putting two cents in to learn more about that supposed hallmarky au 👁_👁…?

who am i to deny you content 😌😌 here you go <3

grian is a big pop star but he’s in a little creative funk…. so he goes to a little small town to chill out and get re-inspired…. there’s an open mic night at a cafe and his agent encourages him to go… maybe he’ll find a new sound or something <3

it’s really boring and he’s heavily considering leaving but then scar goes on and he has the most beautiful voice grian has ever heard, chills go down his body and he feels as though he’s been reinvented…

he goes up to scar after it and they start talking and getting to know each other and (falling in love) grian starts writing music again, music that he’s genuinely proud of and he and scar practice it together…

and then grians agent comes down to pick him up and bring him back to the pop star life but he doesn’t want to leave scar… he confesses to scar that he’s famous and that he didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want to be treated differently… scar asks him why he’s telling him now, grian asks scar to go with him, that there’s a label waiting for him if he does… and they kiss and get married <3<3

hello! first of all I absolutely love your work, thank you so much for all this geraskier content! so it's not really a prompt, but one of the tropes I'm obsessed with is definitely the first kiss. would you write some more of this? maybe in a modern au? (or not!! whatever inspires you) anyway, thank you again for your writing and have a good day :))

First kiss in a modern AU, you say? It’s almost like you reached into my heart and pulled out one of my weaknesses. Plus, I could never say no to such a sweet request. I hope you’ve having a good day, Nonnie!

When Jaskier signed the lease on his apartment, he was a little dubious but money was tight and something about the Kaer Morhen block of flats was appealing. The landlord lived on site, there was a promise of round the clock help for emergencies and issues with the flat. Sure, it was old and looked a bit shoddy but the flat itself was sturdy and the residents all seemed quiet judging by the couple of times Jaskier went to view the place before deciding to sign a year long contract.

Moving in was quite a mundane affair. He had Priscilla and Valdo helping move his boxes but Jaskier was moving from one furnished flat to another so other than boxes of books, trinkets, clothes and kitchen stuff, there wasn’t much else. Still, it would have been an ego boost to have a musclebound man or two gallantly offering to help. Or even for a new neighbour to stick a head out and greet him. Alas, Jaskier was going to have to live without either of those things happening.

What he did end up having was a knock on his door in the evening when he was staring at his boxes, willing them to magically unpack themselves while he drank his wine. He couldn’t fathom who it was, maybe Valdo had left his phone somewhere yet again. Idiot always had it on silent and kept putting it down in places. Last time, they’d found it in Priscilla’s bathtub. Opening the door, Jaskier blinked at the weathered, older man before him.

“Mr. Pankratz. I trust moving went smoothly. I’m Vesemir, your landlord and wanted to say hello. I trust the flat is to your satisfaction and moving went smoothly. Any issues, I’m on the second floor, feel free to knock.”

A personal call by one’s landlord while sweaty and dirty from a move and pleasantly buzzed from the wine that was clutched in one hand was not Jaskier’s idea of an ideal occurrence but he nodded gratefully. The flat was indeed to his satisfaction. It wasn’t perfect but it wasn’t the absolute shithole he’d fears things would turn out to be.

Of course things don’t go as stunningly well as Jaskier had hoped. Because while the flat was better than most, it was still cheap. Which meant that the washing machine broke down a few weeks into his life in his new home.

Knocking on the door on the second floor, Jaskier felt a little sheepish but Vesemir opened up with a gruff “yes?” that helped words come easier.

“My washing machine is giving me trouble, any chance you could have someone look at it please?”

“I’ll send Lambert this evening.” That was that. Jaskier nodded and returned back home, wondering whether Lambert was the handyman or someone Vesemir trusted.

It turned out, Lambert was one of the most terrifying people Jaskier had ever met. He was spiky and sharp, almost every sentence was punctuated by swearing. It only got worse when Jaskier showed him to the washing machine and left. Initially, it was just grunts and muttered curses but they progressively got louder and more inventive.

“Get to work you bucket of rust and bolts! Or I’m drop kicking your sorry corpse to the nearest tip!” The screaming was followed by loud banging, as if the machine was being punched repeatedly. After a minute of sudden silence, Lambert appeared. “It’s working,” he said and let himself out of the flat.

Almost hesitant to go into the bathroom, Jaskier was stunned to find that the washing machine was merrily chugging away as if it hadn’t been making a death rattle earlier that day. The fist shaped hole in the plaster behind the door was a whole different matter. It was going to be an awkward conversation to have in the morning with Vesemir and Jaskier dreaded to explain that his washing machine worked like a dream but now he had a hole in his wall. How he was going to get the old man to believe it wasn’t Jaskier’s doing was beyond him.

All worries were swept away when, first thing in the morning there was a knock on Jaskier’s door. He was suspicious, especially when he came face to face with a burly, scarred man who looked like he ripped the heads off dolls for living.

“Lambert mentioned you’ll need a bit of plastering. I’m Eskel.”

Too stunned to do anything other than step aside and let man in, Jaskier watched him walk into the bathroom. Half an hour later he was given an almost cheerful wave and the promise of coming back to paint it in a couple of days.

As promised, Eskel was back three days later. Jaskier felt a little braver and trailed after him. Strangely, Eskel seemed shy, he always twisted and turned so the scarred side of his face was hidden from Jaskier. Somehow, it seemed like a habit rather than a conscious decision and it made Jaskier wonder just what had happened to land Eskel with such habits, not to mention such scars. Then again, Lambert had scars as well. Maybe Vesemir had some kind of weird scar fetish he indulged with the handymen he employed.

It didn’t take long to paint the patch and Jaskier was impressed at how well it blended into the surrounding paint. He watched Eskel duck his head shyly at being praised. That was something to file away for later.

The later came a lot sooner than expected because not a month later, Jaskier’s tap gave up the ghost. First on the scene was, as before, Lambert. He looked at the tap like it was offending him on a personal level and Jaskier decided to leave him to it. A wise decision, especially when the clanging of a tap and sink having the ever loving shit beaten out of them started up.

“I could smack my cock and get more of a dribble from it than you piece of shit!” Lambert raged. 

It sounded like Jaskier’s whole kitchen was going to be collateral. Quietly, he just hoped the neighbours don’t think ill of him, surely they all knew Lambert’s unique style of DIY. There was a soft knock on the door and Jaskier was surprised to find a tired looking Eskel offering a soft apology.

“I’ll send Geralt up in a minute. He’s better at plumbing. Let me just get my little spark out of your hair.”

Silently, Jaskier stood aside and gestured for Eskel to make himself at home. He got to watch as there was zero hesitation in Eskel as he stepped into the kitchen with a soft “hey Sparky”. For a few minutes there were only soft murmurs from the kitchen. When the door finally opened again, Jaskier tried not to stare at the linked hands or worry about the fact Lambert seemed to be wearing the hoodie Eskel had arrived in.

A quick peek into the kitchen and it looked surprisingly intact. Deciding to leave it and opt for a delivery for food, Jaskier closed the door. Not half an hour later there was a firm knock on his door. Opening it, a few things flitted through Jaskier’s mind. One, Vesemir definitely had a thing for facial scars. Two, Jaskier had found his muse. Three, he believed firmly in lust at first sight.

“I’m here about your tap. Eskel said Lambert didn’t have much luck with it.”

This must have been Geralt. Jaskier trailed after him into the kitchen and ended up hopping onto the counter to watch him work. Not the most verbose of men but Jaskier found that beauty didn’t come from words.

“I couldn’t quite gather what’s wrong with the tap,” he began, trying to make small talk. “Lambert didn’t say much. Well, he said a lot but nothing of value.”

“That’s Lambert for you,” Geralt rumbled as he shimmied under the sink to look at a pipe. “He usually does electrics and machines, Eskel general decorating and odd jobs while I’m more for plumbing.”

Which was good to know because Jaskier wanted to see Geralt again. It took a couple of hours before water flowed from the tap again but Jaskier was happy to wait. It meant more time watching Geralt get sweaty in small, tight spaces.

From then on, Jaskier had a lot of plumbing issues. As many as he could make up and engineer. Nothing to actually damage the piped but enough to warrant calling Geralt out for them. It also meant he learned a lot about his landlord and the family who owned Kaer Morhen. They were an adoptive family and nothing to do with blood. Ex-army, all served together which explained the scars. While the three younger men called each other brothers, it didn’t stop Lambert and Eskel sharing a flat. It seemed to be a running joke that they all called it saving money and generating more income by freeing up another flat to rent out. However, Jaskier had seen just once how freely affectionate the two were with each other and there was no doubt that the jokes were an old habit while everybody and the world knew just how much those two were very much in love.

Despite all his attempts to draw Geralt out and spend more time with him with artificial problems, Jaskier still found his bathtub was clogging against his will. It was becoming impossible and he had to call Geralt out once more. This time, for a serious matter.

After half an hour of Geralt humming flatly at the issue, he straightened up and looked at Jaskier.

“You need to stop jerking off so much in the bathtub. Your jizz is clogging the pipes. Just use tissue, condoms or even a sock from now on.”

Flushing bright red, Jaskier gawped. “I have never! I mean-” Geralt gave him a half amused look. “Fine. But if you’re so worried about where my come lands, maybe you’d be a willing receptacle for it instead.”

He’d said it out of annoyance rather than anything else but it was too late to take it back. Especially when Geralt kept staring at him.

“I would prefer a dinner date first,” Geralt drawled and stepped closer. They were almost nose to nose.

“Tonight. What time do you finish work?” Jaskier was demanding but he had also had enough of pining from afar. Now was a moment for action rather than dillydallying.

“I have just one job for today. Very annoying resident who keeps calling out for problems he’s obviously created. Once I’ve finished with his bath’s plumbing, I’m off the clock.”

Grinning, Jaskier leaned in. “Well, make it a rush job and don’t be late. I have got my hopes up.”

There was no telling who leaned in first but it didn’t matter. The most important thing was that Jaskier was finally kissing Geralt.

I wrote 75 headcanons about Kannao

25 for Kanji, 25 for Naoto, 25 for them as a couple

Why?

Why not.

 Kanji Tatsumi

1.     He does actually need glasses, but he was hesitant to ask for contacts, so he spent most of P4 struggling to see until Naoto brought up that he looked like he was having a hard time. He wore contacts for a bit, but eventually he just stuck to glasses.

2.     The scar on his head was a source of speculation for the other members of the Investigation Team for years, because he never cared to explain, resulting in some very wacky theories. Eventually they found out it was just from a fight with a gang member, but considering he got it when he was twelve, the story is still pretty interesting.

3.     He hates mentioning medical stuff to anybody, but he’s prone to fainting spells out of nowhere. Thankfully, it never happened in the TV, which several members of the IT very angrily said to him when he blacked out in front of them one day.

4.     He’s the spitting image of his father, only with shorter hair. He could never let it grow out for that reason.

5.     He’s the only one from the Investigation Team B to go to college. He studies textiles and trains to become a teacher in Tokyo. He ends up being an art teacher at a middle school.

6.     He’s actually pretty good at literature and humanities subjects, though he struggles applying those skills in a school setting until a teacher who hasn’t given up on him yet helps him through them.

7.     Rise forced him to take dance classes the minute he moved to the city because he was ‘super good at it dammit’. Ditto the drums. He can sing too, but she’s not allowed to know that.

8.     He actually just tends to go along with Rise’s plans a lot, partially because he knows her well enough to know stopping her is futile, and also because she understands his tastes very well once she learns what they are

9.     He doesn’t dislike the way he used to dress in high school, but it wasn’t quite him. It needed more cuteness, and softer colours, which is how he started to dress once he graduated high school.

10.  The black hair and glasses stay forever, but when he’s sewing, he still wears his hair pushed back. Yukiko gave him a hairband for it when she noticed him growing slowly more irritated with it getting in his eyes.

11.  As well as his nose and ears, he also gets an eyebrow piercing in college.

12.  He manages to make a small group of friends in college, with his course being the perfect way for him to find likeminded individuals who applaud his skills rather than shunning them

13.  Kanji is the best cook in the Investigation Team. His baking skills, especially, are exemplary.

14.  He has an online, worldwide store where he sells his plushies and the occasional drawing and outfit. He’s semi-fluent in English by the time he graduates college, so when Naoto travels abroad sometimes he goes too and hits up the conventions.

15.  Ann is his go-to model once they meet. He helps her with outfits for a college final once and they work together so well that she sticks with him.

16.  The reason Koromaru dislikes him is that he can tell he’s kinda rough with physical affection. He doesn’t realise it for the longest time because nobody points it out. He is really good with animals otherwise though, and he’s also really good with kids.

17.  He’s a back-up fighter for the Shadow Ops should they need him, by virtue of being married to their resident detective.

18.  The main reason he keeps training his body though is actually because Chie is determined to beat him at arm wrestling one day, and he’s too proud to let anyone win without a fight.

19.  When Naoto’s cat, Mochi, had kittens, he got to name the one they kept. His name is Pocky. He has a little leather jacket that Kanji painstakingly crafted one night when he couldn’t sleep.

20.  He needs a lot of alcohol to get drunk (which makes nights out with the IT interesting for him, given that the others are all serious lightweights)

21.  If you give him a life sim, especially that one with the cute animals, you will not see him again for days at a time. He’s not huge on video games, but life sims will take over his life

22.  Even if he does retreat into a cave to build a pristine village though, he will still probably emerge with a smooth face because he doesn’t grow facial hair very easily. He can, but it takes a while.

23.  He can’t sleep as easily unless he’s holding something soft.

24.  The easiest time to get him to speak his mind about certain things is when he’s sick and more vulnerable, which doesn’t happen very often. For example, the IT had no idea their jokes at his expense bothered him until he confessed it while extremely out of it on cold medication one time. He doesn’t remember saying it either, but he did notice they were more sincere with him after that.

25.  Everybody in the Investigation Team ends up facing their Shadow again in their adulthood, but by the time Shadow Kanji returns, Kanji has become so accepting of the self the Shadow had represented in the past that he takes on a completely different form. Naoto is the only other person with this same experience.

Naoto Shirogane:

1.     By the time they stop growing, Naoto is nearly 5’1” and they absolutely make it a point to let their friends know

2.     They don’t really know how to look after their hair at all, hence the cap and general messiness. They tend to forget about it until it becomes too long and gets all tangled.

3.     They’re very accident prone, and are covered in a lot of scars from their childhood. The worst one though is one on their back from that time Sho stabbed them at Junes.

4.     One of said scars came from their neighbours’ huge dog biting them when they were five. To this day, they’re still absolutely terrified of big dogs.

5.     They’ve experienced panic attacks for most of their life, though they occur less frequently as an adult.

6.     They resemble their mother more than their father, but the height comes from the Shirogane side. Grampa Shirogane was quite small as well.

7.     They are the only member of the Investigation Team who can tolerate Rise’s cooking. The others suspect potential spice immunity.

8.     As well as piano and ballroom dance, they were also trained in a choir as a child, but fell out of favour with it in their teens. The Velvet Siblings hold a final Theatre Showdown with their guests in 2019, and this is when Naoto fully rediscovers their musical side again.

9.     If you ask Naoto how much those specially tailor-made clothes cost, they will mumble and then change the subject

10.  Naoto returns to Yasogami as a full-time student in third year after Mitsuru enrols Labrys in the school out of nowhere, intent on investigating her motives.

11.  They hold the school’s record for highest graded paper for decades. It was on Sherlock Holmes.

12.  Naoto has written a lot of Sherlock Holmes fanfiction as a kid. The others are aware this exists, but are not allowed to read it.

13.  They don’t attend college after graduation, but don’t have much time to figure out what they will do. The mental shutdown incidents begin the same year, and Naoto decided to help the Shadow Operatives with it as much as possible.

14.  Naoto hates the title ‘detective prince’, and actively tries to shed it. Akechi was a godsend in that light.

15.  They actually hate the media’s attention in general but figured that they may as well use the platform they have for a good cause. They want to be the kind of person they needed to see on TV as a kid, but they very vocally opposed the ‘detective prince’ crap until it ended – which it did quite abruptly when the truth about Akechi came out.

16.  Much of what Goro Akechi likes, he got from Naoto’s indirect influence, from the way he dresses to knowledge of that jazz club in Kichijoji. They’re more of a regular there than he is.

17.  Rise set them up on social media, but they don’t really get how to use it. Their fans discovered it though, so they still have a fair number of followers.

18.  Naoto has a slight friendly rivalry with the people who run a local escape room place. Their goal as a company is to one day leave Naoto stumped.

19.  Naoto doesn’t actually like coffee. Too bitter. Tea is their go-to.

20.  They got a standard-size motorcycle at eighteen but doesn’t drive a car. Yakushiji and Kanji refuse to let them behind the wheel.

21.  After becoming comfortable with their childish side once again, they became openly enamoured once more with Neo Featherman, and have a lot of very expensive figures on display in their house. They even cosplayed at a convention once with some of Kanji’s college friends (though it was difficult to convince them to do it)

22.  Yosuke was paid back all the money the IT owed him shortly after Naoto joined the team and discovered they were mooching from him. Yosuke doesn’t know for certain where it came from.

23.  They adopted a kitten they named Mochi in 2017, who they found abandoned outside a supermarket (in an old box that had contained a shipment of mochi, hence the name). She’s an orange tabby, and she became something of a comfort animal when Naoto was at their lowest.

24.  Their grandfather died from an illness in early February 2017. They didn’t handle his loss well, and they ended up falling into a depression that they never really came out of, though they weren’t able to admit that they weren’t okay. It was an encounter with their Shadow that eventually led to them seeking help.

25.  While they’re still a Private Detective in theory, most of the work they do following the events of P5 are Shadow-related. The Shirogane Agency became one of the Shadow Operatives’ closest allies. Makoto Niijima is currently doing an internship there (they met after the Phantom Thieves helped the SOs deal with another incident in Tokyo in 2018)

Kannao

1.     Naoto ‘came down with a fever’ around the time of the Love Meets Bonds festival that had absolutely nothing to do with their friend Kanji suddenly seeming way cooler than before.

2.     The ‘fever’ got worse when they started having classes together in school, and Naoto agreed to help Kanji with his college entrance exams.

3.     At this point Kanji had kinda accepted his feelings existed, but were unrequited, and that he didn’t want that to interfere with their friendship. Naoto was one of the only people who really got him, and he didn’t want to lose them so soon after building a rapport with them. Little did he know.

4.     Naoto was the first one to eventually confess, once Rise, Yu, Grampa, Nanako, several books and google searches, and a random stall vendor at the summer festival in their hometown had convinced them that the weird feeling in their chest wasn’t actually an illness. They did it in the summer of 2013, at said festival.

5.     They were also the first one to say they were in love. The realisation hit them one day as they were watching Kanji play a cute life-simulator game in his college dorm.

6.     While they’re no longer awkward around each other all the time, there are ways they can still make the other very flustered. For example, with Naoto, it’s any time Kanji is wearing a suit.

7.     They got married at Christmas in 2019. Kanji had a proposal planned. Naoto misread the vibe and proposed early and spontaneously on the day he had planned to, though he still got to go ahead with his as well.

8.     Kanji doesn’t really like PDA. They get a lot of people staring at them anyway because of how they look, or because Naoto is recognisable from the TV, and he doesn’t want to make the stares worse. In private though, he’s the more affectionate one.

9.     Naoto accidentally fuelled the rumours that ‘Kanji Tatsumi is in a biker gang’ again when they first started dating by parking their motorcycle outside the textile shop. Ma Tatsumi was quick to tell anybody who questioned it that it belonged to her son’s significant other long before she was supposed to know they were dating

10.  Kanji keeps forgetting to specify which number in his phone is for Naoto’s personal phone and which is for work, which has lead to such wonderful anecdotes as ‘I accidentally hired a private investigator to fix my broken car’

11.  They’re both used to the other bolting upright in bed at 3am because they’ve had an idea for a new pair of socks for the cat, or another hypothesis for a case. Naoto also wakes up quite a bit due to nightmares.

12.  They lived together with the rest of the Investigation Team since 2016, but they don’t get an apartment as just the two of them until the year they get married. It doesn’t take long before there is an entire room in that apartment filled from floor to ceiling with toys.

13.  Kanji is much tidier and more organised than Naoto, even though Naoto isn’t bad, so he’s the one who figures out where things should go. Decorating the house is his favourite thing

14.  They are the unparalleled board-game kings. Somehow, they’re an unstoppable force of nature when paired together for them.

15.  Surprising everyone, Naoto is the more likely of the two to use pet names. They are the only person who won’t be threatened if they call him ‘Kan-chan’.

16.  Before it became common knowledge amongst Naoto’s fanclub that Kanji was their boyfriend, they thought he was their bodyguard. (The Risette fandom had the same idea)

17.  Kanji never helped that rumour die, considering that when the media tries to shove cameras into Naoto’s face, he yells obscenities and gets in the way until the footage is unusable.

18.  They have a daughter in 2025, when Naoto is 30 and Kanji is 29. She’s named Chihiro, mostly because it’s like a phonetic portmanteau of Kanji’s father’s name (Koichi Tatsumi) and Naoto’s grandfather’s (Yasuhiro Shirogane). But also, that was the name of the actor who played Naoto’s favourite version of Feather Swan. Naoto isn’t creative enough to come up with a portmanteau.

19.  They are each 80% of the other’s impulse control

20.  Naoto couldn’t care less that Kanji isn’t the brightest, despite common misconception. The Shirogane family, and the people who work for it, always placed emphasis on a person’s intelligence (hence Yu’s requirement for a lot of knowledge to start the Fortune link) but Naoto is strongly opposed to that mindset. To them, it’s freeing to have somebody around who doesn’t want to be an intellectual 95% of the time.

21.  They are very private when it comes to their relationship, to the point that sometimes even friends or colleagues have no idea what’s going on in their lives until it’s let slip somehow. When Junpei and Yukari – the Shadow Ops Naoto worked with the least - found out they were expecting, it first had to be explained to them that they’d been married for five years.

22.  They sometimes get mistaken for father and son at restaurants until their early thirties, to which point Naoto will make a scene of ordering a lot of alcohol to prove they’re old enough. Naoto can’t really handle booze.

23.  They’re really bad at making face to face announcements about anything big to their friends, so they always find some way to do it elaborately instead. They told the IT they were having a kid, for example, through a series of puzzles put together by Naoto

24.  Kanji loves making couples costumes and outfits, but then gets too embarrassed to wear them

25.  Naoto is a fiend for stealing Kanji’s clothes as pyjamas. They are large and warm, and when they’re travelling for work, they remind them of him. It got to the point where Kanji would pack a shirt of his secretly in Naoto’s suitcase, knowing that’s why his clothes always went missing.

Riverbound, Chapter 12

Your name is MARSTI HOUTEK and there is some dumb bitch climbing up the siren pole behind your hive.

Watching in utter disbelief, you take a sip of scalding leaf water as the tiny figure uses a rope to haul themself up, one determined pull at a time. If you were more awake you might be impressed; it’s obvious that they’re really going all out on this. They can’t be any bigger than a rustblood male, but despite their size they appear to be fairly strong. You wish it isn’t so cloudy so you could see who the hell this joker is.

It says a whole lot about your life that spying on some cullbait climbing a pole is the most interesting thing you’ve seen all perigee. You go places. You clean. You leave. Sometimes you even get paid, but that’s becoming less of a thing these nights for whatever reason. Some highblood tries to kill you and you get away in the nick of time. Somehow, you keep living.

The newly-healed scar on the back of your neck twinges.

You give a small hiss when the climber slips and almost falls, only for somebody else to dart out of the shadows, looking up towards the siren. The climber calls down to them but you can’t hear what they’re saying, due to the fact that the siren is up on a nearby hill. With renewed vigor, they tighten their hold on the rope and keep going.

“Not bad, squirt,” you mumble.

Another person detaches themself from the cover of a tree, taller than the other two, and joins the other troll on the ground. The first troll gives the newcomer the finger. The newcomer shrugs, their body language betraying no annoyance at the insult.

So these guys are a team, huh? This ought to be good.

Your attention snaps back to the climber when they finally reach the siren. They quickly fling their rope over the head of the machine and actually clamber up on top of the thing, like an actual freakin’ monkey.

This dude’s just asking to be culled. Wow.

You can’t see exactly what’s going on, but they’re obviously messing with the thing. A bit of concern makes your brows furrow as you consider the situation-- that siren could mean the difference between people living or dying. Should you try and stop them?

… No. Even with Catmom around, you’re still outnumbered, and Catmom raised you to not start stupid fights.

“Mrraow?”

Speak of the devil. You reach down and stroke your lusus’s ears. “Get a load out of this. Maybe I should take up parkour, too. You’d be a great teacher.”

Catmom rears up on her hind legs and stares intently out the sliding glass door. She goes still for a moment, and then her long white tail starts whipping back and forth.

“What is it?” you demand.

She meows again, more urgently this time, and starts pawing at the door.

You hesitate. You don’t want her going out there. That wasn’t an I need to pee meow, that was a there’s something up meow.

And that’s when the moons shine through a gap in the clouds, lighting up the silhouette of the climber as they fiddle around with the insides of the siren.

Even before your thinkpan registers their strange-but-familiar pale skin, or their fluffy white-gold hair, you know who it is. The air whooshes out of your bellowsacs, and you set down your mug on the counter before tearing open the door and sprinting like your life depends on it, Catmom right on your heels.

