dies down to leave flurries of snow drifting in the air. Pepa shrinks in her seat as Julieta, Bruno, and Agustín stare at her worriedly.

“Pepa, are you okay?” Julieta asks gently.

Pepa squeezes her eyes shut and rubs her temples. “Sí … I’m just in a bad mood is all. Lately, I’ve been feeling really moody and nauseous, and I haven’t been able to sleep right. And you know how Mamá is during the crops season. I’ve been so stressed and if I have to hear one more lecture—”

“Family,” the warm voice of Alma cuts through the air, and they all freeze before scrambling to get into their seats.

They sit down just as the matriarch enters the room in a surprisingly good mood. She doesn’t even notice the clumps of snow on the floor as she heads for the table.

“I have wonderful news for all of you, and the future of the Encanto.” She turns towards Pepa, who instantly straightens. Her mamá’s eyes are warm and kind, unlike the usual stern look Pepa’s come to recognize.

“I am happy to announce that there is a new door is Casita.” Gasps filled the room and Casita clatters its confirmation. Alma nods, her eyes shining with pride and joy as she turns to her daughter.

“Congratulations, Pepi. We now have a new Madrigal in the family.”

Pepa’s jaw drops as all eyes turns to her, hardly able to breathe. She was pregnant?! Cómo … Cuando …

That explained her weather! Her mood swings, her nausea, her exhaustion. Not to mention when her and Félix—

Pepa stops, blushing, and her hands flutter down to her stomach.

A baby. A baby. Her baby— her and Félix’s.

Mamá is still droning on and on about La Familia Madrigal and the two new miracles and strengthening their community when Pepa abruptly stands up, mutters out an excuse, and rushes out of Casita.

She has to find Félix.

Fortunately, it doesn’t take very long, because as soon as she spots him, she calls out his name and races towards him, tackling him in a hug.

Félix laughs, spinning her around. “Qué paso, mi amor?”

“I’m going to have a baby,” Pepa says.

Félix’s mouth drops open and stares at his wife in disbelief. “Què?!?”

Pepa presses her lips together, a smile growing on her face as the sun glows brightly overhead. There’s no cloud in sight and for the first time the weather is clear.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats. Her heart beats loudly as she watches her husband’s face turn blank, eyes growing round with shock as his gaze drops to her stomach.

“I’m going to be a papá?” Félix asks. A hesitant smile makes its way across his face.

Pepa beams, nodding her head as she blinks back tears of happiness.

Félix jumps forward and kisses her. Pepa laughs, smiling when Félix deepens the kiss and cups her face. Pepa fists his shirt, kissing him back.

The kiss feels like sunshine, bright and happy as their mouths move together.

Then it’s rain, heaviness growing in intensity like the onset of a downpour.

Then it feels like a thunderstorm, the anticipation building and building until the thunderous release of lightning cracks across the sky like a dazzling firework.

“Eh-hem,” someone clears their throat.

Pepa and Félix both pull away to see their family. Bruno crosses his arms in annoyance, and Pepa makes sure to send him a dirty look as well. Agustín is bashfully turned away, but could still be seen hiding a smirk. Julieta simply smiles, amusement glittering in her eyes.

“Having fun?” Julieta asks, making her way towards them.

Pepa rolls her eyes. “As a matter of fact, we were. Gracias, hermana.”

Julieta sticks her tongue out, retorting, “Por favor, you two will just break the bed later!”

Pepa gasps and Agustín lets out a horrified, “Juli!” as Félix and Bruno burst out laughing.

Pepa turns red, fogging over in embarrassment as her hermana laughs before pulling her in for a hug.

“Anyway, we just wanted to say congratulations — you ran away so fast we weren’t able to tell you.” Juli says and Bruno steps forward, smiling awkwardly.

Pepa returns the gesture. Things have been tense since the incident where Bruno made her create the biggest hurricane Encanto has ever seen on her wedding day, and Juli has often had to come in and play peacekeeper.

“Sí,” Bruno says. “Felicidades.”

Pepa nodded. “Gracias.”

There’s a beat, and Bruno deflates when he realizes that she’s going to say nothing more. Pepa feels a bit bad, but stubbornly kept her mouth shut. Thankfully, her husband swoops in before things could get awkward.

He claps a hand on Bruno’s back, nearly knocking him over with a yelp as his other arm comes around Agustín. “We’re to be tíos, hermanos,” he says. He looks over at Agustín, chest swelling. “We’re going to be papás.”

“Let’s just pray Agustín’s baby won’t be as clumsy as him,” Bruno says.

The man gasps and splutters indignantly as his family laughs. Julieta punches Bruno in the shoulder. “Ah, cállate. Our bebé is going to be perfect no matter who she takes after.”

Agustín beams, swelling with pride as he stares at his wife. She blinks back affectionately.

Pepa rolls her eyes at the sight, a smile tugging at her lips. Dios Mío, and they say we’re bad.

At the thought, she turns around to find her husband’s eyes already on her. Something in her heart tugs. It’s the way Félix just looks up at her— with pure adoration, like she’s the most wonderful thing in the world. He looks at her like the man seeing the sun for the first time, and kisses her like its his last day on earth.

His hand finds her stomach, the size swallowing it. There is a small bump— practically unnoticeable— but it’s there, and it’s theirs. Pepa can’t help but lean down to kiss him, and he leans up to kiss her back.

“Ugh, seriously?! I’m surrounded by couples!”

“No problema, amigo. I can always set you up with someone in town—”

“Dios Mío, no!”

🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️

The first time Pepa sees her child, she knew it had all been worth it.

Despite all the clouds and thundering and snow and the hurricanes, it has been worth it from the beginning because—

Dolores Adríana Madrigal is the most beautiful baby girl in the whole world.

(Agustín might disagree because of Isabela, but that didn't matter.)

She had bright eyes and beautiful curls just like her papá. She is just the perfect mix of Pepa and Félix as she slept in the little red blanket Julieta made her.

Dolores was a quiet baby for the most part, only crying when she wasn't being held and screaming when she was left alone. When they held her she let out soft gurgles as she stared at them curiously with big, brown eyes.

Pepa fell in love the instant she saw her. She could tell that Félix felt the same way too, from the broad smile that split his face whenever he saw his daughter.

Mamá’s lips move in prayer as she stares at her second nieta and clutch the pendant that held her husband. Agustín and Julieta lean over to see with baby Isabela, huge smiles on their faces.

Bruno makes a snarky comment about how Dolores will probably be as emotional as her mother, and Pepa would have struck him down that instant if she hadn't noticed the tears falling down his face as he cries for his sobrina.

Félix keeps on pressing kisses on her face mumbling out endearments of mi vida, mi amor as Pepa hardly breathes, cradling their daughter.

Outside, the labor-induced hurricane slows as the sun tentatively peeks from the clouds.

She loves her.

Pepa gasps, then sobs in delight and happiness as the feeling hits her like a bolt of lightning; striking and electric and fierce as her heart pounds against her chest.

The sun shines, light fracturing off the dew to create the most beautiful rainbow over the Encanto, over Casita, over Pepa — over Dolores.

It is the happiest she’s ever been in her life.

🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️ 🌈 ☀️ ⛈️