The two trolls at the base of the pole are more than ready for you when you scramble up the hill, so you raise both of your hands even as Catmom arches her back and hisses. One is an oliveblood chick with a spiky mane of hair and even sharper claws, and the other is a tall jadeblood boy, which definitely isn’t something you see every day. Both of them look very strong and ready to tear your rustblood ass up like a napkin.

“I’m a friend,” you say quickly. “Their friend.”

The oliveblood stares you down, but before she can respond you hear a shout of surprise from above. “Marsti!”

You look up at the alien, moonlight twinkling in their wide eyes. Something in your worn-out bloodpusher softens. How they’re alive, you have no idea, but they’re really here.

“I thought you were dead,” you say, swallowing back something in your throat.

“Marsti, you can’t be here! There’s gonna be a drone raid!” they cry.

Any happiness you feel at seeing your long-lost friend evaporates like acid rain in the sunlight. At your side, Catmom arches her back and hisses. Your acid tract does a backflip and falls right out of your anus like a brick.

You just stare at them. “And how the fuck do you know that?”

“Because we do! That’s why we’re here, to trigger the siren early so people have a better chance of getting to safety sooner,” the oliveblood snaps, crossing her arms.

“Like you, for instance,” the jadeblood explains, much more calmly than either of his companions.

“Guys!” You look back up to your offworlder friend, who is gripping the sides of the pole between their surprisingly strong legs and holding onto something in the siren. “Once I touch these two wires it’s gonna go off.”

“Do it!” the jadeblood calls. He’s clearly more excited about this whole plan, even though he immediately covers his ears and braces for the deafening wail. You and the oliveblood do the same, and you wonder how the fresh hell any of this is actually happening.

Your disbelief about this entire situation doubles as you watch the alien simply… flash out of sight for a fraction of a second before reappearing on the ground beside the greenbloods. None of you say anything as the siren starts to wail, slowly rising in pitch and volume until all four of you are running away with your hands over your ears.

Catmom herds everybody inside your hive and shuts the door behind you. Both the oliveblood and the jadeblood are looking around warily, but your alien friend seems more interested in giving you a hug, which you return in your shell-shocked state.

“So, you can teleport,” you say instead of spilling your guts about how much you missed them.

“Yeah! Long story. I’m glad you’re okay.” They grin up at you and run a hand through their hair. You’re amazed at all the little details you’re seeing on them now, like all of the colors in their eyes and the barely-there layer of fur that covers their skin. Is it fur? You’re not certain.

You nod. “Yeah. Me too. I mean, I’m glad you’re okay too.”

The oliveblood comes up to gently pat the alien’s arm, fond but exasperated. “How many friends do you even have?”

“A lot.” They beam proudly and lean against her. “Marsti, this is Polypa, my moirail, and that’s Lanque. Thanks for letting us into your hive so we don’t go deaf.”

“That’s still up in the air,” Lanque groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looks like he’s in physical pain from the howling of the siren. You don’t blame him; every time that damn thing has gone off you end up in your recuperacoon with a pan-ache.

“Sorry babe, should have brought ear protection.”

“Hmph.”

Your friend looks hopefully up at you. “Look, we have fifteen minutes before the first bombs start to fall. Are you gonna come with us?”

“I might live in the shittiest neighborhood known to trollkind, but we do have bomb shelters,” you assure them. “This isn’t my first rodeo. Catmom and I will be fine.”

“... Alright.” They look reluctant, even as Polypa starts tugging them towards the door. “Once I get a palmhusk I’ll text you, okay? Stay safe.”

You give them a smile. When’s the last time you smiled? “I will.”

Lanque nods to you and follows the pair back out into whatever hell awaits them. You watch them go, feeling Catmom circling your legs as she urges you over to the basement door. It won’t be long before the drones show up.

“Alright, I’m coming, I’m coming,” you sigh as you grab your water bottle and your palmhusk off the counter. “What a fucking night, huh?”

She swats at your ankles for your language, but you can tell she’s feeling the same way.

<>

Your name is DIEMEN XICALI and you think this might be it.

This isn’t totally unusual for you, given that you are hiveless and broke, but it’s the first time since you lost your lusus that you would be facing a drone raid alone. You can hear the sirens not too far away, accompanied by the occasional sound of somebody screeching and running for cover. The oblong meat product you ate for breakfast churns nervously in your acid tract.

You’re deciding against making a run for it, given that you have literally nowhere to run to, when you feel the ground shake beneath you as the first bomb hits. The shockwave blows out the windows of a nearby hive not long after. You wince and cover your ears.

Well, this sucks.

Beside you, your palmhusk starts ringing. It’s Mallek.

“You’re literally calling at the worst time ever, dude,” you whisper frantically, shutting it off as fast as you can. Everybody knows the drones can track a palmhusk. Given what you’ve been up to these last few perigees, you wouldn’t be surprised if that actually happens.

A wave of grief and guilt hits you as you think of what happened to your juggalo friend. Mazzot Sazzox had died saving your stupid self from another clown that had gone insane for whatever reason. In doing so, he gave you enough time to get away from the drones that decided to show up out of nowhere.

Maybe in another life, you two would have been together, as close friends or maybe even more, but you guess it just wasn’t meant to be.

A lot of things aren’t.

Another explosion lights up the night sky, closer this time. That’s when the screaming starts, and you pray to your dead friend’s Messiahs that it’s not the five-sweep old that lives just down the road. She deserves to live, they all deserve to live, and even if they don’t survive the next few hours you pray that they’ll make it to wherever they’re meant to go in whatever comes next.

Where would you go? The Dark Carnival? Probably not, you’re no purpleblood, but one time after Mazzot preached to you about his faith you had the strangest dream about a dazzling carousel and some butterfly-winged angels. Could that be it?

“Oh, oh fuck somebody HELP ME-!”

BOOM

You shriek and curl up into a tight ball as you feel another shockwave nearly blow out your eardrums. Whoever was screaming stops.

The roar of drone engines passes over your bush. You don’t breathe until you can’t hear them anymore and release a shaky exhale. Not too far away, a second siren joins the first.

“Yeah, I know, I know,” you groan, holding your ears for all they’re worth.

Something a random guy told you at a party once comes back to you. He was a bronzeblood, you think, with big anter-like horns.

“Do you ever think about how some people believe we’ll be hatched as a higher caste after we die? Like we’re supposed to wait our whole lives for something better, except it’s only better because society made it that way?”

You were extremely stoned, but you remember telling him, “Dude. That’s deep.”

“Thanks. Pass me the blunt?”

You pass him the blunt and watch some gold chick and her moirail have a psionic orgy in the corner with a couple of rustbloods and a cerulean. She asked if you wanted to join earlier, but you were way too high to even hold a bucket upright, much less bust a nut, so you passed. Maybe you should have said yes so you didn’t have to think about how fucked up everything is about the world you live in.

Everything is so fucked up.

The bombs start falling with greater frequency now. Underneath you, the ground rumbles, and the part of you that’s still a kid is scared that it’ll break and you’ll fall into the planet.

“Get the fuck up,” somebody says. You startle, and then you realize you’re the one who said it.

You stare at a candy wrapper lying in the dirt an arms-length away, and you repeat yourself. “Get the fuck up, Diemen. You’re gonna die under a bush if you don’t move now.”

Amazingly, your right arm moves, followed by your left. You push yourself upright. The world spins around you as the blood rushes from your head.

You grab your palmhusk and do the universe’s sloppiest youth roll out of the bush, taking off running like you’ve never run before. Smoke and fire is filling the air, into your bellowsacs, and you barely make it a block before you have to stop.

Death smiles and waves at you as you look back just in time to see your bush go up in flames as a bomb blows everything up. You dive behind a nearby tree to avoid the resulting blast, and once it passes you’re running again.

Up ahead, the hive of the five-sweep old is nothing but a hollow husk.

You stumble to a stop and stare.

Keep moving, you tell yourself, except what you do is charge and leap in through a hole in the wall like some kind of idiot.

Stuff is on fire, but you remember enough about the layout of your own hive to know where the bomb shelter is. You shimmy around the burning hole where the living room used to be and make your way into the kitchen. The Messiahs must have been listening, because the trap door is unscorched and intact from the bomb.

You tear it open. “HEY! Hey, kid! Can you hear me?”

“YEAH!”

You whoop for joy, and for a moment everything is okay. “We don’t have a lot of time before the drones come back for seconds! Can you walk?”

“Yeah! Sort of!”

It takes a few minutes for the girl to drag herself over to the ladder, but once she hauls herself up to the main floor you can see why. Her left leg is totally broken, and her left ankle is dislocated. Behind her comes her lusus, an elderly beaverrat, who chitters warily before reluctantly allowing you to carry her precious charge around the destroyed living room and out the hole in the wall.

“Everything hurts,” the girl tells you quietly as you carry her down the sidewalk.

“I know. Don’t worry, I have a cerulean friend with a medicalizer. He’s let me use it before,” you tell her.

“So… so I can walk again?”

“You’ll walk again.”

On the way out of the neighborhood, you pass Marti’s hive, which has been completely blown to pieces. You hope she’s okay.

Once you get this kid’s legs healed, you’d come back for her and Catmom. Something is different about tonight-- the stars are shining so brightly they hurt to look at, and there’s a fragile unease in the atmosphere, like all of Alternia is holding her breath. You keep walking and don’t look at the moons, which stare down at you like a pair of eyes.

Everything’s fucked up, but it suddenly hits you that maybe, just maybe, you have the power to change that.

Project Wolf´s Cove

One – Tumbling towards catastrophe

The road ahead was winding, following a cliff´s edge. It was summer and therefore a bright day even though it was still early in the morning. It was definitely summer and the radio kept reminding its listeners of that fact. For the moment, however, the summer hits where too distracting. Becky turned the car radio off. She then returned to the conversation she had with her friend Rose who was sitting in the passenger seat. “The film wasn´t a period piece.”, Becky insisted. “It was set in a period in the past.”, Rose gave back. “No! The film is not on the nose about it, but it was set in the future. The future from when it was produced anyway.” Rose frowned at this just to reiterate: “Yes, and this means that it was still set ten years ago. That is the past. I cannot remember ten years ago, not with a living memory. It might as well be a chapter in a history book. Plus that it is a time ten years ago as imagined by people living 40 years ago. So this is like a page in a fictional history book from a freak dimension.” Becky laughed. She gave in: “Okay.” “Well, that is not my point anyway.”, Rose continued in a mockingly serious voice. “The man issue I wanted to raise was that the protagonist was absolutely alien to me. Not because he lived in a different time, mind you. I had issues with him because of how he acted.” “You mean how he dealt with a world full of isolated people and ravaged by a virus?”, Becky injected. “Yes! The illness is obviously transmitted from person to person. So you keep away from the next best person. Problem solved. The so-called protagonist, on the other hand, did it all wrong, sacrificing not only his life but also the one of his gal-pal.” “She was severely underdeveloped as a character. That was more scary then their fate actually.”, Becky observed. “True. There was just one reason the dude did dude around with her, mouthing about and ruining it all.”, Rose summarized. “Even if he made decisions for others that were not his to make, I think his motivations where understandable. You can’t be alone for all eternity.”, said Becky, while she turned on to the parking lot of Wolf´s Cove High School. “There needs to be a sense of community. If you can’t interact with the ones you actually spent time with, how do you know that you even exist and that you are not just an idea of a person that might be easily forgotten? Apart from that, loneliness hurts if it is not voluntary.” “Okay, fair. You raise some good points as well. I see a use for people in the plural there.”, Rose conceded. “Still, there is a danger to closeness that is not always only down to emotions.” She was quiet for a moment while she and Becky got out of the car, took their backpacks, and went towards the school entrance. “The thing is…”, Rose continued right before they climbed the four steps to the grand double doors. “You get only to take a limited number of breaths on this crummy planet. So you might as well be selective as to who you spent them with.” Becky smiled at her friend. “I thought I was.”

Biking to school always seemed like a good idea when the weather was clear and bright. That was until the last part of the road served as stark reminder that it was more sweaty than fun to bike upwards the serpentines leading to the cliff top where the school was located. John remembered that now. “This was not a good idea.”, John managed to say while slowing down despite putting all the more effort into cycling. His legs started to hurt. Neil nodded: “Fnaf.” “What?” “Fair enough.”, Neil pressed out. “Should it not be fen then?”, John wondered and had to slow down to do so. Neil shrugged and both continued their track up towards the high school in silence. Finally they made it to the big main parking lot and chained their bikes to a lantern there. They noticed Becky’s car as the only one parked here at this early hour. “Oh boy, if I’d known Becky would be here this early as well, I’d have asked her if she could pick us up on her way. Maybe next time. She’d surely do it.”, said Neil shaking his head. John just grunted and then decided to say defensively: “I do not think she is here that early regularly. No one but you is.” “And you, fellow friend and confidant. However, someone has to man the commissary and make sure that it is open when all the breakfast-skipping students arrive hungry from the long way up.”, said Neil. The two made their way to the side entrance of the main building. “I am not a fan of that name. When you say it, I can almost hear boots and trumpets.”, John commented. “The food stall then. After we’ve got rid of the old and truly awful name, we have no official title for it. I’ll still call it commissary on my CV. Universities and prospective employers like that kind of entrepreneurship and lexical knowledge. You should get an activity like this too. They expect this.” “I thought it is the point to stick out, to be so unique that others are interested in you. How does doing what everybody does the same, because that is what everybody has to do, help there?”, John asked while Neil unlocked the foods stand and went into the back where the wares were stored. Neil pointed at some packages of soft drinks. “Need to unpack those and put them into the fridge first.” While they both got to it, Neil added: “So we both understand the system. There is what they say and there is what they want. Still, I think my way to deal with that could pay off in the end. Maybe even more so than yours.” John nodded when Neil reached out for another soda can. They finished the work in silence. Afterwards, Neil put on his work apron and took up his place behind the counter. Above him on the wall painted in a fresh white there was the faint shadow of a mascot which had fallen out of time. In front of him, there was the tip jar while the cassette with the change was hidden under the counter. Neil seemed a little tired but content. John waved to him. “I will try to get some more sleep in on one of the lounge sofas before class. See you later.”, John said. “See you.” The most comfortable couches stood in the lounge of the Science Building that was still missing an S. So John went directly there after leaving the food stall. Once in the lounge, he noticed a movement coming from the astronomy room. Through the large windows in the double door he could see Becky and Rose working on something inside. He hesitated. Beyond the doors was the opportunity for a nice conversation with his friends. He should say hello. He was sure that would be nice. Still, he hesitated. For no reason and yet he still did not jump at this possibility. On the contrary, he had to push himself even though it was a push towards people he liked. For a moment, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again. This was a warm-up and a collecting of resources. Then he knocked on the window in the door. They noticed him and he had to go inside now. “Good morning.”, John greeted. Becky answered with a “Hello, how are you?”, while Rose waved and nodded. “What are you doing?”, John asked to avoid an awkward break. Becky was still looking at him. “We got permission to use the school´s telescope to track the asteroid tonight.”, Becky explained. “It has a projector and with this camera here, we will be able to record the passage of our little friend while it passes through the night sky. We just set it up now before class.” “Interesting.” John strolled closer to the telescope while being careful not to touch anything. “Yeah.”, Rose added, “I hope the asteroid breaks open and reveals a truth about the nature of nature that is so unexpected, belittling, and unsettling, that it drops us into sheer horror.” John looked at her decisively unsurprised. “Or maybe it is just a cool image of an asteroid. Astronomy rocks and space is great.”, Rose more pretended to emote than said. But then she paused and added sincerely: “There is beauty among the stars.” “With some luck…,”, Becky added, completely serious, while finishing up with some adjustments, “We will get another glimpse at the vastness that surrounds us. How could not look at the sky with curiosity.” “Tonight you say?”, John inquired. “Yes.”, Becky answered. “Around midnight, it should be dark enough and we should be able to see it even with the naked eye.” “Will you be here and watch it?” “No.”, Rose said, stretching the o maybe a bit more than it was called for. “They do not want us here at night. So we have to set this up and hope for a great recording.” “Well… hope it works out.” John smiled at Becky and nodded at Rose. Then he excused himself and headed for the couches. He did not want to sleep just outside the astronomy room. So he went to the relatively lumpy couches in the Art building, named after local celebrity Burton Art. Becky and Rose continued to set up the telescope until the doors closed behind John. Rose peeked over the telescope and through the windows in the doors. When she saw that John was beyond earshot, she nodded as if she was part of a secret ring of spies. “Nice nice.”, Becky uttered in lieu of anything more substantial to say and tried to look even more busy. “Yeah. Nice how nice you two still are with another.”, Rose probed. “Almost as if it did not hurt.” “Hm…”, Becky answered. “It still does hurt a little. But it just was not… Well, it does still hurt. There´s a scar now on the heart. Maybe it´s healing, sometimes it feels like that. So it won´t hurt in the future or only when the weather is about to change. In any case, I feel that it´ll stay in some form.” “Sounds at least like it was real.”, Rose concluded and duck back down behind the telescope. The day that had begun so early dragged on in the middle. Biology class was turned into self-study by the absence of the regular teacher and the lack of a qualified substitute. John flipped through the textbook with his right, while his head rested on his left. There were not going to be any more test or quizzes or projects this year. Knowing that, John did not pay much attention to the contents of the pages and let his thoughts wander. “Do you think you would notice it as different when you were a duck?”, he quietly asked Neil who sat next to him. “Up until now I thought this self-study was even less useful than sex ed last week.”, Neil moaned loudly instead of giving an answer. Nearby, sitting at a bench next to Becky, Rose snickered. Some other students laughed, most were indifferent and bored. The moment passed. “Like, if you woke up tomorrow and were a duck. Would you remember how it was to be a person? Would you want to remember?”, John continued. “All I can say to this is: I hope not – on the duck thing. My uncle hunts those. This would make for super awkward Thanksgivings.” Meanwhile Becky read the newspaper, searching out the reports on the asteroid. “You cannot pretend to do biology while actually doing some work on another science.”, Rose insisted as she noticed. “That is like cheating. A weird way of cheating, but still… You should at least cheat on biology with social studies, or history. English or a foreign language would work as well, I guess.” “What are you doing?”, Becky asked back, looked up from the paper and at her friend. Rose pointed to her sketch pad. “Take it in. These are the initial drawings of the cycle of Solomar. You see them here as first mortal before they conquer the world by storm.”, Rose exclaimed. “Looks great.”, Becky said, studying the drawings. “I like this lone heroine. Looks a bit like a barbarian, like as if she was about wrestle with a dragon.” “How do you know that she is a lone heroine?”, Rose asked. “She’s one of yours.”, Becky said. At some point, the time for self-study officially ended. The students packed their things quickly into their bags and were in the midst of storming out. Neil strolled over to Rose and Becky, braving the current of leaving classmates. “Rose, you have a minute? There is something we should talk about. Something important.”, Neil announced. “Important like art, or just like life and death?”, Rose inquired while stuffing her textbook in her backpack. “Or like love?”, Becky added with a side-glance at Rose. Neil hesitated, clearly thinking about a reply. “Super important. This is about the social studies project we did together.”, he explained. “The one we handed in and got a grade? I thought the circle was completed, the fate sealed.”, Rose answered. She then waved Becky a short goodbye as Becky was leaving for English less prepared than she could have been. “Yeah, let´s see about that. I don´t think that it should be sealed. We should talk to Ms. French about the grade. -See you Becky.- Fran agrees with me on that. Let´s meet her now and go to Ms. French.” “Ok. But afterwards it is lunch time. Actually, I think it is lunch time now – but if you insist, I will postpone my meal. I hope you will use this chunk of my life time gifted to you to a proper end.”, Rose stated and grabbed her bag. “Of course. Have I ever wasted my or anybody else’s time?”, Neil replied. Both they then left the classroom and made her way to the Art building and Ms. French´s office. The cafeteria was emptier than usual. Rose and Neil had no problems finding an empty table. “Told you that it would go well. We just had to highlight the amount of work that had gone into the project.”, Neil repeated. “Hm.”, Rose replied and then decided to dig into the pasta instead of expanding on that. “I mean, your contribution was obvious. The illustrations were both bloody and really good. They might have distracted Ms. French a bit. It was her fault, though, as she gave us this particular topic. Thanks for showing up with Fran and me anyway. Now we can be satisfied with the grades.”, Neil said, a fork with food hovering close to his mouth. Rose nodded. “It was a fun project. We should hang out more often. Like we used to in the golden days of our youth. Like, like we used to up until a few weeks ago.”, she added. “Yeah.”, he put down the fork again. “Only… weird without the other two and weird with them now. That was easier before.” “True.” She eyed a suspicious lump in the red sauce. “There is one group-thingy I like and now it is that… weird. I wonder if they thought about what they are doing to us when they… did what they did. Now we are like a family, divorce and all.” “Hah, true.”, Neil exclaimed and then finally took a bite. “Maye we can educate the others and reduce the awkwardness.” “There’s only so much time before everybody moves away for college next year.”, Neil said in a low voice, leaving it open if this was unclear if this was an argument for or against. “Oh.”, Rose grunted. “Maybe we should not have sought to improve our grades then. And we should find a way to drag the ones of the others down. Then we can repeat a year or two or more. Stupid maybe, but happy.” “Yeah… no. Not sure if this would even work.” Neil decided it was time to go over to the dessert. “So this remains an issue for future me an you. It is also for future Becky and John, of course.”, Rose suggested. She discovered that the lump was just an oddly shaped noodle and ate without concern. “Future me and future you, future us, and them too.”, Neil repeated. Both he and Rose lifted their heads, smiled, and listened in anticipation. Instead of music, Becky arrived with a food trey and sat down next to Rose. “Hi. How are you two?”, Becky asked. “We are doomed due to our feelings and the feelings of others.”, Rose declared. “Of course we are. But who are the others this time?”, Becky wondered. Rose sighed theatrically and Neil smirked before shaking his head. After lunch, Rose and Becky had some time before the next class that was not already assigned to any task or activity and went outside. Rose walked directly to one of the battered blue payphones and punched in a number. “Hello, I would like to talk to the Ericsons, please. Yes, whoever of them is available right now… I am their daughter. The other one. Yes… thank you Mr. nurse.” While Rose talked to the bodiless voice in a strange city, Becky settled in the corner made by the phone and the concrete wall of the main building. There was a pause as Rose waited for her parents. Becky imagined how now their names would be called out over PA, how one of them would move through the hallways of the hospital, looking for the next available phone. While she imagined this, Becky looked across the school parking lot and then beyond its chain-link fence at the town across the small straight. It was nestled on that small ragged island with curved bays and towering cliffs with sharp edges. It was a rugged place between the ocean and the mainland. It was as if the town was clinging to a rock among the waves. There were a lot of houses with great views as they were built close to the cliffs. Even greater must have been the view for the cedars. The trees filled still the spaces people had left for them. Some crept very close to the edges and others even hang out a bit over the ocean, just barely hanging on to the rock. And yet they did. They even managed to reach out to the sky. Some storms were strong enough to break them and take them away. But a number of them was still left. Becky had some favourites among these cedars. Old and brave ones she always sought out when she had a minute to look out over her home town. Faster than expected, Rose was connected. She exchanged individual words with one of her parents. By the sound of this, it was her mother. No, Becky decided after three more words, probably it was her dad. “Well but that is good… like, given the situation. Hugh her from me… if, if this is possible. …Yeah. Bye.” Rose hung up. “Well that was… yeah, good. At least she is fine. For the moment at least she is fine. That is a win.” Becky turned towards her friend and nodded, then laid an arm around her shoulders. “Yes it is, Rose. I´m glad she’s doing ok.” John stood, his bike and himself ready to leave, already on the parking lot, a few steps away from the main building. Neil, on the other hand, still fiddled with his padlock, aiming to free his bike, but as of yet unable to make that plan a reality. Then he stopped suddenly in mid-fiddling. “Shit… should take a look and check if Pete has locked the commissary. I guess I should.” Neil wavered a bit. “Yes, should do that.” He let the padlock be for the moment and sprinted back to the main entrance. “Maybe go ahead without me. We can meet at my place. One of my parents is probably home. They´ll let you in. And if it´s my dad, you might get some chocolate milk while you wait.”, Neil said to John over his shoulder. “No. It´s ok.”, replied John. “I´ll wait. Let´s go together.” Neil gesticulated vaguely but then nodded. When he passed the doors and went into the main building, he passed Rose, and both gave each other high fives in passing. Rose then made her way to John. She stopped beside him on the parking lot under the warm sun. “All done for the day?”, Rose inquired. “Yes, all done.”, he reported. “Not just for today even. There is nothing going on tomorrow, right? Besides getting on the bus, I mean.” “True. So you are good and settled for the whole year then. Great!” “You?” “I am done as well. Done and done. Except for the asteroid business, but this is more of an extra credit and in any case something I do more to give a hand to Becky.”, Rose replied. “Look at us. We got all taken care of. So if we were to die now, we leave nothing behind that can further bind us as wraiths to this plane of existence.” “Lucky us.”, John smiled. “Could be an interesting experience to be a wraith, though.” “Nah.” Rose shook her head. “Probably not. Besides, that is something that you can try in the far-away future after dying of old age.” She mustered him. “How is our story going?” “It is going well… I hope. Maybe a few more weeks of work and then it is ready to be rejected like the other ones.” Rose nodded gravely before cocking her head and smiling a bit mischievously. “Well if this is not something to live for.” She was about to add something, but in this moment, Becky drove towards the two. She stopped the car and let the passenger side door swing open for Rose to get in. “Have a good one.”, John said. “See you.”, Rose gave back. “And remember: Always create something that, if aliens from the future would find it as only surviving artefact of our civilization would understand us at least a bit. Picture mankind naked and write about it.” “Will do.”, John said and laughed. Then he and Becky exchanged a smile and a wave, before the girls got into the truck and drove off. John was not alone for long, though. Neil returned right afterwards. “Oh, should have asked her to give us a lift.”, Neil exclaimed. “She’d have done it.” “Of course Becky would have done it.”, John said flatly. “Her pickup even has space for bikes in the back. That would have been great.” “We are not really going in their direction.”, John replied. Neil just shrugged and then went to unlock and unchain his bike. “Could transport at least one caged dinosaur on that truck. God, how I miss that old rusty lady.”, Neil exclaimed. After a brief pause, he added: “I mean the truck. With old lady, I mean the vehicle.” He then finally was able to open his rusty lock and free his bike. He went over to John and both took to their saddles and started to bike down to town. “Think Becky is going to sell her car when she moves for college?”, Neil wondered aloud and very eager to move the conversation forward. “Ask her. But do not take it for free.” As everything failed, there was nothing left but drifting into the cold darkness. All that while the mind raced and tried to imagine the end. A whole world was about to lose itself in the eternal night. The end and the way there would be lonely. Soon it would end, but the time until then was still long. Too long not to fear madness before the darkness. But then there was a little blue spot shining in all the darkness. Maybe this one was hospitable enough, close enough to save a life.

Hi, I was wondering I could request Noir from Spider Verse with the song “Box of Secrets” by Zarif for the songfic requests?

Hi, anon! Of course you can! I am so sorry this took an eternity. But I really had troubles finishing it due I was out of inspiration, but oh boy, I AM BACK!

This is my first time writing for a Marvel character so I am sorry if this is not the best. Also this was translated from Spanish since that's my first language so I am sorry for any grammar errors you may find, but I pray you enjoy it.

Spanish version here (X)

Also anon, I wrote this with a gender neutral reader, I hope you don't mind.

_____

BOX OF SECRETS Spidernoir x GN!Reader

You were having a peaceful time chilling with the Spider family at May's living room. You could swear you almost forgot the pressure of being a superhero, you haven't felt like an ordinary person in a long time. Yeah, you were distracted by the conversation but mostly because you were too busy glimpsing at Noir. You had to admit it, the mysterious, serious and gentlemanly Spiderman got your eye from the first moment you saw him. Meanwhile Noir was paying attention to Porker who was trying to explain some jokes to him, it wasn't working as you could see. Peter only seemed highly confused and kept asking any sort of questions.

"...Tell us why, Y/N" Peter B's voice called you out. Shit! What had he said? He was staring at you as well as the others. You prayed that they didn't realize you were eyeing Noir."I-I am sorry, what was that?" You asked. Peter rolled his eyes "Pay attention. I am not that old for you guys to ignore...Am I?" You moved your hand in a "So so" gesture. He pouted. Gwen brought back the initial question "We were wondering, why is it that you never take your mask off? I mean, it has total sense in your Universe but here it has no use."

Right, the mask, you hadn't given it a thought yet. Peter B. And Gwen didn't wear them most of the time, even now they weren't wearing them. "Uhm" you mumble looking for an explanation "well I think is a bad habit" You laughed nervous "Since I'm always wearing it, I only get rid of it when I'm taking a shower or about to go to bed" you shrugged trying to lessen importance to it "But I don't know why am I the only one being questioned here. These two" You pointed at Noir and Porker "Never take them off as well"

They joined the conversation. "Literally I am a pig." He said kinda bugged." I don't know what were you expecting" "What about you, Peter?" Penny's sweet voice asked "A hero's identity is a precious secret. This mask is the one thing standing between those rotten eggs out there and my home." Everybody went quiet after his answer "Peter, you aren't in your Universe you know?" Miles pointed out "Here nobody has idea of who you are. Plus, we already know you're Peter Parker" Noir was muted for some time and finally said "That's quite right but, still, It isn't going off." "As you want" Peter B. responded.

A little bit of chatting later, bedtime had arrived. Miles had school the next day and, frankly the rest of the team needed to rest. That's how Peter and you were left alone. "Woah Peter, you really like being mysterious, uh?" You tried to start a conversation "I'm guessing being a private eye had something to do with that". "Fella" his low voice answered you as he accommodated his hat in the right place "After all I've seen, it's a miracle I'm not inside a wooden kimono. I like to believe luck's always been on my side. " You nodded slowly. You couldn't help but feel sorrowful for his unfortunated life. You just couldn't sit there arms crossed, you felt the urge to do something about it, maybe that intriguing man needed a friend. Even if you felt like it was a stupid idea you had to try it.

Open up your box of secrets

Take one out for me

"Hey Peter!" Your voice went up as an idea crossed your mind "I don't feel like sleeping and I think there's a place near by where we can get an egg cream, wanna go?" You couldn't believe what you had said but it was the best you could come up with. Your heart was beating fast, why? You were hanging out merely as friends, nothing else. But if that was so, why did you expected him to accept so badly? Noir gave you a susprised look "Well, that sounds like a good idea." You sighed in relief. "Awesome!" You walked towards that place wearing your spider suits but people just took a quick look at you thinking you were nothing more than spiderman fans.

The place was nothing out of the usual and you could count at most 5 people there. You ordered the egg creams and something to eat. At first, it was kinda uncomfortable due Peter's serious nature and also because you still felt uneasy to be having dinner with the man that had caught your attention. The conversation slowly went better; Peter talked to you about how was like to grow in the middle of the great depression while you chanted about your family and your hometown. Of course, you were the one doing the most part of the conversation but he didn't seem to mind, actually, you could tell he was gladly listening to you by the amount of questions he came up with. "Yeet?" "It's just a meme" "A meme?!"

I'll show the number on my ticket

And take one home with me

Oh the night just got better and better. Eventually the conversation took you to the top of a building. It was a quiet night for New York, the lights of the city danced right under your feet and a small breeze got to you along with the night bustle. Now you were so happy, having Peter next to you, being so honest and open with you made nothing but make you smile tenderly at him. Sooner or later the conversation stopped, leaving you contemplating the view in front of you. "Peter" your sweet tone interrupted the silence "Why did you tell me all of that?" You questioned. Noir kept his gaze to the horizon not giving you an answer. He waited a few seconds meditating his answer. You were right, he barely even knew you but he poured his heart out without hesitating. "Being honest, I have no idea. You are so kind and true. I guess I trusted you enough to tell you. Of course, I omitted the most disturbing parts." That was so sweet coming from him but his tone on the last sentence made your heart sank. Behind his words you could perceive so much pain and rage, you wanted to cry. "Peter, you are a box full of Secrets. Thanks for sharing it with me." You put your hand on his and looked him right into his eyes offering him a soft, comforting smile "If I had to guess, I would say that all it needs to get information from you is an egg cream" you tried to lighten the mood and shook your head playfully.

"Well Peter, I can assure you that I feel the same way about you, like if I could tell you anything" Peter froze flustered at your unexpected words. That was so weird, so unusual comming from him. "You know what?!" You continued "Since we've got so personal. Here goes one of my secrets" you pulled your hand away from his and took it up to your face. Will you ever learn to not have such dumb ideas? Maybe one day but now you were sure to show Peter a part of the real you by removing your mask. You smirked subtlety "This" you pointed at your bare face "is my face". You obtained no response from the suited man.

Noir was astonished at your revelation. You were far more attractive than he had imagined. The first thing he focused in were your bright eyes than seemed so captivating that night. Later he took notice of your tempting lips curled in a precious smile. "Holy..." you could barely hear it "I know, fighting the crime makes you look 10 years older" you laughed nervous "What do you think?" You finally questioned. "I think" Noir interrupted his response so that he wouldn't stumble over his words. "I think you are a total knockout" he said softly. You felt flustered and he noticed it "Well, thank..." "But in that case you should know my identity as well" he added before taking off his mask without hesitating. Your heart slipped a beat when you finally saw his eyes, they showed so much affliction yet so much spark and determination. You noticed his dark hair messed up because of the mask. You studied the various scars decorating face, they led you to his striking lips that you've ached to kiss since you met him. You were speechless before this man. "I know it looks bad but, c'mon it isn't that bad" His words bewildered you "What?! Did you just make a joke, Peter Parker?! You?! You know? After your face this is the second revelation of the night. I've seen everything now" Peter let out a cute laugh that you adored "I may know one or two things about joking. Porker isn't an awful teacher." He explained "Now, It's my turn to ask, what do you think?" "I think I wouldn't mind to kiss that face of yours" You said almost instinctively. You didn't move an inch but Peter only got closer and closer until your lips melt in a cherished kiss. What a way to end the night. "Peter now more than ever, you're a box of secrets" you said before meeting your lips again.

Show me show me what you got

Take it take it soak it up

Open up your box of secrets

Take one out for me

Epiphany 2

read first ACT 1 

EDIT:  @waywardbaby​

Summary: Less than two years later, you finally passed the men of letters’ initiation and, finally, you now set foot in America eager to be reunited with the Winchesters. But if Dean thought that you spent your days only with your nose in books and hands in monster’s guts, he was dead wrong. Your mission? Something that the British branch tried and failed miserably,  or at least that’s what they told you anyway. 

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel and Jack

Warnings: slow burn guys…slow burn. Also, some fluff, humor, feels and angst. 

Some laughs and some shuffling later Cas and Jack left you and Dean alone again. After a little moment of awkward silence, during which a particularly interesting drop of condense rolled down the neck of your beer bottle, Dean clicked his tongue annoyed.

“By the way, big fan of how you masterfully avoided any talks about that scar of yours.” he blurted out.

“Well, nobody asked.” 

You stood up, the old stool protesting, slowly moving in front of him. He removed his legs from the table as you bent over, both your hands on the armrests of his chair.  Leveling your eyes to his, you saw how he tried to hide how his breath caught in his throat and his own eyes flicked to your mouth. You smiled because, holy shit, and then leaned in, grabbing the coffee and the Moka beside him. 

“Take me to the kitchen. I’ll show you how to use this.”

Dean blinked confused before registering what you had just told him, quickly scrambling to his feet as the chair legs scraped the floor.

“Don't use tap water, and fill it to the valve, not over and not under it. Just exactly in the middle.”

“Yeah yeah, how many rules are there?” he said, watching you from behind, bending over your shoulder. “I want to drink coffee, not defuse a bomb”

You shushed him, “Do as I say and you’ll thank me later”, you went on, opening the packet of grounded coffee. “Pass me a spoon, would ya?” you asked him without turning towards him, while you tied your hair up and out of the way. The spoon came hovering in front of your eyes, Dean’s breath was on your neck, and shivers spread down your spine. 

“Y-you need to put the coffee in carefully, ok?” you faltered, “... however, there are two different opinions. We DO like to tear each other apart over that” 

Dean was watching what you were doing, intensely but he was also distracted. 

Dean’s thoughts, even if he was, barely, paying attention, were all over the place. She was talking nonstop, about this and that…  

Jesus, whatever!

He actually did not care right now. She was here. How long had it been since he last saw her? Almost two years? It certainly felt a lot more than that, but she looked the same and completely different at the same time. There was something offbeat in the way she carried herself. However, when he saw her blushing again he knew she was still the girl who mumbled and hit her head under a table and spilled special whiskey on his hand. 

She definitely looked like she could still eat his face if she didn’t like what came out of his mouth and he was pretty sure she could slap him silly if he gave her a good enough reason, and holy shit he got real close to that. 

When he had first seen her, in his bedroom, he had thought he was hallucinating or something. Then she manhandled him and he knew right away that she was real. 

Then came anger when he saw her tattoo and what the fuck. She said she was deep in books and guts not guns and also guts. 

Oh, she’ll hear him alright he had thought before she came back with needles and anti-Vamp biotic or whatever that was. And she looked so proud, all twinkling eyes and pure confidence, his resolutions went flying right out the window. 

She was doing well, she looked well. Maybe just a spank or two.

He gulped, suddenly feeling his mouth dry. No, okay maybe don’t go there Winchester.

When Sam had left to get dinner, he had a moment to let his eyes wander over her, taking her in. Fieldwork surely looked good on her. She looked strong even in her ridiculous height. Layers of clothes didn’t hide what all that training did. She looked sturdy, she was wearing jean shorts, her thighs tanned and full and- 

“The fuck is that?” his eyes had widened at the sight of a long scar.  He dropped between her knees without thinking, and only now did he realize how their position must have looked to Sam’s eyes. 

He cleared his throat as her fingers brushed along his when he handed her the tablespoon.

“Actually that life found me, you found me ….”

He never had what she had and she was willingly diving into this life. They did encourage it when they had left, but she had made it clear that she would just help, not actively participate, or at least...be that involved that would justify a scar that big. 

What else has she been lying about? Was she alone? How many times did he risk los- had she risked her life?

“OH SHUT UP! You want to know what I’d be if I hadn’t met you? I would be dead, in my car, that night. You saved my life and I’m proud of what I’m doing with it… Do not fucking spit your fucking contempt on it”

Her outburst caught him completely by surprise. There she was, standing proud, teary eyes, lips trembling, red-faced and she looked magnificent. His anger had melted into something else, pooling at the pit of his stomach. He had wanted nothing more than to take her there and then. He didn’t care that Sam was there. He had taken a moment before he followed her, but not before throwing Sam a glare to stay, the fuck out of that. His brother had lifted his arms in surrender and shaken his head, and fuck that, Dean saw the smirk on his face. 

He had found her packing the few things she had brought in earlier.

Oh, hell no!! She wasn’t going anywhere. For once he had decided that he was going to swallow his pride just a bit. She smiled at him and his insides melted once again. 

Her face at the sight of Jack had been priceless, and she had brought nougat for Satan’s baby. Yep, the kid had been so grateful for the gift, he kissed her and before he could stop himself he actually shouted at him in front of everyone. 

Smooth Winchester! Real smooth! 

The last night he had seen her replayed in his mind. Her skin, and scent, his fingers through her hair and how his name sounded, whispered and gasped from her lips when he had pressed her against the wall, her whole body opening for him and- 

when Sam had told her she could stay, he saw her hesitation.

“…this is your home too, now” he blurted out without thinking, and it almost scared him how true that felt. 

And now there they were, making coffee at the crack of the fricking dawn, probably trying to fight jet lag as he scooted closer, hands itching to touch her.

“So you have two choices here…” you continued trying not to think about Dean looming behind you and his warm breath on your neck, “... pack your coffee very tight and once you reach the edge smooth it down. Or you could gently let the coffee settle by itself and just let it breathe. In my opini-” you stuttered feeling his nose grazing your skin, his arms moving around you, hands resting on the counter. 

“Dean?”

“Mmm, your opinion?” he murmured and you could be mistaken but you were almost certain he had buried his nose in your hair and maybe inhaled.

You cleared your throat, “I - in my opinion, the first method gives you a stronger and sharper taste. The second makes the taste smoother and gentler. So it depends on what are you in the mood for…”

“I can think of a few things,” he said low, and you swear you could hear the smirk on his stupid mug. Spinning around you faced him, hands bent behind you on the counter, looking up in his dark, hooded eyes gazing down at you. You just needed to stretch on your tippy toes to…

“OH.. " you cocked an eyebrow, “I’ll be happy to listen to those…” your hand lifted to his face, brushing his cheek lightly before gently grasping his ear. After all, two can play this cruel game and tugging him down to your level, added: “... after you make me the perfect coffee as I just explained it to you.”

Half an hour later, you were satisfied.

“Mmm yep! This is great. I can almost taste you” you said moaning, around escaping your lips that may not quite be appropriately fitting a coffee sampling. 

Dean choked in his mug, “I’m sorry, what?”

“I-I m-mean ...I can tell this has been made by you”

“Oh, so you could tell who made you coffee?” the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“To some extent, yeah. Everybody can tell different people making coffee”.

He leaned back and crossed his arms, “Ok, close your eyes then and tell me which one is which.'' 

You felt him putting a cup in each of your hands. You slowly sipped from both. After a moment you held up the right one, opening your eyes.

“This is mine”

“How in the hell …”

“Because it tastes different. Here…” he took a sip from the cup you held to him and then one from the other.

“This is good,” he said, lifting yours. “Tastes soft in the beginning and then bam! All the flavor hits you at the end. That one though,” he said pointing at the one he had made, “That one just tastes bitter.”

“That’s not true. It’s rich and complex. You’d think you know what you are tasting, and end up with something totally different” you pointed at yours, “mine is just…bland”

“Let’s just agree to make each other’s coffee?” he offered. 

“Yeah, I think it’s better” you chuckled.

“So how long you planning on staying?” he asked peeking from above his cup.

“I - I, uh, don’t know. For as long as I’m gonna be useful? Actually, I’m here because I sorta um …lied to my bosses...?”

“Lied?” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Well, I guess I told them I was going to…sort of ...train …you” your voice lowered almost to a whisper, and you blushed deeply.

“I - 'm sorry what?” he laughed, “Did I hear that right?”

You bumped your forehead on the hard cold table embarrassed.  “I needed an excuse to leave my post and this was the best I could come up with!”

“…so you said” he had another fit of laughter, “that you were going to train American hunters?” His eyes gleamed as he continued, “And they believed you? Damn, Y/n!”

“Well…I… uh... volunteered to bring you some new equipment and knowledge. And before you say anything, they don’t know that I was talking about the Winchesters.”

“Why?”

You fidgeted with the handle of your cup, not looking at him in the eyes. “Well ...you two are pretty famous both as hunters and as legacies, and not in the best way. If I had told them you were my contacts they would have never let me leave-”

“Oh…?” he said smugly.

“-not that I think the same!” you quickly added, “I have the utmost respect in what you did and do. I've told you that already.” You looked down at your wringing hands “Don’t ever doubt that” you whispered trying to show him how truthful you were. 

“I know you do,” he said softly. Your hands itched to grab his but you didn’t know where you stood. 

Were you friends? More than that? Lots of time had passed and things were muddy and he was being his flirty, asshole self as always but-

“Um, I guess I’m gonna crash with you guys for a bit, if... that’s ok”

“I told ya, this is home, you can stay as long as you want”

“Thanks” you smiled. “I’m gonna start unloading my car, for my luggage at least. The rest, I can do tomorrow.” 

Putting your empty cup in the sink you walked toward the exit.

“You can go to sleep, you know?” you looked over your shoulder when you saw Dean tailing you.

“I know. It’s fine. I’ll help”

“Your shoulder’s fucked”

“‘Tis but a scratch,” he replied with a British lilt, his stupid grin brightening up his eyes, and damn those eyes, and his smile, and his whole face.  

You laughed climbing up the stairs “Don’t quote Monty Python to me”. 

Once out, you walked to your rental car and grimaced even before you heard Dean’s whistle.

“Nice car” he taunted.

“Yeah, I know. Well, I just needed to drive here, and since you brought it up, how about you find me a nicer one? “

“We have a full garage here. Some cars need a little kick but nothing I can’t fix.” he proudly said.

You opened the trunk and dragged out a big trolley and another big backpack that you gave to Dean. Easier to carry on his good shoulder.

Walking in the sterile green corridor, you tried to be as silent as possible. The acoustic must be terrible here, and you didn’t want to wake up Sam.

“You can choose any room, Sam’s down there, mine’s number 11 from before.”

“…yeeeah ...I'll need one with a bathroom for myself. You know…one bunker, two guys, one angel, and the antichrist. A girl needs her space.”

“Oh…sure. Mmm, there should be a service bathroom, I think it’s mid corridor? Aaah, you’ll find it. But ..ah...showers are common. No luck there until you say otherwise, though” he said wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah, sure Dean,…just to be safe, if there is a towel on the handle, please knock “ You chose a room that was almost at the same distance from both of them. Opening the door, you grimaced.

“Spartan” you sighed entering and threw the suitcase on the bed. A cloud of dust rose and tickled your throat and you coughed waving your hand in front of you. “I guess I know what else I'll do tomorrow”

You turned to Dean who was waiting at the door. He handed you the backpack and put his hands in his pockets, shifting uncomfortably.

“Yes, Dean?” you asked while unpacking.

“You…you know that I’m happy…  we… we are happy that-” he waved a hand towards you.

You stopped to look at him, “Of course” you smiled.  "You just need to stick it into your head that I make my own choices. I’ll be fine. I need to finish unpacking and you should go to sleep”

“Yeah…ok. Uhm…goodnight then”

“Night”

You tossed and turned in your new bed, the jet lag hitting you hard and probably the dawn coffee hadn’t been a great idea. You had hoped that maybe listing all the things you were gonna do tomorrow would help, but nope, you were still wide awake. The phone said it was just past 5 am; you could explore the bunker and maybe make breakfast for everyone...? 

Tossing your blanket aside you padded silently down the corridors, shivering as the cold tile floor hit your naked feet. Nobody had switched off the lights, thank god and now you were wondering if they ever switched them off?

Arriving in the main room, the one that looked like an old library, you lost yourself between the shelves. This room alone had so many rare things and so much knowledge that was thought to be lost back at home. Maybe you could ...no… what the hell? You put the book back in its place with a loud thud.

“Y/N, you are not gonna steal these books, you are not gonna steal these books, you are n-” you repeated to yourself in a mantra-like tone. 

“You want to steal books?”

 “Wh - Jack! Oh my god, you almost gave me a heart attack” 

You jumped at the sudden voice behind you. His face suddenly grew worried, “You need a doctor? W - wait, I’ll call Castiel to-”

“No no, I’m joking! I was joking” you said quickly as you gripped his arm.

“Why would you joke about that? It’s a serious human, medical emergency,” he said confused and honestly, he looked offended. You put your hand on his shoulder.

“No, you are right. Sorry if I scared you. It’s just a figure of speech” 

You saw his brain gears working to assimilate the new information. God, he really looked like a normal kid, a normal confused kid with so much power. Your hands itched. No, it’s - he’s not another monster to put on your table. He is…

“Jack …what are you doing awake anyway?”

“I don’t sleep much and I heard some noises. What are YOU doing up?”

“Ah, jet lag, can’t sleep; I was looking for something to pass the time before breakfast. Tell me, you know the bunker well?”

“Yes “

“Great, want to show me around?”

Jack showed you all the rooms and sections of the bunker. They even had an indoor shooting range. The garage made you giddy and you already eyed one of the bikes, the black Norton Commando. Your eyes were hooked on that when you felt Jack scooting to you. Looking at him, confused, you saw him eyeing the black Impala that was parked inside.

“It’s just a car, Jack”

“Dean said I can’t go near her. He calls her baby and treats her like she’s a person. I don’t think that’s normal”

“No, no, it’s not.” 

Chuckling, you approached the car, Jack anxiously trying to stop you. You let your hand slowly caress the sleek, polished, black hood and you peeked inside. It really was a gorgeous car. 

You went out of the bunker, enjoying the crisp morning air and you paused to watch the sun rising. You felt at home and you were so happy right now. 

“Say Jack…?” you began, facing him as he squinted his eyes at the first sun rays of the new day, “... care for a quick drive?”

The phone buzzed a couple of times and you thought nothing of it. Probably your parents asking about minor stuff and that could easily wait.

“After last year Dean doesn’t like me going out without telling.” Jack was nervous but at the same time, he looked around the store excited even to be the one pushing the cart.

“Yeah well, I’m not Dean, am I? Just stay close ok?”

“I will “

Jack looked like an excited kid, pushing the cart between the aisles, eyes sparkling as you asked him to choose the cereal, while you looked for something that resembled what you knew about American breakfast. He came back with 4 different kinds, face falling as he told you he couldn’t decide. You just took all four and tossed them in the cart.  

You let a fascinated Jack put the items on the rolling mat while you went to the other side to bag the groceries, getting confused looks from people because you refused help to do that. ‘I can bag my own, damn, groceries, thank you very much’ you thought. 

After paying, you also let him park the cart with the others, laughing when he connected them and looked at you all proud, waving the coin. He picked the bags from you and walked to the car. Suddenly the screech of tires broke the silent morning in the mostly empty parking lot and you jumped, startled as Dean’s car stopped right in front of you. 

The three jumped out, a scary look on Dean’s face, a worried one on Sam’s and you could not tell what was on Cass' face. Amusement and something that looked like he was gonna spank the two of you.

“Y/N, what the fuck ?”

“Wh-?” you didn’t have time to respond and Dean was in your face, Sam trying to get between you two. 

“What happened? “ you asked, startled

“This! This is what happened,” Dean stated gesturing between you and Jack. “What the hell were you thinking?”

You and Jack shared a look “…pancakes?”

“Pancak-” Dean began and he had to stop himself from freaking out. “Ok…you can’t take Jack to buy groceries alone”

“Why? “

Dean threw his arms in the air, exasperated.

“Y/N…” Sam pushed his brother to the side, “... we woke up and you were gone and Jack was gone too. We were kinda worried”

“Oh...I’m sorry, next time I’ll leave a note “

“There is no ne-” Dean began. 

“Dean, it’s fine. Nothing happened.” Cass’ calm voice interrupted him. You watched them, and suddenly it clicked, and you peered at Jack who looked guilty and kinda sad. Your heart broke but he was still the most powerful being in the known universe and you took him shopping for groceries.

“Oh ...I see, guys I’m sorry. In my defense…” you grabbed Jack and pushed him in front of you. “Look at him! Look at this face” you put your arms around him. “He would never hurt me, right?” you asked and he looked at you from above his shoulder, nodding shyly.

“I can’t believe this,” Dean said rubbing a hand on his face. He breathed out and looked at you. “Get in your car, we’re going home. Jack, jump in,” he said, opening the passenger door of Baby.

“He can ride with me” you challenged, lifting your chin “I promised to teach him how to drive later”.

“Okay Jack, now slowly pour the batter in the center. Try to keep it as round as possible.” 

Leaning on the counter near the stove, you watched Lucifer’s kid, cooking pancakes, his tongue peeking out his lips in concentration. “When you see bubbles at the edges, flip it over quickly as I showed you.”

He looked at you panicked when the first bubbles started to appear, and carefully picked up the half-cooked pancake, flipping it over flawlessly. His head snapped up at you, mouth opened with amazement and your fists shot in the air triumphantly. “You did it! Nice job” you opened your palms waiting. He looked confused, “Dude, slap your hands on mine! Come on! Don’t leave me hanging “.

Dean‘s head popped in the kitchen right at that moment. “We hungry here”.

“Almost done. Jack, can you take those to the table? I’ll join in a moment.” 

Dean started to follow him.

“Deeean…” you chanted, “... can you help me with something here” your tone glacial, now.

“S-sure. Um- whatcha need?”

“I need…” you turned to face him smiling sweetly, hands behind on the counter, “... to tell me, how did you manage to find us”. 

You watched as he shifted awkwardly on his feet. “You put a tracking device somewhere in my shit, right?” 

His shoulders sagged and you exhaled “It’s not my phone because it would have been neutralized, so what?” your face contorted in disbelief, “Is it my car? Did you bug my car?” 

He did not say a thing but his expression told you everything. “Seriously?!.... Oh my God, don’t you trust me?”

“What? No, of course, I trust you, don’t be stupid!” he retorted and you blinked at him, “Uh...sorry...we all do. We had already tested if your GPS worked but it didn’t...”

“So, you bugged my car?” 

You turned around to pick up the pitcher with the freshly squeezed orange juice and walked up to him, looking like you wanted to tell him something and he lowered himself. 

On your tiptoes, you brought your lips near his ear and grazing it because you, too, are a little shit sometimes, and whispered, “Next time just ask me or I’ll smack you so hard that not even Castiel can raise your ass from where I’ll send you.

“Yes ma’am,” he stuttered. 

Patting his injured shoulder a little bit harder than you should but believing that he deserved it, you joined the others.

The table in the library looked great. A huge pile of steamy pancakes in the middle, fresh bite-size cut fruit, greek yogurt, because Sam, Nutella and the juice alongside the still fuming family sized Moka. Sam was already piling fruits into his yogurt bowl, Dean hadn’t even sat yet that he already had his hands full of pancakes, bouncing the stack from hand to hand because they were still hot, the entire jar of Nutella under his arm.

“Leave some for us, would you?” you said to Dean who was spreading a nauseating quantity of chocolate cream between the layers.

“This jar is-” he said looking at the number on it “-500g…whatever that means. I think it’ll be enough” you snatched it from his hands and passed it to Jack who thanked you and did the exact same thing that Dean had.

“Jack…are you sure you can eat all of that? “

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Sam “he’s imprinted on Cass and Dean and has been imitating  them since his birth “

“Oh, that’s why he kissed me yesterday,” you said just to be a bit mean to Dean who was currently choking. You poured him some coffee while turning to Jack, “I mean, you must have seen him kiss some girls. Please, tell me that’s all you saw”

“Do we need to talk about that?” Dean said, his voice still strained. “Now?!”

“Yes, that happens on cases. Sam always takes me to get ice-cream or at the movies… he says-” his forehead furrowed, “-he says that it’s best if we wait a bit before going back to the motel, but every time we come back Dean is sleeping drunk and clothed. I don’t understand”

“Dude! Come on!!” Dean groaned.

You snorted, and the coffee stuck in your nose.

“Is that everything?” Dean grunted, putting down the last case. Straightening up, he massaged his hurt shoulder. “What’s all this stuff, anyway?”

“Equipment.” 

You crunched down and opened one of the crates, Dean and Sam peering down curious. At the sight of piles of books and manuals, Dean’s face scrunched up in disgust.

“You think I would have been able to go on a plane with all the weird shit without problems? They shipped all the toys in a container. They should arrive in a few days”

“Toys? What toys?” Suddenly Dean’s eyes sparkled.

“Most of it, you’ve already seen from the British. The rest is mostly prototypes I was helping with. Shouldn’t really have taken them out the lab but, what the hell? They don’t know what you have to face. They could be more useful to you than to them”. You passed the manuals to Sam’s eager hands. “Now, can you show me an empty room you don’t use so I can set up my stuff?”

The next 3 hours were spent setting up a makeshift lab with what little you were able to bring from HQ. Jack offered to help and he was now sitting on a chair while he checked the list. “Is that everything?” you asked, clapping your hands to get rid of some dust.

“I…think so “

“Let me see.” You walked behind him and scanned the list.  “Yep, that’s everything. Thank you, Jack.”

He smiled proudly. You really couldn’t see evil in him. Your eyes fell on the exposed skin on his neck and your hand twitched. If you could just take a bit of his blood…

“what’s all this crap?” Dean’s voice snapped you out of your trance and you looked up at him.

“Your new lab!” you announced, gesturing around, proudly.

“The new what, now?” he walked in and looked around. “Not to be an asshole sweetheart, but we don’t need this stuff.”

Your smile fell, before frowning. “You say that now, but after I’ll show you how this works you’ll thank me. Besides …” you said walking up to him, “... this is just a little one. It only has the basics. You’ll learn in a flash, don’t worry and I translated all the procedures”

“Y/N, we are hunters…” he began. 

“And I’m a lab nerd, I know. But…” you turned to watch the room, “... this could help you with the medical problems and… ” you faced him again, “...preventing nasties, ok?”

“Such as..?”

“…Mmm, like… not having to worry about vamp blood accidentally falling in your mouth or, even better, werewolves’ bites. You inject this-” you said pulling out a vial and shaking it in front of his eyes, “-and no worries. You are safe for up to 4h from doggie genes. Awesome right?” you said wiggling your eyebrows.

“…that’s…ok, yeah that’s actually pretty sweet, but ...why needles, Y/N? Aren't there any…vitamins, gummies?”

“….-then there’s this spray that can partially transform your scent to nonhuman or something. It confuses the nose,” you said waving a can to him. “Oh, oh and this! Oh, this is one of my favorites. Need blood to draw a sigil or some spells? Forget about cutting yourself and….” he and Jack watched as you went around the room grabbing things and dropping them in a pile in Dean’s arms.

Suddenly Cass appeared on the door, “I think Sam has a case”

“Really?!” you stopped with another one of your tools mid-air, throwing it to Dean, who barely caught it and followed Cass.

“She’s very energetic” Jack commented beaming to Dean, who stared down at his full arms and at the door where you disappeared.

“Yeah, …she is” he answered smiling softly, before almost dropping one of the vials.  “Aaah, crap-”

When Dean, followed by Jack, arrived in the war room he came to a harsh halt making Jack almost crash into his back. As Sam was explaining the case, you had your elbows propped up on the light table, stretched to reach the laptop laying in the middle. Your hips swaying casually as you listened to what Sam was saying, unaware that the shorts had ridden up your thighs. His hand flew up to cover Jack's eyes, and he cleared his throat. You straighten up smiling at Sam and spun around.

“I’ll go grab my things. Sam’s gonna update you.” hopping past him you heard him yelling at your back:

“To the car in 20 …and change your pants!” 

“…and change your pants” you mocked while shimmying out of your shorts. “Like, I don’t know any better”. Hopped to squeeze in your leggings, you felt your heart beating fast, excited for your first real hunt with them. A chance to prove your worth, finally! Maybe after this, Dean would stop being an asshole. Grabbing your medical kit and duffel bag, you stopped by the new lab and grabbed a few things. You were going to hunt what was probably rogue werewolves. Should you bring…

“Maybe I should ... yeah, ok.” You went back to your room and dragged out the soft case from under the bed, which you had hastily placed there, the night before. 

“Hello beautiful “ you cooed, stroking the straps across your chest. 

You found everyone in the garage. Jack and Castiel, you noticed, had no luggage. 

“You not coming?” you asked, disappointed.

“No Y/N. I and Jack will stay here for this one”

“Why?”

“It’s probably a milk run, nothing fancy. They can rest this one out and focus on the search for mom” Sam told you, leaning out the passenger seat.

“We’ll stop along the way for a bit before going to Grantsburg” Dean called from the driver seat, “get in”

“Where are we stopping? “ you yelled over the music. Dean lowered the volume, looking over his shoulder to you.

“Sioux Falls “

“Oook, why?”

“It’s a 10h drive to Grantsburg. We’ll stop to rest and visit a friend.”

“Another hunter?”

“And a sheriff and a friend of ours,” Sam added.

You nodded and caressed the leather seats, Dean’s eyes watching from the rear-view mirror. “This car is gorgeous, by the way…” you mused and heard Sam scoffing and Dean, pleased, hummed gently as he patted the dashboard, “...and you have an unhealthy relationship with it,” you added, earning a laugh from Sam and glare from Dean. 

The rest of the drive passed slowly, listening to the same 3 cassettes. By the look Sam gave you, you realized that suggesting something else was out of the question. Like, not even try to ask, it's out of the question, kinda look.  Finally after a drop of temperature that made you put on your old ratty jacket, and the “Welcome to Sioux Falls” sign, Dean parked outside a simple, little house.

You slid out of the car slowly, groaning, stretching your legs painfully.  “Man, I’m not used to these long drives “

“How do you travel long distances back home?” Dean asked retrieving your duffel bag and swinging it on his good shoulder.

“Humans have these amazing inventions called airplanes, you can cover great distances in 1⁄4 of the time”. He mumbled something while Sam simply shook his head. You followed them to the door and watched as a short-haired woman appeared before they could even knock.

“Hey, guys! Couldn’t mistake that car’s sound for anything else.” She hugged them both, warmly. “How are things?”

“Oh, you know Jody. No rest for the hunters. This…” Dean said moving aside, “... is Y/N. We told you about her, yes?”

Jody looked at you with a critic's eye. You smiled uncomfortably, her gaze quickly softening, as she offered her hand.

“Hi…I’m Y/N” you repeated as you took it, smiling.

“Jody Mills... they told me you are Men of Letters?” she asked you while inviting you in.

“More like Ladies of Letters, from the family that initiated me. Ladies run things where I come from”

“Love that!” She closed the door and pointed you to the couch where Dean was already slouched on, Sam occupying the armchair which although quite spacious, looked extremely small with that soft giant on it.  

“Are you here for a case that I missed?” she asked from the kitchen.

“Nah, just visiting. Tomorrow we're driving to Grantsburg for a possible werewolf case… thanks” Sam said, grabbing one of the beers from Jody. Dean was next and she paused a moment, sizing you up.

“…I know I have a baby face but I’m past 26” you smiled bitterly. She blinked and smiled back, handing you the bottle.

“Don’t sound so salty. Give it 15 years and that baby face will be your best ally. Trust me”. Sitting down, she turned to Dean. “I’ll call Donna later to give her a heads up”

“I think this will be a milk run, but sure. Maybe she picked up something. Where are the girls?” Dean asked looking around.

“Alex’s at work, Patience’s gone home for finals and Claire she is ...well…you know” she sighed. 

“Looking for trouble again, I assume” Sam chuckled.

“Yeah …” She confirmed while taking a large gulp of her beer. Looking at her watch she stood up slapping a hand on Dean’s knee. “Stay for dinner?”

“I thought you’d never ask” Dean answered, excited.

This is the first fic that I write in English, so if you see any type of error, do not hesitate to say it so that I can correct myself. I hope you like it ! Thanks for reading me.

April, 1636. Port Tortuga .

"Captain, Captain!" shouted someone on the other side of the door knocking hard on the wood. "We should be sailing in a couple of hours."

"Damn it, Breda, here's a man trying to sleep," he grunted in a bad mood.

Twenty minutes later and with his characteristic calm he left his cabin, adjusting his belt from which all his weapons hung, behind him two beautiful girls who laughed and whispered to each other. Their colourful dresses stood out from the sobriety of the rest of the crew. Roy said goodbye to the girls when they got off the boat and turned with a huge smile on his face to look at his team. His right hand was carefully checking the boxes on deck. She wore her long blond hair tied up in a messy bun and when she moved her bracelets and beads tinkled, making a soft sound of tiny bells. Her white shirt drew her curves and she seemed to shine under the sun of the southern seas.

"Petty Officer Swallow, how's the cargo going?" "All right, sir," she muttered without looking up from the papers.

"Is anything missing?" he insisted, smiling trying to get her to look at him.

"Yes, sir, a lot of things," she snorted in a bad mood giving the documents to the red-haired sailor who had woken him up.

"All right gentlemen, we've got work to do, let's go everybody," he said in a loud voice, gesturing exaggeratedly with his arms. "If we manage to load the boat, we will spend the night in Tortuga."

Queen Elizabeth was rocking in the calm waters of the free port of Tortuga. It wasn't a very big ship. It was barely twelve meters long and was old; it had hundreds of repairs, but it was fast and was good for smuggling and pillaging, which in the end was the most important thing. A bunch of children, the street rats of the island were loading the illegal rum onto the ship. For a handful of coins, anyone was willing to work no matter how hard it was. Captain Mustang, hands on his waist, gazed proudly at his beloved ship.

"Isn't it a bit brazen of you to name your ship after a queen whom you plunder every chance you get?" said a voice full of arrogance behind Roy.

"I am the captain of the ship and give it whatever name I want," he replied irritably as he recognized that voice.

"Be thankful that you are in Tortuga, otherwise I would stop you right now for insulting the crown, Captain Mustang."

"You should be thankful that you are in Tortuga, otherwise I would put my sword through you right now, Commodore Fox."

"Has this stupid egos fight ended, Sir? We still have to finish loading the ship," Riza snorted as she stood beside him as she guided one of the children down the catwalk.

"Yes, petty officer" he turned to look at her, smiling, but she didn't smile back.

He snorted in annoyance and last looked at the stupid officer of the royal army who kept smiling arrogantly as he walked away from the port.

It was noon and Mustang, along with several members of his crew, was on his way to "Sweet Kattalin", one of the port's canteens. It was always crowded, since they have the best lamb stew on this side of the ocean. They sat at one of the tables, starving to death, shouting at the waitresses, acting as if they were in their own house.

"Get your dirty boots off my table, Mustang," the owner of the place grunted." Did you grow up in a pigsty?"

"Catalina, my love" interrupted Havok, taking her by the waist."I missed you tonight."

"You just miss something to put your hands on, you scoundrel, water rat," she snorted away from him. "Wipe that rogue smile off your face, pirate, I'm not going to fall for your cheap tricks."

"That's why I like you so much, Catalina, that mouth of yours..." he smiled brazenly and threw a kiss as he sat on the bench.

The owner of the place was a brunette with wild and curly hair, generous curves and ravishing smile, any man would fight in mourning for looking at her cleavage. She was cynical and foul-mouthed, and capable of putting up a good fight. He liked her, but above all she was a good friend of his petty officer. Catalina had a strange hobby; she collected "wanted" posters of all the villains, delinquents and other thugs who walked through Tortuga. Decorated the walls of the canteen and every time someone was on the wall for the first time, they had to pay for everyone's drinks.

"Why am I"Baby face Mustang"?" he asked looking at his poster whit a sulking sign. " It's stupid."

"Because you are incapable of growing a decent beard, sir," Breda joked, unbuttoning his pants, ready to have a great feast.

"Why is Havoc" Pretty face, Havoc?" Roy insisted, folding his arms across his chest.

"Because I have it, boss," he replied, scratching his blonde beard.

After the delicious food and paying for the part of the sailors who had stayed on the ship, they returned to port. There they spent the afternoon finalizing the preparations for departure, delaying until the next morning the time to go to sea. When night fell, and this time with all his crew, they left Queen Elizabeth to enjoy the crazy nights of Tortuga. Walking through its crowded streets where all kinds of crooks and bad people gathered.

"I have things to do," said Riza disappearing into one of the dark alleys without giving him time to say anything. A tall sailor, with black hair tied up in a ponytail and ears full of earrings, stood beside him and cleared his throat in an exaggerated manner.

"May I speak freely, Captain?" he asked mockingly.

"Hughes, please, put the formalities in your ass..."he said, circling his eyes, but without taking his sight away from the alley through which she vanished.

"What have you done now?"

"I haven't done anything," he turned his head to look at his friend.

"I don't think our beloved boatswain thinks so," Maes smiled and softly elbowed his ribs.

"She wants to go by the Arrow, but we are unready to go after Bradley," he explained shaking his head.

"You always say the same thing... What's your excuse now?"

"A small ship, inexperienced crew, she and I grew up on a pirate ship, but now half of the boys are inexperienced criminals or fishermen bored of working, dry feet, immature... They are unprepared for such a business..."

"Then you'll find another excuse. I know you do it by the map, Roy, I'm not an idiot, nor is she, she's not a lady in distress, she's a pirate. Besides Elisabeth Hawkeye is dead to everyone, nobody is looking for her."

"I will not risk her life for a stupid ship or a stupid treasure."

"Which are important to her, are her inheritance, her legacy and you are denying her the right to claim them."

"Whose side are you on, Maes?"

"On the side of justice, adventure and greed my dear say there are more than ten thousand gold coins in Hawkeye Treasure and precious stones the size of your head."

"They also say he had a daughter with a mermaid..."

"Who knows? Riza is the best swimmer in the crew."

"Shut up, Hughes, lets drink before those river rats end up with all the rum."

And they drank to the point of exhaustion.

He was drunk, very drunk, like the rest of his men crawling around the ship, he wasn't sure how he got there. Riza threw him on the bed. He extended his arms, trying to look as seductive as possible, without achieving it at all, Riza muttered something between her teeth and leaned on the bed to be able to remove his boots. Then she grabbed him by the flaps of his jacket to incorporate him.

"I like you to undress me," he whispered as she took off his jacket and threw it to the floor.

"Well, I hate it when you're this drunk," she said, pulling his belt from which hunged a musket, foil and a dagger.

"I love you so much," he whispered, running one hand around her waist so that she would sit next to him.

"I know..." she answered, unlacing the handkerchief on his head.

"Are you still mad at me?" he asked, holding her face in his hand.

"Yes," she answered in a whisper letting the heat of his hand warm her cheek.

"You know, this morning's girls were Cats, they fought with Mama and needed a place to spend the night... they were not... they... I actually slept on that couch over there " he reluctantly pointed to a leather armchair.

"I know, I was myself a Midnight Mama's girl once, I can recognize my own sisters," she smiled unbuttoning his shirt, taking her time to enjoy the touch of his skin.

"I just wanted to make you jealous."

"I know that too..." carefully caressed his scarred chest and smiled sweetly.

"It didn't work, did it?" He asked with a small drop of hope in his voice.

"No," she replied, nodding her head solemnly, causing a necklace to come out of her chest.

Roy smiled as he saw the little heart hanging from her neck and touched it with his fingers.

"Sleep with me," he begged, playing with the little piece of gold between his fingers.

"No, I'm still angry," she replied, moving away from him.

"Are you going to abandon your captain in this pitiful state?"

"Yes," she smiled, leaning over him and kissing his lips. " I don't sleep with drunken men."

"I know... Unless you're drunk too," he got up with agility, despite his terrible drunkenness and grabbed her by the butt, smiling like a fool. Riza also smiled, kissed him and quickly pulled away, leaving his beloved captain seated, eyes closed, waiting for another kiss.

"It's bedtime, Captain Mustang," she replied, pushing him onto the bed again, trying to look serious.

"I love you."

"You already told me that."

next

Villain! Deku au; chapter sixteen: A Fire In The Night

First

Previous

Midoriya ran the bar as usual that day while his teammates went over what they were to do during the infiltration. They were to attack in the evening, when the students would be tired from quirking out and the teachers would be tired of putting up with them. The only problem was the annoying wait until evening… and telling the customers that they wouldn’t be open from prime drinking time, but that was mostly just arguments. About half of the bar patrons were participating in the infiltration, reading the vague instructions that Deku had given them each. Somewhere along the line, somebody started a discussion about what they should be called- not that it mattered. “League of Villains’ Frontal Force!” Twice, a boisterous villain with a cloning quirk, chimed in. His attitude was always a bit too bubbly for a villain, but he was the appreciated working comic relief. “Nice alliteration, but that sounds stupid. We need a name that does the job; it doesn’t need to sound flashy. We should be the Attack Force,” Mustard, a B-ranked assassin with a knack for murder, argued. Unlike some of his comrades, he prefered quiet kills and using his quirk to take out enemies without a struggle. “We should be a squad! A tight knit group fighting under the same ideals! The League of Villains’ Attack Squad!” added Spinner, to describe him as outgoing wouldn’t quite cover it; he was enthusiastic, to say the least, and a justice fighter(™) to boot. His past altercations left him with an oxymoronic hatred for heroes and a love for justice. He was, most definitely, the strongest Stain fan of the group. “That’s so childish, go for something like the League of Villains’ Vanguard. It sounds so much cooler and has a meaning behind it,” surprisingly the philosophical input came from Dabi; more likely than not, he just wanted to sound smarter than the rest of the group, though. “We take action!” Toga gleefully chimed in, “Action to make the world a better place!” They could have gone on all day and never left the hideout if Midoriya didn’t chime in. “The League of Villains’ Vanguard Action Squad. We lead an action based revolution with a tight knit group. Over. Done. No further discussion,” if Deku hadn’t said anything, Kurogiri looked like he was about to resolve the conflict himself. A silent, almost invisible, nod of thanks was sent to Midoriya.

Kurogiri slowly fed the villains through a warp gate to a mountain protecting the hideout. Miscellaneous chatter soaked up the short waiting time that the villains were currently being melodramatic about. “No good, it’s just not cute!” Toga, one of the many bouncy children in the League complained aimlessly. “The abstruse administration has laid out our orders. While they don’t appear to be the most professional, their planning is sure to be sound,” Mustard argued for the sensibility of the plan. “Not that, not that. It’s just not cute,” she aimlessly complained about whatever was most prominent in her cluttered mind at the time. “Who the hell cares? We came to kill, and I want to get to it!,” Muscular was just ticked that he was the newbie of the group and was very much treated as such. He was a powerful ally to have, but he did not embody the beliefs of the league at all. He was a chaotic evil amongst lawfuls and neutrals. “Shut up, weirdos, the plan is to wait for all of us,” Dabi spoke up, looking over the see of forest. Magne, Spinner, and Moonfish all walked through the portal after taking too long to get ready. “Ambitious punks only cause more damage than they’re worth. What they need is a hit from a gang of elites,” an open mouth declaration to the rest of the squad, “Peace is ours, and they will learn that tonight.”

Eventually the time came for the mission to truly begin. Mustard and Dabi were to launch the initial attack, drawing the attention on them, while Magne and Spinner were to hunt down the Pussycats. Once the smoke was up and ready, everybody spilt. The League of Villains’ Vanguard Action Squad slunk into the forest like a snake in the grass. Mustard released his quirk, the gas swirling like a typhoon, and Dabi did his job, igniting various trees, all far enough away to spread the fire, but not too far away as he was lazy. Magne and Spinner went to target the Pussycats. Moonfish and Toga wandered the forests in search of stragglers.

Mange was the first to officially strike, pulling on of the Pussycats towards her and landing a heavy blow to Pixiebob. “We are the League of Villains’ Vanguard Action Squad, tiny UA students. Pleased to meetcha!” Spinner stupidly declared. He was a living definition of a poorly written comic book villain, always blurting out whatever comes to mind. ‘Ha ha, heroes! I (we) have (think we have) the upper hand! (we don’t) Since we’re so confident (cocky, stupid), here is the entire layout of said plan, step by step (as if we were explaining it to one of our recruits)’ type of badly written comic book villain. Magne was smarter than Spinner, holding Pixie-Bob to the ground with her weapon. “Should I crush her pretty little skull? I don’t see why not, but what do you guys think?” psychological manipulation that was to instil a feeling of helplessness. It wasn’t outwardly taking a hostage, but it was showing that she wasn’t hesitating. The problem with hostages always becomes ‘if you kill them, you have nothing,’ so having the clear ability to ignore your “advantage,” shows power. Student’s shocked faces were priceless as they gaze upon the villains. Tiger, however, was not having it. He knew the woes of being a woman, and, as a person, also wished for a similar happiness. It was no secret that the Pussycats were steadily creeping past optimal age. Pixie-Bob was taking it the hardest. “Don’t you dare!” he hissed- pun intended, with rage hot on tongue. Both Ragdoll and Tiger were happy with hero life, Mandalay was just worried about the idea of being old, but Pixie-Bob was the romantic of the group. Magne didn’t care for that though, she had her heart broken far to many times to care about the heart of a “beautiful” woman. Tired of being the “coyote ugly,” she wanted to make it so that beauty didn’t run the world. Spinner cut in as well, completely knowing Magne’s anger for those deemed “attractive.” He called out, “Don’t be hasty Big Sis Mag,” he knew she loved that nickname, for several reasons, “You, too, Tiger,” he held his arms out to stop the two readied opponents. “Holding life in your hands is the most important thing you can do! Do you not remember Stain’s teachings?”

Of course that fanboy would bring up Stain. He took every word from that man’s mouth as if it was his lifeline, after a while that was what happened. He believed heavily in justice, but was always made fun of as a kid. He wasn’t the strongest, the smartest, and definitely not the most beautiful: he wasn’t an “ideal” hero, and his strong sense of justice got him nowhere. “Stain… So these people were his followers,” Iida almost felt regret at this point, the thought that Stain had followers who quite clearly knew his face as one that brought their “teacher’s” demise. He could easily push it aside because Stain was an asshole who put his brother in intensive care, despite being a hero for the purest of reasons. “You got that right!” half right, at most; most of “Stain’s followers” weren’t actually his followers, they just believed in same or similar ideals. Shiragaki couldn’t understand that, but he was just a big man child who refused to try- a statement taken directly from fellow members of the league. “And we know all about your feats, four eyes,” Spinner looked at him with a side glance, “And how you helped bring Stain’s end in Hosu.” He placed his hand on his weapon before he continued, “I’m who they call Spinner, and I’m here to make Stain’s dreams come true!” he declared as he “unsheathed” his weapon. It was a new addition for him, made of every knife Stain left behind, with a few of his own, awkwardly tied together to create a patchwork buster sword. Spinner, still lost in the confidence of his introduction and the echoed ‘woah’s of his blade’s reveal, plucked a nerve of Tiger’s.

“That’s good for you, but,” he looked to Pixie-Bob who was lying unconscious, “Pixie-Bob, my friend and teammate, has been worried about marriage. Happiness in life is a woman’s woe! With all of it’s difficulty, she tries very hard!” at this point it was just an oration. Until Tiger got to the point, “How dare you leave an ugly scar like that on her beautiful face, and blab like that without any care?” he was yelling now, showing his true colors. “So heroes have such plain dreams, too?” Spinner was laughing at the thought. The term ‘hero’ had degraded so much, to the point when they’re worried about life after their job. Wasn’t that so funny to think about? A profession where your only purpose is to help people, and there’s a question of what comes after this? People who are trusted with lives have time to worry about marriage and their white picket fence dreams; do the people not matter? Spinner couldn’t help but laugh as he charged towards half of the Pussycats. “Tiger! I’ve sent out the order to Ragdoll to make sure the students are safe! All we need to do is hold them off here!” Mandalay relayed to the partner beside her. She turned to the students and gave them what they needed to know, “Get on your way kids! Be alert, but remember: no fighting!” she couldn’t afford to turn her back. “Keep them safe for me, Class President!” a statement to encourage Iida; being called the class president reminded him that Momo accepted the ‘Vice’ role because she trusted his decision making more than her own. “I’ll make sure we stay safe and out of the way. You heard her, time to go!” Iida rallied his peers as their fearful feet pounded down the path to safety.

Shiragaki and Kurogiri discussed the likelihood of the mission as their pawns were in play. “Do you think they can pull this off?” being honest, Kurogiri still wasn’t over the stupid naming ceremony that they held instead of preparing for battle. “Maybe, maybe,” he almost laugh, unwilling to admit that Midoriya’s words made him change his strategy. Sure, he could have thought of it on his own, and that was what he told himself, but, ultimately, it was Midoriya who told him to think of it like a video game. “I thought this was an rpg, advancing through the storyline as quickly as possible, but I was all wrong. See, when my level one party and I should have been killing slimes, we were trying to fight the boss,” he understood that his ambition got ahead of him, seeing as all the he wanted to do was defeat All Might; it was a heavy fault to admit. “Instead, I am the player, I am the GM, moving my characters and the storyline to places that will get them closer to the end goal,” he grinned at the idea of his master plan, “And to do that, we need to break a few walls to allow the chaos in. It doesn’t matter if they thrive or not, they might not even survive,” he laughed leaning back slightly. Kurogiri didn’t follow, “So they are disposable?” how would that help at all? “No, no, of course not! They’re all comrades, but what matters is the lingering fear that something could happen at any given moment. Wariness, mistrust, accusation; why fear us when they fear each other? But of course, I do hope they succeed,” he made a point. Wariness would fry their systems; who has time for self care when evil might be anywhere? Mistrust would scramble their minds; it was exactly that! Just a thought! Who’s to say if it’s wrong or right? Accusation would tear them apart: why am I suspicious? The fact that you find me suspicious is quite so. Do I even know you? Not to mention the big pawn: Deku; the young boy Izuku Midoriya. Shiragaki knew his relations to the explosive blonde boy, an ex bully who knew him as a hero fanboy. All Might himself, who had shot down the young boy’s dreams. The two students who fought Stain in Hosu, side by side with the kid who saved their lives. Shiragaki grinned as the battle raged throughout the mountains. Several unconscious and unaccounted for, injury count racking up a total; it was going just as planned.

Next

Master

Natalie Jones and the Golden Ship

Part 1/? - A Meeting at the Palace Part 2/? - Curry Talk Part 3/? - Princess Sitamun Part 4/? - Not At Rest Part 5/? - Dead Men Tell no Tales Part 6/? - Sitamun Rises Again Part 7/? - The Curse of Madame Desrosiers Part 8/? - Sabotage at Guedelon Part 9/? - A Miracle Part 10/? - Desrosiers’ Elixir Part 11/? - Athens in October Part 12/? - The Man in Black Part 13/? - Mr. Neustadt Part 14/? - The Other Side of the Story Part 15/? - A Favour Part 16/? - A Knock on the Window Part 17/? - Sir Stephen and Buckeye Part 18/? - Books of Alchemy Part 19/? - The Answers Part 20/? - A Gift Left Behind Part 21/? - Santorini Part 22/? - What the Doves Found Part 23/? - A Thief in the Night Part 24/? - Healing Part 25/? - Newton’s Code Part 26/? - Montenegro Part 27/? - The Lost Relic Part 28/? - The Homunculinus Part 29/? - The End is Near Part 30/? - The Face of Evil Part 31/? - The Morning After Part 32/? - Next Stop Part 33/? - A Sighting in Messina Part 34/? - Taormina Part 35/? - Burning Part 36/? - Recovery

Nat comes to, and her friends are there for her.

Nat woke up in a bed, with Sir Stephen looking down at her.

“How long was I out?” she asked, and looked around.  Most of the walls were painted white, although the one behind the head of the bed was yellow, and the floor was hardwood.  Gold curtains covered a pair of French doors that led out onto a little balcony.  Above the bed were two stylized paintings of baskets of flowers, in inoffensive colours. This was a hotel room.  “Whose room is this?”

“The room is Madame Desrosiers’,” Sir Stephen replied.  “We didn’t think she’d be returning to it.  And you have been sleeping perhaps an hour.”

Nat sat up a little.  Sir Stephen was wearing a heather gray t-shirt now, but the burns he’d sustained were peeking out above the collar and below the sleeve.  These looked much improved, more like scar tissue than blistered skin – all trace would be gone by this time tomorrow.

She held up her burned hand.  It didn’t hurt anymore, and when she examined it, it looked completely whole.  Even her fingernails were back.  The only sign that anything odd had happened was a ragged tan line around her wrist, where the new pale skin met the part that had been out in the Mediterranean sun all week.  She flexed the fingers.  They were a little stiff, and prickled as if she’d been sitting on them and the circulation was only just coming back, but there was nothing apparently wrong with them.

“Where are Newton and Desrosiers, then?” asked Nat.

“They escaped into the hills while we were seeing to you,” said Sir Stephen. “Sam, Clint, and Sharon have gone to search for them.  All three are well-armed.  Your father and Jim wanted to stay here with you, and Sharon made me stay, too, in case the alchemists returned to finish what they began.”  He turned to the doorway.

Allen must have heard her voice, because he was on his way into the room. He set his coffee cup down on the bedside table, sat down on the bed, and gave Nat a hug.  Nothing was said, he just sat there clutching her so tight, it almost made her ribs creak.

When he finally sat up again, with tears in his eyes, he took her restored hand in both of hers.  She squeezed his fingers.  When she’d been hurt in the past, the only people who took an interest were the doctors, cold and clinical, repairing her so she could be of further use.  Now here was Allen, whose own world would have ended if she’d been hurt.  It was a warm, safe feeling, at the same time as it seemed like a tremendous responsibility.

“I’m okay, Dad,” she said.

“I know.”  He brushed her cheek.  “Thank heavens.”

Jim was now standing in the doorway, although he was hanging back to give Nat and Allen a bit of space.  Natasha wiped her own eyes – where had those tears come from – and smiled at him. “Thanks,” she said.

“Don’t mention it.”  Jim held up a hand.

“No,” said Natasha.  “That was five days of your life.”

“Maybe not that much,” Jim said.  “We used some on the bird.”

“Still,” Nat insisted.  “Thank you.”

He smiled softly.  “You’re welcome.”

The others returned after midnight, empty-handed and disappointed.  There were hundreds of little towns and farms on the slopes of Mount Etna, some of them now being evacuated ahead of what was looking more and more like a potentially serious eruption.  The police had refused to let them go as high as they would have liked, and they’d eventually had to admit that they didn’t have a hope of finding Desrosiers and Newton.  Then on their way back to Taormina, they’d gotten stuck in traffic, crawling along for hours as everybody tried to go the same way on roads that had not been well-maintained.

“Did you at least get Laura her pistachios?” Natasha asked.

“Yes, I did!” said Clint proudly.  He put two bags of them on the table, and then took out a cluster of rather more mysterious objects, held together on raffia like a bunch of fish on a string. “Also this ceramic garlic.  They had it at a place here in town.  There were all kinds of ceramic fruits and vegetables, but I thought the garlic was coolest.”

“What’s she gonna do with ceramic garlic?” asked Jim.

“I don’t know, I just thought it was neat,” Clint confessed with a shrug.  The cloves, which were hollow, rang softly against one another as they twisted on the raffia.

“Maybe it’ll keep away ceramic vampires,” Nat suggested.

“You must be feeling better,” Sharon observed.

Nat flexed her hand again.  It was no wonder, she thought, that Clint kept rubbing at his side.  It was a weird feeling, knowing she’d been injured but not having any evidence of it.  It was as if the new skin itched but on the inside, where she couldn’t scratch it. She wondered if Jim felt that over his whole body.

“The ferries are jammed with people evacuating,” Sharon said with a yawn. “So we can’t go back to the mainland until tomorrow at the earliest.  According to the radio, scientists keep saying the volcano won’t erupt violently, but it’s hard to believe that when the government is working so hard at pulling people out.”

“That’s probably exactly the way the alchemists like it,” Nat said, lying back on the pillows again.  She had expected to be exhausted, as if being healed by the elixir ought to be hard work, but she felt fine.  “They want to work in privacy, so emptying all the surrounding towns is perfect for them. Especially if they’re going to create the stone in or around the volcanic crater.”

“Desrosiers said that was stupid,” Clint reminded her.

“I don’t think we can believe a word Desrosiers says about anything, including that,” Nat replied.

“Great,” Clint grumbled.

“Maybe you can get Laura one of those necklaces made of the lava stones,” Sharon suggested.

The others all seemed to be tired, and one by one they retired to sleep on the sofa, in the chairs, even on the floor of the hotel room, leaving the bed for Natasha.  It would have been a pretty useless gesture anyway, as Nat was used to sleeping in uncomfortable places, but there was also the fact that she wasn’t tired.  It was as if the elixir had come with a shot of energy drink.  She managed to doze a little, and then woke up with a warm breeze on her face.

Everybody else was asleep – except for one figure, who was standing out on the balcony with the doors open.  Nat wasn’t surprised to see that it was Jim.

The windows on this side of the building faced towards the volcano.  With the street so narrow and other buildings all around them, the peak of Etna was not visible from the balcony, but the rising column of steam was lit ruby red from below, flickering as the lava bubbled, crusted, cooled, and then welled up again.  Nat got up and crossed to the window to stand next to Jim.

“Quite a show, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

“Another thing you’re grateful you got to see?” Nat asked.

“Maybe,” he said.  “Volcanoes are neat… it would be cool to get up there sometime when it’s not actually erupting.  To get a look at the craters and rock formations.”

“You know those things exist,” Nat mused.  “How do you know it?”

“I have no idea,” Jim admitted, shaking his head slowly.

“What do you know about the philosopher’s stone?” asked Nat.

Jim had to think about it a minute.  “I couldn’t read that stuff he wrote out in his journals… I wonder if that’s because he can’t easily read the code, either.  Maybe I only know the stuff he knows without thinking about it.  But I know that the stone uses nuclear reactions to rearrange matter, copying a template.  It’s sort of like the cells I’m made of.  They use the DNA they’re given to rearrange themselves.  That seems to be the basis of alchemy: learning what nature’s templates are and how to copy them and create something new.”  

“So he needs gold if he wants to make more gold,” said Natasha.  The standard joke, as presented in half a dozen Terry Pratchett books was that alchemists could turn gold into less gold.  “And a feather from the holy spirit to make himself a god.”

“You don’t think that’s gonna work, do you?” Jim asked.  He was clearly unsure himself, but then he had reason to be concerned about what Newton was capable of, if anyone did.

“No,” Nat replied firmly.  “Mostly because I don’t think their sacred feather is a real relic.  A feather just wouldn’t last that long.  I’ve seen human hair that was only five hundred years old, and it was all bleached and basically just turned to dust the moment it was touched.  Since the pigeons are dark, I suspect it’s from a seagull.  That means all Newton will accomplish with it is turning himself into a bird, or maybe a whole flock of them, or just a weird mass of keratin.” It depended on how much detail the philosopher’s stone could replicate something in.

“Sorry,” she added a moment later.  “You don’t want to hear things like that, do you?”

“Not really.”  He reached for her hand, then hesitated.  “You don’t think… since those cells have no DNA in them and don’t necessarily know which body they belong to, if we touch, will we stick together?”

Nat shrugged and touched his fingers with her right hand.  It felt normal.  “Looks like no.”

They stayed there a few minutes longer, watching the smoke glow red and orange. It would flicker and die and then start up again, over and over as the lava simmered below.  It was the kind of thing people usually only saw on television or in National Geographic magazine. Knowing it was only a hundred miles away was exhilarating.

Then it stopped.

Because of the long cycle of flickering, it took a moment for Natasha to realize that it wasn’t going to start up again.  The mist around the peak was still present, lit from below by the lights of the towns and the traffic, but the glow of the volcano itself had died out.

“I guess it’s done for tonight,” said Nat.

“Yeah,” said Jim.  “Looks like even the volcano wants me to go to bed.”

Nat knew how to put him to sleep now.  “Come with me,” she said, squeezing his fingers.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I want you to,” she said.

“You don’t need me,” Jim said.  “You’ve got your friends and your father here.  They’ll look after you.”  He was reminding her that they were permanent and he was not – and that she had real human relationships and he could not, and he didn’t want her to sleep with him out of pity.

“Yeah, but right now I want you,” she said.  Jim needed to feel wanted.  So, honestly, did Nat sometimes.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Very sure,” she said.

“All right.”  He stroked her cheek with his thumb, and she smiled at him as he leaned down to let their foreheads touch.  “They’re all gonna see us when they wake up.”

“They can say whatever they want,” Nat replied.  If anybody wanted to judge them, she would let them know exactly what she thought of that.

Chapter 9: Arenas of the Past

I’m not proud of what happened next. Not proud at all. I don’t like when I get this way, but in that moment, I was riding high. I finally had my time to shine. I would have it.

The man sitting before me was fair-faced, blunt and wild hair with a short stubble, but eyes deep-set with a hunger of desperation. He was roughly past in his twentieth year, and wore meager clothes. The genuine sense I gained from his demeanor was more reluctant stubbornness than anger, having been roused from a haze of merriment into the sober reality. Two of his friends dead, one of his friends unconscious, being kowtowed into bondage by a flying rock and a halfling, and finally a menagerie of other characters staring him down, taking his winnings and demanding answers.

It was about to become worse.

I stared him down, beer seeping into my clothes, blood staining my face. I was tired, hungry, and one might say full of emotion. I took my place at that table, and began our dance.

“So, you’re the man we’ve been looking for? The Redbrands, hmm? We have questions we would like you to answer.” “Yeah, I’m with the Redbrands. What of it?” His brusque accent did not retain the Northern lilt, but was a product of central Faerun and an upbringing lacking in punctual etiquette. “As I said, we have questions we would like you to answer, and given there is no others around, I don’t believe you’re in a place to debate.” Epide chimed in. “Take his balls!”

The man suddenly realized his out was through my mercy, as his other options were a giant marauder who wielded ice magic, the sadistic halfling who executed his friend and tied him up, and a flying rock who demanded sacrifice. He resigned himself.

“Question number one: Are you working for Glasstaff?” “Yeah, I am. Or at least, I think I am. He’s working for a couple other fellows, but it’s mostly him.” “Question number two: Do you know where Gundren Rockseeker is currently being held?”

His face became tense as I leaned in, pressing on this matter. “I don’t know. Not told these things. All I know is Glasstaff said he’s important to the operation.” I increased in my interrogation’s volume. “Let’s try again. Where is Gundren Rockseeker being held?” “I already told you. I don’t know! Glasstaff is a bit of a fuddy-duddy. He keeps his info real close, yeah?” “You chose to not tell us. Question three: Do you know the location of Cragmaw Castle?” “I’m told nothing, you pricks! I just sit here, all day, holding prisoners as needed, defending the old man. I don’t know anything!” “Are you just saying that, or are you really that low in the ranks?” His face became suddenly contorted. In my mind, a voice chimed in. Yes, this is the face of a man who is about to give up. His eyes began dart in fear, his body shake. “So what do you know?” “How should I know what you want?” “Have you heard of Wave Echo Cave?” “Well... ‘course I have. Everybody who lives in this town knows of it. That big old deposit, all that mana. It’s aaallll for the taking. Come to think, Glasstaff was talking about it. Maybe that Gundren fellow has something-” “We know this already. So now, what can you tell us about the location?” “Oh, for God’s sake- I told you! I don’t know specifics!” His legs began to tap frantically. “What more do you want? I told you everything!” Urnig spoke up. “We don’t know where your family lives yet, so as to seek retribution.” This was a vile threat, but broke our prisoner down further. “I told *sniff* I told you. Don’t know. I’m not told.” “Wrong answer,” growled Urnig, and he flashed a dagger quick. Before I had time to react, the man’s arm was turning crimson, a sizable chunk carved off, blood flowing in rivulets from the exposed veins. He began to wail and moan in agony. In that small room, I should have held Urnig back. I should have. I continued. “Now you know what we are capable of, as I was saying... what do you know?” “I TOLD YOU! I TOLD YOU EVERYTHING! I TOLD YOU!” “No, you haven’t. I have one last question. Why? Why did you go through all of this?”

He stared at me with a look I cannot described via any one emotion. Fear? Disgust? Sadness? There was one more prominent. Sudden command.

“I wanted to work. I needed work.” “You were the town guard. You were put in place to protect this town.” “There weren’t no other jobs that paid well. In a town like this? So I just needed some good, honest employment. Or rather, dishonest employment. I’ll take it where I can. Glasstaff just offered more than that godforsaken town master.” “You are a coward for abandoning you post!” “Anyone would take the deal I made. Besides, who are you to tell me? You never had to struggle in your life. You got the stink of wealth on you. You haven’t suffered.” Something in me snapped. He was about to know my hardships.

“You are correct in that assumption, sir. I am quite wealthy, or at least, my family is wealthy. So i could safely say I have struggled less than you. Tell me now. Have you had a bad day? As to say, a really bad day. Think about your worst day. You don’t think I’ve lived that worst day?” I continued. “Have you ever fought in the arena?” He shook his head, attention full diverted to my presence. “It is tough, especially when you descend from the aristocracy. At a young age, roughly five or six, you are sent to learn any one of the arts this world had to offer. I was told, never chose, to pursue fighting. You train your body, at no older than seven, to fight in skirmishes, and under the hot summer sun, you sweat. This may go on for a year. Soldiers conscripted into militias usually halt and wait on orders from superiors, but I was sent immediately into smaller arenas, with no rest and no hesitation. “When you are young, you are introduced to your first fights. Each is designed to be non-lethal, no blood even draws in most of these fights. First hit. You figure this is a nice sport. You will not participate in the actual bloodsport? Perhaps you will stay the course. But then, oh then, the real swords come out. “You do your very best to not be scratched, nicked, or stabbed. It is not for your health. Those with less scars tend to be more desirable in matrimony and hold regalia when they leave the sport. Those who have scars should pray they are place in nondescript or fashionable places.” The man began to look at my soliloquy in unnerving attention. My pace quickened.

“All the while, you are still sweating under the sun. Depending on what study of weaponry and dueling you decided upon, your body might be morphed into a sinewy, gangly mess. As was my lot. I had no chance of buffering attacks, so my speed and range was what kept me alive and clean of scars. “Then, one day, you are thrown into the lion’s den. It comes without any true preparation. You are still sweating, but now it no longer comes from training, but fear. You might try to survive the matches, and spare those in your stead. “It takes one fighter, one match, to change you. Suddenly, you’re staring down the end of a merciless blade. And all you hear is applause. You are a plaything to them.”

It was at this moment I could see my life in moments. I recalled the first time I had to stare down death, a sword looking to cut my face. My voice cracked.

“And all you want is for it to end! You try to find something to hold onto. The crowds!” I could see their faces as masques, twisted and exaggerated.

“A mentor!”

The old man smiled back, alighted but lying.

“A Love!”

Their face was misty, obscured by time.

My voice caught in my throat. The prisoner was well and truly crying in fear from my theatrics. His eyes manic. They said one phrase. I need to get away.

“Do not tell me I haven’t had hardships. I have suffered the worst day of my life, and held my morals.” “Why are you doing this?! What do you want from me!?”

I leapt off my position on the table and grabbed him by his collar. He gasped as a reaction, no real emotion behind it except shock, as my blood streaked face and wild tangle of hair rose to meet him.

“... I just wanted to see your tears.” I dropped him on the floor. Whatever I wanted from him, I had gotten.

I stared back at my other friends. There was a silence, only cut by the crying of the mess of a man. Artemis and Urnig stood there, the pale look of two people having witnessed a crime. Epide floated by with a concerned look while maintaining his natural posture of simple pleasures, gnawing on a sliced of cured pork. I exhaled quick and began to put myself together again.

Clearly not enough, as Aurora had rejoined our party. She had been searching in the other room for Glasstaff and only returned with evidence. She walked into a sight of blood and stale beer, two bodies on the floor, an unconscious and raggedy man leaned in a fugue state, a sobbing mess sidled on the cold stone floor, and her friends in various states of either mania or silence.

“You’re not going to like... what in heavens went on here?” My back was to her. She would see my face, coated and wild in the fluvial grime of the manor. I took the time to dap with my kerchief and turned with a simple and wry smile. “Nothing to worry about, darling. Sadly, we attempted... coercion, but these are just low thugs. No information from them. Did you, uh, happen to find anything out?”

Aurora’s iridescent purple skin was illuminated by the chandelier on the ceiling and the sconces embedded in stone, from the bygone days of Tresendar’s past. “Well, I have found a room to the side that held the potions and alchemic supplies, and it seems we were too late to catch Glasstaff. He seems to have fled shortly after we entered these chambers. All that’s left is a chest of valuables and this.” She placed a scrap of paper on the gambling table.

According to its contents, a being only signified by the emblem of a spider contacted Iarno Albrek. They had colluded to receive Gundren, and possibly our wagon, before we arrived in Phandalin and prevent us by any means necessary. All that mattered to this spider individual were the dwarven maps that led to Wave Echo Cave. What this told me was the Lord’s Alliance had been betrayed by Iarno. According to what had been relayed by Sildar, Lord Albrek was intended to establish an accord in Phandalin that would have connected the hamlet to the Sword Coast via the trade routes. But by allying with the goblin population and turning the guards, this had set back the town for months, while Iarno and the Spider searched for Wave Echo Cave as a means of securing the treasures inside and holding the town hostage. Damnable traitors.

We agreed to regroup on the surface, as Aurora led us into the bedchambers of Iarno, where she had located a secret door that surfaced near the main entrance. As we climbed the spiral staircase, I made a mental note to inform Sildar of our prisoners. I had enough blood on my hands for one night.

Reemerging on the mossy grass, I could now see the front of Tresendar and the overlook of Phandalin down the hill, a mightily groaning monster leering from beyond influence. As we readjusted to the dusk sky, I could hear a cry from beyond the walls. I ran along, searching for the source, and discovered Sildar in fisticuffs with another man. “You there! Give me a hand!” I mustered up the last of my feral desire of fighting and launched myself at the dastard, holding his arms in a grapple. The man was human and wore a red and black cloak with wicked patterns and ill runes. On the ground lie a staff with a shattered glass to one side. Clearly, this fight had only recently begun, and Sildar had taken him unaware. To that, as I held the assailant, Sildar proceeded to lay a series of blows to discombobulate and tame him. I could feel the dull thus of an impact as each blow rammed into the stomach, with one taking a crack at the skull, a shout erupting in the evening sky. I was growing increasingly worried more bloodshed was inevitable. “Sildar, he’s had enough! We have him.”

My lord-in-arms saw me behind his prey, eyes wide with exhaustive desperation, the proceedings of a full day. He lowered his fists, and Artemis took to tying the man up. I sauntered to Sildar’s side, a perplexed look on my face. “Who is this man?” “That, young man, is Glasstaff. I recognized him as Iarno Albrek. I was doing a patrol of the area near the Sleeping Giant, and saw him running from the manor. I confronted him on the matter of his absence, initially gladdened to see him, but he began to speak with a malice I’d never expected. Verily, he tried to hypnotize me, but I did not fall for his ruse, and he attacked me in retribution. I thank you for your assistance in this matter, Tomera.”

As we led Albrek away to the Townmaster’s Hall through town, people in the streets began to congregate in their windows. The man who had terrorized Phandalin with his devices and schemes was in custody once and for all.

Townmaster Wester was stunned by this revelation when we arrived at the hall, which also housed a holding cell for corralling the criminals of the town. He placed Iarno under arrest for his conspiracy against his settlement and immediately sentenced him to imprisonment until extradition and trial in Neverwinter.

As the door shut on Iarno’s cell, the normally silent foe looked us in the eye. “You believe these bars can hold me? I have influence the likes of which you have never dreamed of! I will be out by the end of the fortnight, and free from this town’s chains!” Sildar folded his arms. “Pray you do not escape, as it would be better for you to not confront me a second time.” With that, he and our group took leave of the cells.

Wester paid us for our service and announced that thanks to our public display of parading Lord Albrek, the remaining Redbrand force had retreated into the wilderness rather than face punishment. For the first time in months, the town cryer announced the night was peaceful.

I was still in a bit of a state from the whole ordeal, but the matter with the bandit had reminded me of a choking want that I had nearly replaced in the months on the road. And yet, it was the modus operandi of my travels. Before I left the hall, Sildar took me aside.

“Tomera, tonight your actions were exemplary. I cannot thank you enough for your measures in capturing Lord Albrek. For that, I am conferring upon you the title of Cloak of the Lord’s Alliance. In this ceremony, we desire no pageantry but a sense of intimate camaraderie. Are you prepared to receive these responsibilities?” My face was flush in necessity. “I am, Lord Hallwinter.”

“Then Tomera, son of House Sange, knight-errant of Silverymoon, I confer upon to you the emblem of the Lord’s Alliance and the title of Cloak. May you seek to bring a measure of harmony to Faerûn, and all of it’s inhabitants.” With this, he withdrew a pin and stuck it to the loose cloth that held my leather armor in place. The pin was a golden crown of five stems, representing the major countries of the royal courts and the heads of state that ruled them, united by a silver circle that held the crown and pin in place.

The simple piece glimmered in the rising moon, and I stared at the title I had been bestowed. “Thank you, incredibly, Lord Hallwinter.” “You are now one of us, Tomera. You may now call me Sildar.” I realized I might have been impertinent in calling him by his given name in earlier interactions. Surely, it was all for dedication and admiration, but it was still uncouth.

As I bowed simply, I recalled my wants. “Now that I am a member of the Alliance, Sildar, there is a matter i wish to discuss.” “Oh? Whatever is the matter?” I swallowed my spittle collecting in my mouth, my face burning. Were I more Human in physiology, I would be the hue of a lady’s blush. I had only ask one request, and I would be one step closer to finding him. But, as I went to ask, I froze. There were two separate requests I desired, equally important, equally necessary. To bequest two separate desires so quickly would be impertinent. I had no choice but to call upon my namesake, the goddess of luck.

“There is a person I need found, and perhaps your connection might be advantageous in locating him.” “What is their name, Tomera?”

In an act of quiet resolve, I retrieved from my pack one of the gold coins I had procured from the hideout. Though the faces of the coin seemed to be the same, one had been marked by a scratch.

Smooth side, I ask him about Andrew Scratched side, I ask about Jakobi

I flipped the coin and caught it. Scratch.

“Since you are familiar with the city of Silverymoon, perhaps you are aware of an elf by the name of Jakobi?” “I can’t say I am terribly aware. Are they a citizen?” “They were a citizen. Jakobi is an ancient elf, an elder of Silverymoon who was beloved by all for his wisdom and mastery of many arts. You see, he was my mentor, and the reason I am still adept at the blade and bow. He was a good man, but that could not save him from fate. Some years ago, he was tried for the crime of grand theft, and found guilty. For his actions, he was exiled from the city, never to return again. But I have reason to believe he is innocent. No, I am sure of his innocence. He was removed from the city for a crime he did not commit, and I have taken to clearing his name and returning him to his rightful place and home. If he is even still alive. If not, I should want to return his reputation to a place of high regard by those who sought to remove him.” A small silence hung in the hall, as I took a small inhale. “I ask you, should you find any evidence to his location, to send correspondence to me. Should you find him yourself, tell him Tomera is searching for him.”

Sildar took a deep breath and exhaled with a nod. “I will do this, Tomera. If it means righting what you see fit, it is the will of the Alliance.” He patted my shoulder in affirmation and left me alone in the hall to rejoin my fellow travelers.

And now, I sit here, staring at the sights below, writing these words, the pin on my desk at the Stonehill Inn and the coin with the scratch in my pocket. Did I make the right decision? Did I do the right thing? Did I deserve this pin at all?

Only the morning sun would calm my mind. The torches are going out one by one as the people return to their homes. As I stare at the moon, I am want of many things.

Such is the fate of princes.

Yuuri (on my wall)

A quick one-shot, because the idea made me smile. I’ll be back with more Manifest Emotion soon, though :)

Title and AO3 link: Yuuri (on my wall)

Rating: Teen for Yuri’s potty mouth

Summary: Victor wishes he had a collection of Yuuri's memorabilia. Yuuri doesn't think there is any.Yuri Plisetsky knows better.

Victor insisted on bringing the stupid pork cutlet bowl’s creepy as fuck poster collection back to Russia with them. It now covers an entire wall of their flat, and Victor likes to pose next to it. To his credit, the pork cutlet bowl, who has enough of a sense of shame to balance out Victor’s complete and utter lack of it, tends to turn red and stammer in horror whenever he does it (unless he’s drunk and Yuri does not need to think about that, thank you very much. He’s already scarred for life). Over the next few months, more posters get added—multiple versions of their disgusting paired skate, and several new and shiny ones of Pork Cutlet Bowl in his latest costumes. It’s almost sweet, in a grossly egotistical way.

And then one day, Yuri overhears Victor saying mournfully, “I can’t believe they never made any official merchandise for you before now, Yuuri. I would have collected it all.”

Yuri chokes on his drink.

And Pork Cutlet Bowl, the lying little piggy, says, wide-eyed, “Oh, I was never that important, Vitya. Why would anyone make posters of me?”

Yuri chokes again, so badly he starts coughing.

Mila hits him obligingly on the back and asks, “Something wrong, baby?” Her voice has that note that suggests she’s caught the scent of a secret and won’t rest until she ferrets out the truth.

“No!” Yuri snarls and then, because her eyes are still narrowed, he lies, “Beka sent me a picture of a cat on a rollercoaster.”

She ruffles his hair, laughs at him, and wanders off to torment Georgi.

To be safe, Yuri texts Otabek. Send me a picture of a cat on a rollercoaster. Quickly!

Otabek texts back, Should I ask?

No. Just do it!

Otabek sends three. Hah. Yuri wins all round.

But it gnaws at him, especially once he realises that the idiot who shares his name actually meant what he said—he genuinely believes that nobody ever made any merchandise of Japan’s top figure skater. How the fuck is that even possible? He must have signed the contracts—must know he has sponsors.

Otabek, over Skype, furrows his brow thoughtfully and says, “Didn’t he also not notice that he was engaged to Victor? Even after he bought the rings and proposed himself?”

Yuri beats his head against the desk a few times. “I hate him. I hate Victor. I hate them both.”

“Of course you do,” Otabek agrees with him. “That’s why you called me at two am to rant about them.”

Yuri lifts his head just enough to give Otabek a Look. 

Otabek looks stoic, but his mouth is ever-do-slightly tilted at the corner in the way that means he’s laughing inside.

Yuri hates everybody.

All the same, he can’t quite get it out of his head, especially after he goes online and sees how expensive vintage Yuuri Katsuki memorabilia has become since the stupid piggy squeaked his way to a World Championship win. Some of it you just can’t get anymore, even if you’re stupid-rich and profligate like Victor. And Victor knows this too—Yuri’s heard him bemoaning it to Georgi over lunch.

And it’s annoying, okay—annoying on the same level as the stupid Yuuri vs Yuri whiteboard Mila’s put up in the changing rooms, just out of his reach (it started as quads landed in practice, until Yakov banned that when accidents started happening, and now she changes the terms every week. Last week it was Claiming to be average vs Screaming on ice. This week it’s Caught kissing his fiance when he should be practising vs. Caught messaging Otabek when he should be stretching which is totally unfair because some people, unlike her, know how to multitask).

Yuri stares up at the posters of tigers and bands that cover his walls and tells himself that it’s none of his business and he doesn’t fucking care and Victor’s too annoying to deserve nice things anyway. 

Except…

Except every time someone mentions posters, Victor’s doing that stupid wistful pining face that he wore for weeks after Sochi, and though Yuri obviously doesn’t care about that, anyone who walks into the Apartment of Gross Idiocy right now might assume that the pork cutlet bowl is a stalkerish weirdo superfan (which he is, of course) and not that everything they’re seeing is evidence of Victor Nikiforov’s over-romanticized egotism. And that’s just not fair.

So that’s the only reason Yuri hesitates at the end of his next phone call with his grandpa and mutters a request.

Kill me, he messages Otabek later. Kill me now.

Can’t. Too tired to walk to St Petersburg.

Do it remotely.

Too poor to hire assassins. You’ll have to live and suffer for another day.

Yuri goes to sleep grinning to himself triumphantly.

Grandpa brings the box with him next time he comes to visit. It’s covered with dust from the attic, and the corners are a little soft with age, but everything inside is still in good condition—Yuri checks and no, he doesn’t linger over certain items. He’s just being thorough.

“Are you sure you want to get rid of all this, Yurochka?” Grandpa asks. “You used to love it all so much.”

Yuri hunches his shoulders. “Yeah, well, I grew out of that crap. It’s dumb. Only little kids like that stuff.”

Grandpa eyes the posters currently covering his walls and then turns a wry look at Yuri. He doesn’t say anything, though, but changes the subject to ask after Potya. Yuri makes him pose for a selfie (with Potya, of course) and posts it on Instagram.

Otabek is the first to like it. Yuri sends him a message that says, Your turn!

He was only hoping for a cat picture, but a few hours later, Otabek posts a picture of himself with his tiny, impossibly ancient grandmother and a ginger cat that takes up both their laps. All three of them have exactly the same lack of expression. 

Yuri saves it to his phone and spends the next few days showing it to everyone he knows, even after Mila changes the whiteboard targets again.

Yuri waits with the patience of cat (heh) stalking its prey until Pork Cutlet Bowl next leaves the country for a meeting with his sponsors (“Bring me a poster, Yuuri,” Victor calls forlornly as he vanishes through the departure gate). That evening, Yuri invites himself over to eat Victor’s food and play with his dog. He takes the box with him, taking satisfaction at the smear of dust it leaves on Victor’s perfectly polished table. He leaves it there to swerve into the kitchen and open the fridge.

“What’s this?” Victor asks, sounding puzzled.

The quality of the leftovers in Victor’s fridge has definitely gone up since the stupid piggy moved in. Yuri snags a bowl of gyoza and trails over to the microwave. “Some old crap I’m getting rid of.”

“So you brought it here?”

Yuri shoves the food in the microwave and leans back oh-so-casually. He watches as Victor flicks the box open with the tip of his finger and then goes still before diving in to seize the topmost poster. It unrolls in his hands to show Katsuki Yuuri in mid-triple axel, his face intent and his arm raised towards the sky. It’s the sky blue and white free skate costume from his victory in the Junior Grand Prix Final, and Yuri feels the faintest twinge of regret—it had taken weeks of frustration and wrestling with bad google translations to get that delivered from Japan.

Victor gazes at it as if it was the real Yuuri, and then lifts his face to stare at Yuri.

“Yurio?” he breathes.

“Not my name, old man,” Yuri mutters. “Like I said, old crap. It was taking up space in the attic.”

Victor does weird heart-faced things with his face, freak of nature that he is. 

The microwave pings and Yuri retrieves his food and slithers back towards the sofa. He says, with the glare he usually saves for Mila. “If you breathe one fucking word to him, I’ll… I’ll…” He can’t think of a threat dire enough.

“I’ll stay quiet,” Victor promises, miming zipping his mouth shut. That’ll be the day.

Yuri slumps on the sofa, making room for Makkachin, switches the TV on, and eats Victor’s dinner as the man himself makes embarrassing squeeing sounds behind him. After a while, he puts his plate aside and goes to mock Victor (and if the mockery includes the odd muttered bit of information like, “And that’s the limited edition figurine in the Olympic jacket,” and “there’s only fifty of those in the world with his actual signature on, so don’t crumple it, fuckwit,”, it’s just to make it clear that he knows the exact extent of Victor’s stupid crush).

When Yuuri gets back from Japan to be greeted with Victor’s new collection, he’s absolutely mortified. Yuri knows this because he talks about it all week.

“I didn’t even know they made all that,” he keeps saying. “Vitya, where did you get it?”

Victor, for once in his fucking life, remembers his promise and keeps his mouth shut. 

Yuri pretends not to be listening, staring at his phone intently even as Mila wanders past with a whiteboard pen.

He’s got better things to do. Ignoring the cacophony of idiots around him, he scowls at eBay. There’s an official poster of Otabek Altin with his gold medal from the last Four Continents which would fit perfectly on the back of Yuri’s bedroom door.

Band posters are for dumb kids, after all. Yuri thinks it’s time to collect something new.

Bonded - Part 6

someone give vaughn a medal for putting up with rhys’ bullshit. [read it on ao3 here]

The deal with Atlas was approved within the week, and Hyperion had no shortage of praise for Rhys because of it. The new SMG had cornered the market, and the combination of raking in profit and sticking it to Torgue made all facets of Hyperion very, very happy. According to Vaughn, all of accounting was buzzing with excitement, and he might have told his coworkers that he’d helped convince Rhys to support the deal. But even if he had done that (not that he was admitting to anything), Rhys shouldn’t be upset because Vaughn would be able to buy way more video games for their apartment if he got that promotion he’d been eyeing.

Rhys had just laughed and told him that he’d better get his gracious roommate the new Fallout game when it came out as a thank-you gift, to which Vaughn had grumbled that Rhys was already making way more than him. Rhys countered that Yvette was draining his bank account with all the free lunches she’d mooched. Vaughn, of course, denied Rhys’ claim and, as if to prove his point, had snatched the check the next time the trio had gone out to eat.

In the weeks since his million dollar deal, Rhys had spent more time inside his office than out of it. Janey had started wearing sneakers to work due to how often she had to walk files into Rhys’ office from her desk outside, and Rhys was all but drowning in partnership proposals. Once he’d realized his secretary actually had programming background herself, he imparted onto her the all-important task of throwing out any paperwork that wasn’t worth considering. He promised he’d pay her extra for it, especially since he knew that she was saving up for her wedding (which Rhys was now, unfortunately, going to be forced to attend).

Even with Janey’s assistance and a bottomless cup of coffee, however, his schedule remained swamped. He found himself running from one meeting to the next, taking a break only to attempt to sort through the mess of folders covering his usually pristinely organized desk. It seemed like everybody wanted something from him; which, if he was being honest with himself, was what he’d always wanted. Attention from the higher-ups, not to mention actual respect, had been his goal since he’d first realized there was a life outside of simply surviving on Pandora. To live and work at the same rank as those who wouldn’t hesitate to take and abuse him in selfish pleasure if they knew who he truly was, to surpass those who thought they were better than him-- that was what he’d always ached for.

If achieving that meant suffering through a definitely illegal amount of overtime and pushing his friendships and boyfriend a bit further down on his list of priorities, then goddamnit he’d trudge through it.

It also helped that they’d basically given up on looking for the alpha attacker, all the research they’d done coming up blank. Nobody had checked into a hospital with a stab wound that night, and it wasn’t like Rhys had some superhuman GPS connection. Jack, naturally, had scoured the entire station-- but with no identifying mark, the alpha was indistinguishable from the other thousands of the same endotype on Helios. Rhys had all but repressed the incident with both intentful and unconscious effort, and coupled with his non-normal mental state during the incident, he found it easier to ignore the now-healing scar on the back of his neck and simply wait for it to go away. And work was the perfect way to do so.

“Seriously bro, when was the last time you ate?”

Rhys looked at Vaughn, shrugging since his mouth was far too stuffed with pizza to respond.

Vaughn sighed, the epitome of a disappointed parent. “You’re gonna work yourself to death! Besides, you need to keep your strength up for tomorrow.”

Rhys furrowed his eyebrows, swallowing the food in his mouth that was more cheese than bread. “What’s tomorrow? Because if you’re trying to make me go to your gym again with you, it’s not happening.”

His roommate stared at him in disbelief. “You’re shitting me, right?”

Rhys shifted in his seat at their sad excuse for a dinner table, which was covered in stains and propped up by old textbooks underneath an unbalanced leg. He was clearly forgetting something, although for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it was. Rather than continue to sit with his mouth slightly agape like an idiot, he made to grab another slice of the extra large pizza he’d mostly smashed on his own. Vaughn, however, grabbed his wrist, causing both Rhys and his stomach to groan in protest.

“Your heat, bro. It’s supposed to start tomorrow.”

Rhys felt the muscles in both his hand and jaw go limp with realization. “N-no,” he stammered. “No, I have so many meetings scheduled and--”

Vaughn sighed. “Have you really not been keeping track?”

Rhys shrugged sheepishly. “I’ve been kinda busy lately, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Vaughn rolled his eyes. “Well, better go clear your schedule. I’m dropping you off at Jack’s tomorrow.”

Rhys opened up his schedule on his ECHOeye as he managed to pry another slice of pizza from the box, sending an apologetic message to Janey as he notified her that he’d be leaving early tomorrow. Because he’d be fine to attend his morning meeting and pick up the most recent batch of paperwork, right?

“Henderson’s gonna kill me,” Rhys grumbled, because it seemed there was always another level of the bureaucracy above him.

“I’m sure his boss’ boss’ boss will forgive him,” Vaughn said, snagging a piece of pizza before Rhys could devour the entire thing.

The omega sighed, already preparing a multitude of excuses to use tomorrow. He’d used “my mom’s in the hospital” last time, and “I have to go to a funeral” was so cliche. He figured saying he needed a break was more than believable, especially since he received no shortage of comments about how he was “working himself to death.”

“Don’t worry, I already reminded Jack,” Vaughn said, not without a hint of bitterness.

“You’re the best,” Rhys said, smiling and rising from the table to stand. He knew Vaughn still didn’t trust Jack, although this arrangement was far more enjoyable for the both of them.

“Yeah, I know,” Vaughn replied, taking the now-empty pizza box and tossing it in the trash. “Now go get some sleep.”

Rhys groaned. “It’s barely even eleven!”

Vaughn stared at him with dead eyes, pointing to the digital clock on the microwave. “That literally says ‘one,’ Rhys. It’s one in the morning!”

“What?” Rhys asked, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands. “N-no, I’m pretty sure that says eleven!”

“Great, now he’s going blind,” Vaughn muttered to himself, dragging Rhys towards his bedroom as the omega tried to dig his heels into the rug in protest.

“Wait, Vaughn, I have work to finish!”

The beta grunted under Rhys’ weight; while he was on the slimmer side, his height wasn’t something to be ignored. “I swear to God Rhys if you don’t get your ass in there now I’m calling Yvette.”

Rhys immediately stop struggling as the threat’s intended fear settled in; although Yvette was one of his best friends and not very much on the muscular side, she could be a stone-cold order-giving bitch when she needed to. Rhys had seen workers so desperate to cling to their jobs that they’d actually taken her up on her dismissive demand to lick her boots. She always managed to bring up those top-alpha horror stories at the most opportune moments, such as when she and her friends were out at a restaurant waiting for the bill.

“Alright, fine, I’m going,” Rhys said as he raised his arms in surrender.

Vaughn followed him closely behind as he stepped into his room, clearly still annoyed. Rhys pulled a duffle bag out from underneath his bed and laid it on top of the blanket before unzipping it. He might as well get the packing out of the way now, especially if he wanted any relief from Vaughn’s crippling judgment.

The beta was now pacing, his nose wrinkling every few moments as he inhaled. “Rhys,” he said, the look on his face a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “Your room smells like a goddamn carton of Sunny-D.”

The omega laughed at that, real tears springing to his eyes due to what he chalked up to be his exhaustion rather than Vaughn’s characteristically awful humor.

“Sorry bro, can’t help it,” he said, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye as he morphed his features into an over-exaggerated sexy leer. “Guess that’s what makes me such hot shit.”

Vaughn pantomimed gagging, which only spurred Rhys on further. “Don’t tell me you don’t want to get with this,” he said, stretching out his left leg and resting his arm on it in a perfect “paint me like one of your French girls” pose.

The beta just grimaced again, although Rhys could see a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Even if I wanted to tap that,” Vaughn started, his speech speeding up as Rhys raised an eyebrow at the statement, “which, let’s be perfectly clear, I don’t, Handsome Jack would kill me 50 times over if I so much as thought about getting it on with you.”

“You can just call him ‘Jack,’ y’know,” Rhys said as he opened his closet door. “He’s basically your other roommate.”

“There’s no room in this broom closet for both another person and all your hair products,” Vaughn said with a snort, to which Rhys took very serious offense.

“Hey!” he said in protest. “Don’t insult the hair.”

Vaughn rolled his eyes. “Just shut up and pack, wouldja? I’d like to get some sleep tonight.”

Rhys scoffed. “I do know how to pack a suitcase on my own, y’know.”

“I am not schlepping out to Jack’s again because you forgot your toothbrush.”

“It was one time!” Rhys said, blushing. Why had he ever thought Vaughn would let him live that one down?

“Yeah, yeah,” Vaughn said, waving him off.

They decided to split up the work, with Rhys tackling the clothes (he was very particular about his socks) and Vaughn getting, well, basically everything else. Rhys wasn’t exactly great at taking care of himself, and Vaughn felt like an overprotective parent as he filled a bag with the necessities: medication, toothbrush, mouthwash, hairbrush, cooling lotion. He even threw in some condoms for good measure, although Jack usually took care of things in the sex department.

“Seriously Rhys?” Vaughn said as he came back into the bedroom to see Rhys frozen and staring off into space.

“Wha?” the omega said, turning around to face Vaughn.

The beta scowled as he dropped the bag of toiletries he’d gathered into Rhys’ suitcase, which had been filled with not much more than a few pairs of socks and obnoxious yellow boxers. “I thought you said you knew how to pack.”

“I do,” Rhys said with a nod, although his attention clearly wasn’t focused.

He sounded drunk, and if Vaughn hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought Rhys had blown off his ridiculously small amount of responsibilities to get wasted. However, when Vaughn had been rummaging through the bathroom, he’d seen that Rhys had already taken his medication for that night-- which meant his heat was starting.

Much like birth control, Rhys' suppressors supplied a week of less medicated pills intended to help his body go through the necessary heat less frequently and much less intensely. After all, it was never good to leave one’s hormones bottled up and out of whack for too long.

“Alright bro, let’s get you to bed,” Vaughn said, clearing off a space amidst the blankets for Rhys to crawl into. “You can finish packing in the morning.”

Rhys frowned in confusion. “I finished packing.”

Vaughn groaned. “Rhys, underwear isn’t what I meant by clothing.”

The omega shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll be wearing much else while I’m there.”

Vaughn gagged, shoving Rhys with a disgusted “TMI bro, TMI.”

Rhys laughed, always amused at Vaughn’s reactions whenever anything even remotely sex-related came up in conversation. The only time Rhys really got the dirt on Vaughn and his girlfriend was when the beta was drunk, and even then he kept it as unexplicit as possible. Rhys thought it was cute, especially in comparison to Jack’s compulsive need to share every detail about their sex life.

“I left you some clothes on your bed, by the way,” Rhys said as Vaughn turned to leave.

Vaughn snorted, knowing that the omega was asking him to sleep in his clothes in order to rub his scent on them. “You’re not seriously thinking of going to work tomorrow, are you?”

Rhys shrugged, pulling his t-shirt off due to the already setting-in fever to reveal his tattoos as Vaughn shielded his eyes. “I have an early meeting, plus I wanted to pick up work to do while I’m out.”

Vaughn gave him a blank stare, pursing his lips as he thought it over.

“Fine,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval yet knowing Rhys was also an adult and could make his own decisions, stupid as they might be. “I’ll take you home when I go on lunch break.”

Rhys smiled. “Thanks bro.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it,” Vaughn said, waving off the affection. “Just don’t complain if your clothes look wrinkled tomorrow, it’s not my fault they don’t fit.”

Rhys laughed as the beta left the room, still grumbling to himself about Rhys being an idiot. He removed his cybernetic arm to charge it along with his phone before turning off the light, lying in the darkness as the heat began its torturous crawl through his body.

Damn, this week was going to suck.

Chapter 16

Junkrat scuttled across the side of the rocks that surrounded the little safehouse, occasionally squinting and pushing the sticky frags into place here and there. The first round of grenades had already done a number on the rock face, and he investigated each crack with renewed interest or digging out handfuls of metal shrapnel to shove into his pockets. He spun one last frag into the air and caught it with a smack before sticking it into place, then dropped down to the sandy ground, fell on his ass, got up as if he had meant to do that, and went loping back towards Mei’s safety zone.

The safety zone wasn’t much more than a square that she had drawn in the sand with one foot, where she’d tried to calculate the best area away from any flying rocky debris. She was also wearing an old army helmet that Roadhog had found somewhere in the dusty supply cellar. It was far too large for her, and she had to keep one hand atop it to keep it in place as she crouched down behind a boulder warily. She still flinched a bit every time an explosion went off, but she would also clap for him after a particularly good one, which made his heart go gooey in the center.

He leapt over the rock and crouched down next to her, pointing towards the scarred rock wall, holding up his detonator and watching the signal light blink to life. “Armed and ready! You want to do the honors, lovey?”

She blinked, wiping dust away from her glasses as she cautiously held out one hand as though the detonator itself might bite her. “Oh! Um, I don’t know, it’s so loud when they go off!”

He thought for a moment, before gingerly bending her fingers to open her palm, placing the detonator there before scooting around her, pulling her back against his chest with a grin and covering both her ears with his own hands. “Here, I got ya! Ready steady!”

She fumbled with the detonator for a moment before holding it out away from her like a gun, pulling her helmet down over his hands and her face before taking a breath and bringing her thumb down on the red button. There was a series of concussive explosions in response, the frags going off one after the other as she shrieked and fell back against the junker, who was laughing maniacally. Pebbles and scattered fragments of broken stone went skittering past them, followed by clouds of thick gray dust. Junkrat released his hold on her to wave an arm to clear it away as Mei coughed and sat up.

“I think I’m still going to leave the explosions to you, thank you,” she said mildly, wiping at her glasses once more. “Oh my goodness, that’s too much for my nerves.”

He snickered, wiping a thumb across some dust on her cheek and somehow leaving it even dirtier than before. “Yeah, best leave it to the professionals. But you did real good here, love, in fact…Take a peek at this!” He grasped her hand and pulled her upright, waving proudly at the absolutely mangled mess of rock they’d ruined with his frag collection. There were large cast-off boulders laying in a haphazard pile at the base of the once pristine rock face, and fractures and cracks ran every which way in an almost spiderweb-like design. “Ta-daaa!”

“Well…we certainly did a number on it,” Mei agreed.

“No, no, look closer!”

“Closer?”

“See, look there! It’s a heart!”

Mei wiped down her glasses and held them steady, squinting. If she looked very, very hard, she could almost see what he was talking about. The pattern he’d laid them out in was fairly circular and came to a point at the bottom, and there was one hole in the rock that sort of dipped in the top…now that he’d said it aloud, it was sort of, very, very vaguely, approximately, almost kinda sorta blown into dents and cracks in the shape of a heart.

“Oh! Ooooh, I see it now! That’s very sweet, thank you. You know…This actually has been rather cathartic.”

“Yeah, it’s cathartic as all hell! We should do it again. A building next time! A nice brick one, something red. Red’s real romantic, you know. A whole city full of ‘em. I’d blow up a city for you, darl,” Junkrat sighed dreamily, already imagining it in his head as his eyes rolled upward.

“N-now let’s not get ahead of ourselves!” Mei said quickly, waving both hands. “I think just blowing up a rock or two here was enough. Those explosions were so loud, though, do you think anyone could hear?”

“Nah, nobody around besides Hog anyway. Don’t think anyone’s been to this place in a long-arse time,” he said, gaze still thoughtful. “Nobody’s gonna bother us here. We could, uh…We could stay here, ya know?”

“Hm?”

“We could just tell the monkey and friends to fuck off. Could just stay here instead, fix things up, and live here; the three of us. We could go out scrappin’, take out cash if we need it, hit some cities and then come back. Could get some plants and some chooks and raise ‘em, ya know, make it real…I dunno…good? Could stay here. Or go somewhere else around here.” He turned toward her with an odd and almost forlorn expression, and Mei’s heart sank slightly. Even a round of blowing things up hadn’t eased his worries, though he was trying a sort of lopsided false smile that looked nothing like his real one. “We’d get you fixed up first! That’s real obvious! But then it’s flippin’ the bird to the lot of them, forget going legit, we can return to our Aussie roots and you can come with us! You and me and Roadie, that’ll be real good, roight?”

She reached out to take his gloved hand gently. “You know why we can’t do that, Jamie.”

His brow furrowed with a rather unhappy expression, chewing his bottom lip as his long fingers wrapped around hers. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. Was a real nice thought though, don’t you think?”

“I know you don’t want to go back. But I don’t think you want to stay here either. Not really.”

“…No. Guess not really.”

She frowned up at him before taking both his arms and winding them around her, pulling herself against his front. “We have to go back for now. But it’ll be better than before. I’ll help you. I know you have trouble with dealing with how the outside works, just like I have trouble here. But we’ll help each other, right?”

He held her close, resting his chin on the dusty scarf atop her head. “Yeah, I guess that’s fair. You uh…” He hesitated, and she could feel his grip tighten slightly around her, almost as if afraid to ask. “You’d be all right, then? Being with me? After going back to the base and the outside? I mean, no pressure but, uh…You’d wanna stay with me still?”

Guilt coiled heavily in the pit of her stomach, reminded of how close she had been to doing just that before everything that had happened. He’d been aware of it, probably afraid of the very thing Roadhog had confronted her about. She looked down at his single shoe, head against his chest. Things had changed between them since then. She’d seen another side to the junker, could look beneath the soot and chaos and confusion and see the Jamison behind the Junkrat. She nodded as resolutely as she could. “I’ll stay with you. I know you feel apart from everybody else there. I know you feel kind of lost? Adrift, maybe? Because you’ve lost a lot, and you don’t want to stay there but you also don’t have anywhere to go, and maybe Roadhog can’t help you with everything…And maybe you and I aren’t as opposite as I thought before.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe it’ll be better for us both this way. I’m sure I can help you too, like you help me. You didn’t give up on me. Even when I was a bit of a pill to you at first, and kept having problems out here, you kept trying to help me, you didn’t give up. And I…” She straightened, looking up at him boldly. “I won’t give up on you either. I’ll pick you up and carry you if I have to, just like you did for me. Got it? You’re going to come with me, I’m not going to leave you behind. Ever. I’ll pick you up and tie your wrists together around me and McCree can make lewd remarks about us!”

His grin had returned, giggling madly into her hair. “Oi, just like that? Going to carry me back to Gibraltar?”

“The entire way!”

“Blimey! Can’t deny that, I guess it’s settled,” he said, crooking a metal finger beneath her chin, tilting her head up as he kissed her beneath the lopsided heart he’d blown into the rocks for her. Her lips were fierce against his and her embrace was tight and sincere; her prior hesitation had gone, and his doubts dissipated with it. He deepened the kiss, felt the slip of her tongue as it darted out to meet his, tearing away only as she started to trail her lips down his neck, just as his hands started to reach around towards her rear.

His plans went awry when she drew back and coughed, spitting out dust and a pebble that had been lodged in the skin of his neck. Lowering down from her toes, she spat and scrubbed at her lips as he sheepishly wiped at the grit that had settled on his shoulders. “Damnit! Sorry about that, lovey. There, clean! Okay, we can try again, kiss time!” He pursed his lips and moved towards her, finding a hand blocking his face.

She shook her head wryly. “I think that’s enough mineral intake for me today. The sun’s almost down anyway, we should probably head back. I was thinking I might try cooking something tonight, give Roadhog a little break since he made all those pancakes for us before.” She looked down, scuffing her shoe through the debris all around them, before leaning down and picking up a shard of shining red stone, shining it with one hand before tucking it into her pocket. “Thank you though, for the heart…and everything.”

“Damn. Arright, I forgot about Roadie for a second there anyway. Well, guess we should get a start on that, come on. “ Dropping an arm to her waist, he turned and started back towards the house.

***

—

Mei stood in the dry and dusty supply cellar beneath the house. There was a disconcerting amount of guns and ammo and a suspicious dark stain on the floor, and she was reminded of the shack’s true purpose as a safehouse for criminals. But those stood off to the side packed in crates, and she tried to ignore them as she perused the selection of stored foods. There was a layer of dust on everything, at least several years’ worth as she walked around with a gray-stained rag, wiping at labels and checking expiration dates. Most of the spices were expired to the point of tastelessness, but she was fairly sure she could whip up a pale imitation of flavor with what was left.

The Australians understandably took their perishable foods very seriously, and she was rather impressed at the sheer amount of supplies that were still quite edible. There were canned goods, sacks of rice and beans and lentils, sugars and honey, preserved meats, box meals, and several MREs that she vetoed immediately- if she never ate one of those awful things again it would be entirely too soon.

She took beans and rice, soy sauce and spices, and a veritable armload of food back up the stairs to the kitchen, where she found Roadhog waiting. She awkwardly lowered her ingredients onto the counter, edging up towards the stove as she began clattering about with bowls and cups. “No no no! You’ve already cooked for us enough, why not take a break tonight? I’ll make us dinner, it’s my turn.”

“I’ve got something.”

She turned to face him, and found him holding out a bowl covered with a towel. Pulling it off with a yank, Mei was greeted by the sight of several disgusting, writhing, shiny moist pale white grub-like creatures. Hog held the bowl up almost to accost her, and uttered a mild, “Boo.”

Mei made a face but didn’t flinch. “No thanks. Vegetarian, remember? What are they?”

“Witchetty grubs.”

“Did you just try to scare me with witchetty grubs?”

“…Yes.”

“Well, they’re probably not too different than the fried silkworms we used to eat at the markets when I was a little girl.” She smirked up at him, lifting a finger. “Just because I don’t eat meat anymore doesn’t mean you can scare me, Roadhog! I’m Chinese, I can probably frighten you Aussies with some of our dishes.”

Roadhog looked down at her for a very long moment, his breath wheezing steadily in his mask, and for a moment she was afraid she might have offended him with her joke. But a moment later he nodded as if he’d come to a decision, rumbling a low, “You’re all right.”

“Well, thank you. I think you’re all right too. What are witchetty grubs? Where do you find them?”

“Went out while you were out with Fawkes. Found a dried spring southwest of here, trees around it were full of them…Wasn’t sure if grubs counted as meat, thought maybe you could eat them too.”

Mei blinked up at him, unable to hide a rather touched smile. “That is…very nice of you. I appreciate it a lot. They’re still meat, but I’m sure you or Jamison won’t mind eating my portion.”

“Mm.”

“Maybe you should show me how to cook these though, just in case? Here, do you want to see my recipe for semi-Chinese four-spice green bean fried rice? I think you might like it?”

Roadhog nodded, pulling an apron on over his head and taking his place next to her at the stove.

***

—-

The three had eaten their fill of Mei’s canned beans and soy sauce fried rice dinner, and the boys had devoured the cooked grubs eagerly enough. Jamison, ever the food burglar, made the mistake of trying to steal one of the prized witchetty grubs when he thought Hog wasn’t looking, and a scuffle had broken out yet again between the two. Mei had opted out as usual, and stood eating out of a can of pears in the doorway. She watched them with a little smirking smile as Roadhog fended off his smaller partner, though she made a slight face at the clouds of dust still coming off Junkrat’s flailing form.

Junkrat eventually relinquished the grub back to its rightful owner, and nursed his wounded pride and appetite with the very last piece of his packaged beef jerky as a consolation prize.

“So! I’m…just going to have another bath!” Mei said, setting her meal down by the sink. “I’ll clean out the tub afterward though…so you know, if you want to clean up, you can. The bath feels really nice. If you want to. I’ll leave the water open too.”

“Yeah, love, no need, but thanks!” He waved her off, taking another bite.

“Oh…Yes, okay.” She looked briefly disappointed for some reason, before turning and plodding off down the hall towards the little bathroom.

Roadhog waited until she’d gone before turning his masked face to his partner. “Take the bath.”

Junkrat snorted, his sharp teeth shearing through a piece of plastic along with his jerky, causing him to spit it off to one side. “I’ll take a fuckin’ bath when we get back to base, you know the doc’s going to make us anyway.”

Roadhog wearily lifted one giant hand to his forehead in clear exasperation. Normally content to let his employer bumble about with his own business, watching him miss social cue after social cue in this particular matter was starting to wear on him, especially with little else to occupy his attention. “When she’s done. Take a bath. Clean up.”

Junkrat lifted a brow, lifting one arm and giving himself a sniff. “What? I ain’t that bad!”

“She’s cleaning up. She wants you to clean up. Think.” Hog tapped one finger to his temple.

Junkrat sat back and tried to think about it. The doctor probably would probably hose them all down once they got back, and he wasn’t physically stinking. Much, anyway. Not as bad as he’d been before, like that time Roadhog had killed a crocodile with his bare hands just so he could throw Junkrat in its pond. Mei was always polite about strange things, so it stood to reason that she was just being polite now about the little tub. Although she had seem a bit put off about the dirt thing when they’d stood beneath the rock heart he’d made for her. And she had looked awfully disappointed when he’d said no to the bath. In fact, now that Hog said it, maybe she really was suggesting it in one of her roundabout polite ways. She wanted him clean so they could both be clean at the same time and then the chances were much more likely she would want to-

His eyes widened, waving a finger ingeniously. “Well why didn’t she just say so!”

Hog grunted and wandered off to the living room, clicking on the television to try and get his mind off this nonsense.

Junkrat was already loping down the hall, pegleg clacking as he sat down in front of the bathroom door, eying the piece of tape that covered the hole where his peg had broken through before. “Yeah! Yeah, okay! Oi, Mei! I’m next! I’m right outside when you’re done, save some cleanin’ stuff for Junkrat! Mmm, yeah, can’t wait for a good bath, you know me!”

He heard a sloshing noise from inside, then a muffled tone of surprise. “Oh! Okay, just give me a few more minutes!”

He pressed his ear to the door. “I can come in now if you need help?”

“Nice try!”

He fidgeted outside the door, waiting for what seemed like an eternity until he heard her struggle to tip the tub over onto the drain in the floor with a loud gurgle, then shuffling about before the door opened. She looked much like she had before when he’d accidentally barged in on her bathing time, shiny and wet and a nice clean pink, this time with a little white towel that only barely hid the tops of her thighs and struggled to stay wrapped around her generous bosom. She was apparently self-conscious about it, trying to hike it both down and up at the same time. “I tried to hurry. I found some soap, um, left it on the sink. I’ll just…leave you to it? I’ll go get changed.” She went to edge past him.

Jamison had the presence of mind to cover the front of his shorts with both hands quickly, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry as he watched her pass. “…Uh-huh. Soap. Bath,” he said dumbly, staring until she had hurried around the corner.

He was quickly brought back to reality as he shut the door behind him, faced with the task of bathing. Bathing was never any fun, not like the beach or the ocean. But if Mei wanted a clean Junkrat, he’d get her the cleanest Junkrat ever. He kicked the water jug over to empty into the wash basin, going about the grim task of removing his mechanical leg and arm- leaving him with one arm and hand, one leg and foot, one elbow, and a mostly useless stump of a thigh. Usually Roadhog helped him with this sort of task so he didn’t end up crawling around on the floor like he was now, but he wasn’t going to call for his assistance this time, if only for his own pride. He scooted up to the tub and awkwardly climbed in, nearly tipping it over in the process and losing the soap somewhere in the water.

It turned out that maybe he’d needed a bath more than he’d thought, scrubbing and soaping his dusty form until the water was dark and was possibly starting to turn into liquid cement. But he was thorough and washed every body part he thought she might be interested in; including his face, behind his ears, his ragged hair, in between his toes and fingers, his abs, his ass, and especially his donger. Mei deserved only the sparkliest and cleanest of dongers.

He was sopping wet when he exited the tub, flopping out of the side like a dying fish and grumbling as he impatiently emptied out the filthy water. Mei had thoughtfully left him a towel, and he sat on the wet floor and dried off as much as he could before pulling his prosthetics back on. His shorts were, as always, pretty much a lost cause- they were so dirty they they could stand up on their own without a pair of legs in them- but he beat them on the edge of the sink to try and get the dust out. Slicking back his wet hair in the cracked mirror- Had he cracked it at some point? He probably had, somehow- he had to admit he was looking quite suave.

He exited the bathroom and almost slammed face-first into Mei, who was lurking right outside the door, just as he had done minutes earlier. She held a blanket to her chest, coughing a bit as her eyes darted up to his face, her cheeks slightly pink in the dim light. “You look really nice with your face clean. I like your freckles,” she blurted out, wincing a bit at how nervous she sounded.

Junkrat took it in stride as usual, patting his damp hair. “Forget I have ‘em most of the time,” he admitted. “But yeah! I look real good! Sooooo! What are we gonna do tonight?”

Mei was valiantly trying to keep her voice even. “Well! We could do…lots of things! Like, um, watch tv. Er…read a book? Watch…tv?”

“Oh! Uh…yeah, guess we could do that.”

Inside the living room, Roadhog pressed his masked face into a palm and muttered a low, “Fuck’s sake.”

She held up her blanket quickly. “You want to watch the stars with me, though? If you want to? Outside?”

The familiar devilish grin spread across his newly cleaned and freckle-dotted face. “Now that there’s a good idea, darl. Come on, I know a real great spot a lil’ distance away from the house. Nice and sheltered, picked it out before hand, just real perfect for uh, star-gazin’.” He grasped her hand before her face could get any redder, their steps a little more urgent as they hurried past Roadhog and out the screen door, which banged shut behind them as the pair vanished out into the night.

Hog lazily watched them go, lifting the remote control and turning up the volume.

“Hmm.”

***

—

Mei had to struggle a little to keep up with Junkrat’s pace, stumbling a bit in the dark as he led her through the rocks and scrubby underbrush, finally stopping in a little sandy alcove and helping her to spread out the blanket. She sat down primly, and he launched himself into the air and landed heavily on one side in his most roguish pose, one leg bent up and his face propped  up in one hand as romantically as he was able. “How’s this for star-lookin’!”

She did glance up, and paused to admire the dazzling array of stars above them, never unimpressed at the night sky here in the wasteland and the spectacle of the visible dust of the milky way.  “They are very pretty.”

“Yeah, they’re nice. You wanna get comfy?” He patted the blanket next to him.

She took a breath before lowering herself downward, sprawling out on her back and not protesting when he scooted a little closer. She was thinking back on how best to politely flirt, maybe start with some conversation about the stars and then move on to something that would properly show her interest, maybe-

“You wanna fuck?”

Her throat closed up suddenly as she turned to look at him wide-eyed. A pair of golden eyes stared back at her, practically glowing like an animal’s in the darkness.

“You don’t have to be nervous. It’s okay if you don’t wanna. But I think you wanna? I ain’t too good at all the manners stuff, but I think you want a nice relaxing root with yours truly and you can’t just come out and say it. I mean, maybe I got it wrong, maybe the bathing and the little glances and the stars and stuff are just things you actually do, but you know me, darl, I ain’t good at subtle. So I’m just asking right out, you wanna fuck?”

She licked her lips, rolled them together, clearing her throat a little. “W-well, I just…the stars are really nice and everything, and I guess that was a little abrupt…but…”

He rested a hand atop her arm, moving a little closer as she stumbled over her answer. “You know I wanna fuck you. Have for ages, but I can wait. Don’t mind waiting. Or you can say you don’t wanna, I’m a real polite bloke!”

“I-I mean…I think…”

“It doesn’t have to be a big spectacle, darl. Can be nice n’ casual as you like. I can make it real good for you. Take all those worries off your mind for a bit. Can do it however you want it most. However you want it, if you want it, Mei. Just…ya gotta let me know, darl, none of this bush-beatin’ nonsense. Just a yes or no. Because I d-”

His words were cut off as her lips crashed into his, his eyes widening briefly before fluttering shut. Whatever statement he was about to deliver devolved into a garbled moan until her lips broke apart from his with a little gasp. For a moment they stared at one another, both tensely hopeful, before Mei managed to speak up.

“Yes.”

She lay back as his body moved over hers, blotting out the stars.

Episode 15

Scene 10:

[Ren, Kai and Wally take the ferry to Mt. Pyre. They lean out over the bow as the island comes into view. It is almost permanently misty and crawling with ghost types, which gives it the proper ambiance. They disembark at the dock and head inside. The shrine is built into a natural divot in the slope of the mountain, from the last time the ancient volcano erupted and blew out one side. A sign by the entrance lays out rules of conduct. Battles are strictly forbidden and quiet requested to respect the mourners. Catching pokemon is forbidden within the shrine, but acceptable on other parts of the island. Ren makes her way to one of the many altars set here and there among the gravestones.]

Ren: Would you two mind leaving me alone for a bit?

Kai: Are you sure?

Ren: Yes. I’ll meet you on the peak when I’m done.

[Wally gives her a hug and Kai follows suit. They both head for the stairs and disappear onto the next floor. Ren pulls out a stick of incense from the cup beside the shrine and lights it. She rifles through her bag for a few acorns and lays them on the altar as well. She kneels down and takes a deep breath.]

Ren: I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry the world was so cruel to you and I’m sorry you had so little time. You deserved so much better. You were a wonderful pokemon and such a great fighter. We all miss you, especially Kata. She’s had a terribly rough time finding another buddy. [forced cheerfulness breaking] You deserved better. [The tears break free and she bows until her head touches the floor.] I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

[We pan out as she sits back up and then bows again. As she bows a third time, Josh enters the side of the frame. He is alone and in civilian clothes. He looks out over the room as he weaves between the gravestones, trying not to draw attention to himself. His eyes pass over Ren without recognition, but he is walking in her direction. His face is a little tighter than his regular neutral sullen look as he combs over the mourners. His eyes pass over Ren again and he stops, now only about 10 feet away.]

Josh: Ren?

[Her head snaps up and he can see plainly now that it is her. Her face is wet and tearstained. The scarred side looks particularly irritated and puffy. She looks surprised to see him and stands up, wiping her nose on her sleeve. Their eyes meet and his are soft with concern while hers turn unbearably sad.]

Josh: I’m so sorry, Ren.

[They seem to forget why they know each other. He moves toward her and she closes the distance and throws her arms around his middle, holding him tight. She sniffles into his shoulder and he almost pats her head, but thinks better of it and wraps his arms gently around her shoulders.]

Josh: [after a few moments] It—it wasn’t in the Weather Institute, was it?

Ren: No. It was more than a month ago. My nuzleaf.

Josh: Oh… The one who threatened me in Fallabor?

Ren: Threatened you?

Josh: Uh, she was sort of pantomiming staving my head in behind your back.

[We see a flashback of the scene from Josh’s perspective. He stumbles over his sentence as he watches Wheta imitate putting him in a headlock and pounding him repeatedly with her wooden fist. In the present, Ren laughs.]

Ren: And here I thought you went along with it because I was nice to you.

Josh: Well, that was part of it…

[She chuckles again a little more softly. Her tears are beginning to dry up.]

Ren: Um, Josh, why are you here? Did—did one of yours…

Josh: No! No, Arceus, I can’t even imagine what you're going through. And my life hasn’t exactly been a cake walk.

[She is quiet for a few moments.]

Ren: I guess I shouldn’t be surprised anymore. You have a crobat for Arceus’s sake. You may be an asshole, but you obviously love your pokemon. [She lets go of him.]

Josh: [He lets go of her.] Of course I do. [hesitant] They’re like family, right? What family is supposed to be? They love you and take care you no matter what.

[Ren takes in his uncertain fidgeting with confusion.]

Ren: [slowly] Josh, do you have a family?

[He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.]

Ren: So that’s why you were so upset about the clothes comment. Again, I’m so sorry about that. I should never have said it.

Josh: At first—when you were apologizing—I thought maybe that was why, that you had figured it out. And then when I realized you hadn’t… It meant more. So, thank you.

Ren: I actually wanted to thank you for never going back on anything you said you would do for me. I’m not sure why you didn’t: if you’re just too scared or if you still feel like you have to repay me.

Josh: Oh, uh—

Ren: You don’t have to tell me. You don’t owe me that.

[Neither of them says anything for a while. Ren sighs and turns back to the alter. She says a few more words very quietly in Kantonese so that Josh won’t understand. She bows again and Josh dips his head behind her. She stares at the smoke trailing out of the burning incense when suddenly her eyes go wide. Her face hardens.]

Ren: [quiet, but anything other than soft] Josh, why are you here?

[It is a false calm that Josh knows well and he shies away from her. It is a good thing too because in another beat she whips around violently to face him, hands balled into fists. He takes another step back and she advances on him. He shrinks before her as he is backed up against a gravestone and she looms over him.]

Ren: Magma’s here. [pounding her forehead] I’m stupid! I’m so stupid! I just went right along and let you distract me! Look everybody, it’s Ren Kosugi: the village fucking idiot! Why do I keep doing this with you? I just let you fucking get to me! I just hand you ammo every Giratina-damned time thinking you’ll never figure out the weapon it goes to. You know, I’m actually really lucky all you’ve managed to do so far is stall me.

Josh: I wasn’t—

Ren: [shouting over him] Oh, just stow it already! I am so far past caring right now. Just tell me why in all of Lord Arceus’s creation Magma is here! This is a shrine to the dead! What the hell kind of humanitarian plot involves desecrating something this sacred?

Josh: [totally unable to meet her eyes] There’s something here. Something we need. I don’t know what it is, just that it’s—

Ren: [holding her hand up to silence him] That’s enough for me. Where are they?

Josh: The peak. [She turns to leave and he grabs desperately at her wrist.] Don’t! They’re all up there, all three of them!

Ren: [through clenched teeth] Let. Me. Go.

[He lets go and she strides off towards the stairs. He hesitates for a second or two before going after her.]

Josh: Please don’t go up there! They’ll kill you!

Ren: [over her shoulder as she mounts the stairs] And why do you care, Josh? It’d be one less problem for you. Besides, you don’t even know me.

[He is climbing the stairs after her, but that makes him stop. She continues unaffected.]

Josh: [losing his temper and starting back up the stairs] You saved my life twice! I just don’t want you to die! Is that so hard to understand?

[She doesn’t stop and as soon as Josh reaches the top he sees that Kai and Wally are there. Ren storms right past them, rage blocking out all else as she makes for the next set of stairs. They look at her and back at Josh for a second before taking off after her.]

Kai: Ren? Ren, what’s going on?

[Josh stays where he is as they run up the next flight of stairs. In another moment he remembers what he should have done from the beginning and pulls out his nav. His hands are shaking as he pounds Azalea’s number and he fidgets as he waits for her to answer.]

Josh: [the moment the icon goes green] Azalea! We have to do something! She’s here and she’s headed up right now. Everyone is up there! It’s such a mess! I can’t stop her. She’s got two other trainers with her this time! What do I do?!

Azalea: Where is she?

Josh: Third floor now.

Azalea: Shit. That doesn’t leave a lot of time.

Josh: [pulling at his hair, voice frantic] What do we do?!

Azalea: I’m going to run interference.

Josh: [trying to calm down] Okay. Okay… What should I do?

Azalea: You are going to promise me you’ll keep your mouth shut about anything you happen to see, although I think you know what happens if you don’t.

Josh: Yes, ma’am.

Azalea: Good. And if you have a moment maybe pray that good old Steven is on his way.

Josh: The Champion? But won’t that—what about the mission?

Azalea: I’ll handle it. I have not worked this hard for this long to fail now. Maxie will get what he’s after.

[She hangs up and we see her face harden. She and her whismur are standing alone on the grassy side of the island.]

Aster: This is bad. What can you do as Azalea?

Azalea: Nothing. [She unzips her Magma jacket and takes it off.] Get out the vapor box, would you, flower?

#kass could come home and be like 'I found five children' and mel's response would be 'we're keeping all of them'

Sooo... I had some thoughts on just shoving more orphans at these two... and... well, I don’t even know where this would fit or anything, and it entirely got away from me, but. 

Have sad baby dwarves I guess?

(Warning for child abuse, child endangerment, references to possible sexual abuse, and hospital scenes. Fill below the cut!)

  Orzammar’s Dust Town orphanage is a reputable childcare facility – in the sense that it has a reputation, and is very keen on upholding that reputation. To the point of hosting lavish galas for donators, and wining and dining magisters from Minrathous and chantry officials from Orlais, and holding televised fundraisers wherein the most dainty and doe-eyed of children are paraded out to give ‘thank you’ speeches and explain how important the orphanage is to them – and nevermind that a lot of the ‘orphans’ are usually paid child actors. That’s all just part and parcel of ‘image maintenance’.

The orphanage needs to be preoccupied with its good reputation, of course, because the other reputation it has earned is not the sort of thing that tends to bring in a lot of donation money. But behind the stone front gates, and within the facility itself, are over-crowded rooms, and under-trained employees, and questionable ‘disciplinary methods’, and ‘character building activities’ that would, away from the glossy pamphlets issued by the orphanage’s spokespeople, probably best be described as ‘prison-like’ and ‘exploitative’.

Knowing that, then, it shouldn’t be too surprising that ‘orphanage break outs’ are… not unheard of.

Among the actual child residents of ODTO, such escapes are spoken of with the kind of reverence usually reserved for epic escapes from POW camps, or particularly noteworthy casino heists, or outright rebellions.

Agla Brosca has dreamed of escaping the orphanage for almost as long as she can remember. She’s got some old, worn-out memories of a life ‘before’. Broken bottles and the scent of urine, but also warm arms and the sound of a woman’s happy laugh. Sometimes she likes to imagine that her mother misses her. Her and Rica. That somewhere out there is someone who is trying just as hard as she can to get them back, but Rica says that their mother brought them to the orphanage herself in the first place, and…

Agla’s not stupid. She might not be very old, and she might have trouble with her letters, but she’s not. She knows grown-ups are untrustworthy, that they lie; if she’s learned anything in her six years of life, it’s that. Even other kids will lie, and they can be mean, except for Rica.

Rica’s the only thing Agla’s got in the world, and she loves her. When Agla’s hungry and the rations are low, Rica always finds a way to sneak her something extra. When the bigger kids are being mean and picking on the littler ones, Rica tells them to go away. She’s always there for Agla, even when one of the overseers sometimes smacks her for it, or yells at her, or threatens to take her away.

That’s the thing that scares Agla the most. The thought that Rica will get taken away. That she’ll disappear like some of the prettier kids do, from time to time. No one knows for sure what happens to those kids, but they never come back. There’s one overseer in particular whose stare is a curse, who looks a little too long, a certain way, at a certain kid, and then, the next morning, they’re gone. And people say they got adopted out, but Agla’s seen kids get adopted out. It happens every once in a lucky vein strike. The kid gets taken away from the orphanage, but they come back. Usually with excited stories about the place they went to and the people they met, and getting to eat something fancy, and sometimes even going up to the surface. That happens a few times, and it’s really different from just getting disappeared.

Kids get jealous when someone gets adopted.

But that’s not how it feels when they wake up and one of them is just gone. Sometimes Agla prefers to imagine that they just escaped. That they saw the writing on the wall, and dug a secret tunnel out, or squeezed out through the laundry chute, or something. One time a boy her age, from her bunkroom, disappeared. Agla checked under his bed for tunnels, but she didn’t find anything.

She tries not to think about the dream she had that night. The bunkroom door opening, and the monster sneaking in.

She’s not pretty, so she doesn’t think she’s in much danger, even if it is a monster who takes kids. But Rica’s getting prettier by the minute, and one morning, she sees that overseer looking at her sister, and it makes her scared.

It makes her really, really scared.

“Rica,” she hisses, over breakfast.

“Shh,” her sister reminds her, from across the table. They’re not really supposed to talk, not if it’s not recess, but that scary overseer is on the other side of the room and Agla feels like if she doesn’t say something, doesn’t do something, then she’s going to burst.

Leski steals her cram off of her tray. The little scrap of hard bread to go with the porridge.

She doesn’t even notice, as she sits back and fidgets, and then looks at her sister again.

Carefully, she signs to her. A few little gestures. Their parents used to be miners, Rica says, although that was a long time before Agla was born. But when her sister was little, their Papa taught her some of the signs that the miners use when they’re in the tunnels and they can’t talk, because they need to listen for the lyrium humming. And Rica taught those same signs to Agla. The ones she could remember, anyway.

Danger, Agla signs.

Rica glances over to where the mean overseer is. Just a flit of her eyes. She’s tied her hair back all the way off of her face, today, and it makes her look a little older than she is.

Acknowledged, she signs back.

That makes her feel just a little bit better. At least if Rica isn’t asking ‘where’ or ‘why’ then she probably knows. And if she knows, maybe she’s got an idea. Maybe they’re going to escape!

Agla calms down, and manages to get through Productive Period without missing any of her stitches on the sewing line, and only pricks her fingers once before recess. It stings, but she’s used to that. She has a big scrape on her thumb, still, from where she accidentally touched one of the cutting blades on the other end of the production line, a few days ago. She thinks maybe it’ll make a cool scar.

At recess, Rica comes and finds her again, like usual.

“I have a plan,” she says, quietly, while they pretend to play X’s and O’s. “But don’t be scared, okay? No matter what happens, just know that I’ve planned it, and everything’s going to be alright. I won’t let them take me away.”

Agla nods in understanding. Rica talks really good. Better than some of the grown-ups, and she’s the best at explaining things.

“What’s th’plan?” she asks.

Rica hesitates, and glances around.

“Someone might hear, and snitch,” she says. “So I won’t say.”

Agla looks around, and none of the other kids seem to be watching, or listening. There are hardly any grown-ups around at recess time; they just lock the door to the Blue Room, until it’s over. Even when kids start screaming, sometimes. Although one time one of the bigger kids tried to stab his friend with a pencil, and an overseer did come in, then. Everyone got supper rations cut for letting it happen.

“Nobody’s listenin’,” she points out, in a whisper.

Rica’s expression wavers a little. She bites her bottom lip.

“Okay,” she finally allows, dropping her voice even lower. And then she leans in, and whispers into Agla’s ear. “When the next shift starts, I’m going to cut my face on one of the work machines. Then I’ll get a big scar, and I won’t be pretty anymore.”

Agla blinks, and swallows uneasily.

“Won’t it hurt?” she asks. She doesn’t want Rica getting hurt, and a cut on the face probably will. Especially if it’s big enough to make a scar. Scars are cool, but the adults do seem to dislike them. Agla’s not really bothered about that part, but what if Rica screws it up and takes her eye out or something?

Kids who can’t work right disappear a lot, too.

“I’ll be alright,” Rica tells her. “I know what I’m doing.”

She sounds so confident that Agla accepts that, although part of her still worries. Rica’s probably going to be hurting for a while, she thinks, so she’ll have to help her. Maybe she’ll have to be the big sister for a while? That’s a lot of responsibility, but for Rica, Agla thinks she can do it. She can sneak her extra portions at dinner, and loan her pillow to her at night, and make sure nobody bothers her until her face is all scarred over and doesn’t hurt anymore.

She’s thinking of all the things she’ll have to do when the chimes go off and signal that recess is over, and two of the overseers come to get everybody moving to Production again.

One of them is the mean overseer.

She stops them at the door.

“Brunette 2C, keep moving,” she tells Agla. “Red 1C, come with me.”

“But I-“ Rica starts.

Smack.

It’s not a hard hit, but Agla’s sister still turns her head away from the slap, and the movement seems to shake through the air. Agla’s stomach ties itself up in knots, and her feet root to the floor.

“Brunette 2C, keep moving,” the overseer snaps.

Agla looks at her sister, and still can’t move. She can’t. What if the overseer takes Rica away? She can’t leave her, she can’t, they’re supposed to stay together-

“Don’t-!”

Smack.

Rica’s voice comes almost as soon as the blow does, and cuts off just as quick as Agla sees stars, and bites her lip. Her feet still don’t move, though, and the overseer reaches for the rod at her belt, before Rica moves right in front of her. Taking her by the shoulders, and looking her in the eyes.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Go on to Production, Agla. I’ll come soon.”

Agla keeps on biting her lip, until she sees the overseer unhooking the rod, and she thinks that Rica’s gonna get hit with it, and then she does move. She forces herself to. Scurrying along, as Rica stares after her. As the overseer’s mean gaze follows her, watching and watching until she goes down the corridor, and then turns around it.

Her feet seem to have remembered how they’re supposed to work, and they carry her all the way to Production.

Rica doesn’t follow.

Agla pricks herself five times and misses a lot of stitches, and gets the switch for it, and by the time the shift is over she’s crying and has gotten her supper rations revoked. She doesn’t do much better during Learning Period, but there’s only one instructor and at least there it’s easier to get ignored, so long as she just sits quietly. Rica doesn’t turn up then, either, and she doesn’t turn up when Agla sits with her empty tray during supper, and when it’s almost time for lights out, her fear and disorientation is starting to turn into something hard and hot and as fierce as it is frightened.

She goes up to one of the overseers, in the hall outside of the bunkrooms.

“Where’s Rica?” she asks.

“I don’t know who that is,” the overseer tells her.

Agla plants herself in place.

“Red 1C,” she says. “Rica, she’s my sisser. She’s red hair an’ pretty blue eyes, anna big nose an’, an’, she don’t look much like me b’she’s older an’ we got th’same… same smile…”

Agla falters a little, under the impassive gaze of the overseer.

“She’s busy,” he says, frowning distastefully beneath his beard. “Now no more questions. You’re being disruptive.”

“Where is she?”Agla insists.

“I said, no more questions,” the overseer warns her.

She can’t move her feet again. They’re all heavy, like they want to be made out of stone.

“B’where-“

The overseer pulls his rod from his belt, and then it’s fear as much as anything that seems to be keeping Agla rooted in place. She swallows, her throat thick, and she braces herself. Covering her head as the first blow falls.

It hits her forearm, and she goes rigid with the shock of pain that carries up her bones. The second hit is harder, knocking her arms out of place, and the third lands against the side of her ear, and feels like hot lights exploding against it. The fourth blow is the hardest and meanest, though, as it cracks against her neck and for a second she can’t breathe, and she falls over, still trying to cover her head before a boot lands in her stomach, hard enough to wind her again.

“Fucking brand,” the overseer hisses. “Can’t fucking learn shit, none of you can. Ungrateful little nug runts, every last one of you.” He leans down low, as Agla shakes, and tears stream down her cheeks. She’s bitten her lip hard enough to draw blood, and her mouth is all full of copper taste, and her heart is beating like an angry drum.

“You want to know where your sister is?” he hisses.

She stills.

Yes. Yes, she wants to know.

She manages to peek out from between her arms, and gives a shaky, desperate nod. It’s hard to see straight, her tears are making everything blurry.

“She’s in one of Beraht’s clubs now, learning how to be a whore. Which is still a better fate than you’ll get, you ugly little cunt. Now get out of my sight before I crush your neck under my boot.”

Agla still can’t move, crying and shaking, until she gets another kick. And then she finally does, finally scrambles away, until she’s back with the other kids. The other kids who look at her like she’s gone out of her mind, even Leske, who keeps his distance just in case the overseer decides to start doling out punishments to everyone around her, too.

Agla’s heard the word whore before. It’s an insult. She doesn’t know why the overseer thinks Rica would have to learn how to be insulted, they’ve been insulted their whole lives. But it sticks with her, all through the night, as she lies in bed and cries and tries not to feel her bruises. Beraht. That’s sticks more. Beraht has her sister. Maybe he has all the kids who disappeared. Agla doesn’t know who he is, but she hates him.

She wants Rica back.

She cries about it all night, until one of the other kids throws an old juice cup at her head, and then she finally stops.

In the morning, Rica’s still gone.

And the next morning, too.

And the one after that, and Agla’s not feeling too good. Her head keeps ringing, and her bruises hurt and her stomach hurts, and on the fourth day after Rica disappears, she can’t stop throwing up every time she tries to eat. She has to clean it up, but then she gets really dizzy. Her head’s ringing again, and her skin feels hot, and one of the overseers grabs her by the arm and drags her out of the dining hall.

She’s too sick to work.

She’s too sick to work, so she’s gonna disappear, she thinks. That thought would be scary, except maybe they’re taking her the same place they took Rica? Maybe they’re taking her to Beraht. Maybe that won’t be so bad.

But she blinks, and finds herself in the sick room, instead. The nurse there pokes at her a bit, and tells her to lie down, and warns that if she’s faking she’s going to be in for it. Agla’s throat feels like it’s on fire, and after a while, the nurse gives her a cup of water. It feels good while she’s drinking it. But then it’s all gone, and she’s still thirsty, and she can’t have any more. That was her ration.

Her stomach hurts, and when she throws up the water, her vomit comes out all dark and weird-looking.

The nurse frowns at it.

Agla hears her, after a bit, talking to someone by the door.

“This one’s probably done for, if she doesn’t see an actual doctor,” she says.

“Oh, well, by all means then, I’ll just drive her out to the local emergency room,” one of the overseers sarcastically replies.

“Fucking… since you assholes fired Dengan, I don’t know what you want me to do. I’m not burning any fucking corpses, it’s disgusting, and it’s not my job. Nobody’s paying me enough for that kind of shit,” the nurse insists.

“Up top doesn’t want any more paperwork being filed on brats dying. They’re worried someone’s been loose-lipped,” the overseer declares. “Look, if she’s done for, just… dump her down a drop-off or something. Make sure nobody can trace the body back to us. Runaways die all the time, no one will care.”

“I’m not sticking my neck out for this, anyone sees me and I know who’s taking the fall,” the nurse insists.

The two voices argue some more, but Agla loses track of it. She clutches her empty water cup, and pretends it’s still full, and chews at the rim a little. Eventually she drifts off, and then she has more dreams. Dreams about monsters, with mean hands, that lift her up. They carry her out through a corridor she doesn’t recognize, and then outside. Outside, which she hasn’t seen for a whole year, not since that one bus trip that some of the kids got to take through Dust Town. They just drove around for a while, but it was so fun! Agla had been glued to the window the whole time.

There’s no window this time, though. The place she ends up in is dark and smothering, it smells like gas and it shakes and jolts, until she just finds herself wishing that everything would stop moving. And then, finally, it does. There’s light again, and the monster looms like a huge shadow over her. Grabbing her up and then dropping her on the ground. Her hands scrape against something hard, and the world spins.

Then there’s a sharp, sudden pain to the back of her skull. A blow that has her hitting the ground hard enough for her face to hurt as well as her skull, and it all goes quiet for several long minutes. And Agla’s not sure why, but there’s a voice in her that say play dead. The same instinct that makes her feet freeze whenever she’s in for it. Maybe it’s the Stone talking to her. Some of the kids say that it can, that it’s magic, that if you get outside and you get to the Stone, it will tell you all the secrets of everything, and welcome you home.

The ground is hard, like stone.

Agla holds very still.

After a few minutes, she hears, through the haze of her mind, the scuff of shoes. And then an engine starts, grumbling, and a car drives away. The light she can see by goes with it.

She takes in a long breath, and tastes dust on her tongue.

She doesn’t know how much time she spends lying there, on the stone, in the dark. There are no lamps. Something with little, skittering feet moves close to her, eventually. But when she groans, it dashes off again. She feels like one great big burning ache, and for a long while, all she can seem to do is breathe, in and out, and make sounds, and feel the rough ground against her cheek.

Gradually, the light comes back. Bit by bit. Like the glowlamps that come on and turn off on their own in the main rooms of the orphanage. Morning, Agla thinks. She has to get up. See Rica. Have breakfast. She tries to sit up, but everything hurts too much. Her palms are all scraped up and her stomach still aches, and there’s too much dust on the air. She coughs, and it feels like she’s being ripped apart.

“Hello?”

Agla doesn’t recognize that voice. She freezes up, curled into a ball, as her memory catches up with her.

Where is she?

She doesn’t know this place. But it’s outside. The walls around her are tall and dirty, and the space is narrow, and full of garbage. An alley? She sucks in a more careful breath through her nose, but she feels like she’s going to throw up again, and that’s scaring her, because it hurts so much. The back of her head is still throbbing.

And then there are footsteps, and she worries that an overseer is coming to hit her again. She tries to make herself as small as possible, as a pair of funny looking feet come into view. Feet clad in scuffed up boots, with jean cuffs over the tops, that stretch up into long, long legs.

Agla hears a gasp.

“Oh no,” the stranger says, and then the feet are moving, closer, closer.

She covers her head.

“You’re alive,” a woman’s voice says, soft and awash with fear.

Why is she afraid, Agla wonders?

A hand touches her, and she’s too out of it to do much except try and curl tighter. The stranger inhales sharply, again, but she doesn’t hit her. After a little bit Agla hears a funny sound, and she peeks out from her arms just enough try and see what’s going on.

The woman is…

Agla doesn’t think she’s ever seen anyone like her before.

She’s big. A giant. And her skin is grey, like rock, and her hair is white like the insides of pillows. Except even whiter than that, with no yellow bits or anything. And she has horns. She looks like… like… Agla doesn’t even know. Is she the Stone? Is that why her skin is grey? Is she a statue, come to life, like in one of Rica’s stories?

She holds up a little black square, and starts talking into it. But not like the walkie-talkies the overseers sometimes use. It’s thin and sleek.

“Hello, yes, there’s an emergency. I’ve found a badly injured child at… dammit… there are not street names here? It’s in Dust Town, off of – hello? Hello?”

The woman curses, some, and then fiddles with her little black not-walkie-talkie some more, looking at Agla with furrowed brows and an angry face.

Agla hides her own again, bracing herself. She’s shaking, she knows.

“No, no, it’s alright,” the stranger says, in a soothing voice. “It’s alright, little one, I’m here to help you. Can you talk? Can you tell me where it hurts most?”

Agla can’t talk. Her throat is too thick, and she’s too scared, and she feels too heavy. The stranger pats her arm, just gently, and then she starts talking again, but not to Agla.

“Yes! I have an emergency, there’s a badly injured child in an alleyway just below the turn-off for Kankeld Street, near the warehouses… yes, in Dust Town… well then transfer me to someone who does have ‘jurisdiction’, I’m not from Orzammar, all I know is that there’s a baby and she’s hurt… hello? Hello? What the fff…”

The stranger sounds angry, but then she makes kind noises at Agla again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she says. Then she lets out a breath, and the ground crunches a bit as she turns and looks around. After a few more minutes, she touches Agla once more. A little more firmly, this time.

“I’m going to pick you up,” she says. “And take you to my car, so I can drive you to the hospital. But I need you to tell me if anything hurts really bad when I move you, okay? Don’t be scared, I won’t hurt you on purpose.”

Agla feels a bit dizzy, as big arms scoop her up, and the world tilts again. But she also feels warm, which is weird, because she thought she was too hot. Except that it’s nice, now. She lets herself lean into it, just a little, keeping her eyes closed because that makes things spin less. The Stone Lady smells nice, but weird, like things Agla hasn’t ever smelled before. And she holds her nicely, too, not dragging her arm or the back of her shirt or anything.

The Stone Lady puts Agla someplace soft, and then she hears the rumbling of engines again.

She drifts for a while, after that. She doesn’t like all the moving and rumbling, and she thinks she throws up. And The Stone Lady gets upset about it, but she doesn’t hit Agla or even tell her off. She just looks all mad in her face. When she brushes some of Agla’s hair back, her hand is gentle, though, and when things finally stop moving again, it’s almost nice.

And then they move a lot quicker, for a while, and there are bright lights and people arguing, shouting about her brand a lot, before finally poking and prodding at her, and then putting a mask on her that makes her fall asleep again. Deep asleep, except it feels like a sick sleep, somehow. Not right. Her mind’s not as quiet as it should be. She keeps imagining that she’s been swallowed by a big monster, with spikes in its stomach, and snakes hissing in her ears.

After that everything gets too hazy for her to keep track of at all, falling away into blurs of white and grey, and pain, and numbness. She wakes up a little bit to a stranger asking her questions, and shining lights in her eyes. It hurts. She thinks she answers, but she’s not sure what she says, or if it makes any sense.

When she wakes up properly, she’s in a room she’s never seen before.

It’s a little like the Sick Room at the orphanage, except it’s much cleaner, and there are sheets on the bed. And the bed is big, and someone’s put her in a weird, paper dress. She still feels numb, but like there’s some kind of pain not too far away, and her head is all light. When she reaches a hand up, she can’t feel her hair anymore. There’s something wrapped over the back of her skull instead, and it feels sore, like a toothache.

The giant shadow that moves at her side stops her from touching it more, though. A big hand comes and takes her own, and Agla freezes.

Almost as quick as it comes, the hand retracts.

“I’m sorry,” the Stone Lady says. She looks just as big and lovely and strange this time around. She smiles very gently, though. “I shouldn’t have touched you without asking permission first. It’s just that you shouldn’t fiddle with the bandage, you were hurt very badly, and it needs to stay on.”

Agla swallows, and waits. But the lady doesn’t seem inclined to smack her, and so for a moment they both just sit there, and she settles her hands back into her own lap. She’s got bandaids on her fingers, she notices. And bandages on her palms, too, all stiff and white. There are more, on her arms and wrapped all around her middle.

After a minute, the Stone Lady shifts at little. She doesn’t look very comfortable in her chair.

“My name is Kassaran,” she says. “May I ask your name?”

Agla hesitates. Is this a trick? If she gives her real name, will she get in trouble?

She swallows, and the Stone Lady frowns – but all she does is lean slightly to the side, not close enough to make Agla wary again, and pull up a bottle of water.

A whole bottle.

She unscrews the cap and then pushes it carefully towards Agla.

“I bet you’re thirsty,” she says. “My children are always thirsty after they’ve had a fever and been sick.”

Agla stares for a moment, and feels a tremor inside of her.

The Stone Lady is a mother.

At the orphanage, those are almost like myths.

“Do you need some help drinking?” the Stone Lady asks, and still, Agla hesitates for a little bit, before finally shaking her head and carefully lifting up the water bottle. The whole, full bottle, and the Stone Lady – Kassaran – doesn’t even make her pour a ration into a cup. She drinks straight from the rim, going too fast and spilling some, which makes her suddenly frightened.

“Easy,” Kassaran says. “Just sip it at first… there we go.”

Agla sips the water, and it tastes good, and it feels good. She keeps her eyes on Kassaran as she drinks, and drinks, until finally she stops again. There’s some water on her weird paper dress and the bed sheets, but not too much. She lets out a breath, and it doesn’t feel like there’s only sandpaper on her insides anymore.

Another moment of silence follows, as Kassaran seems to wait, and Agla doesn’t know what to do.

She asked her a question, she remembers.

Should she give her Identifier? But Rica always said to use names unless someone told her specifically not to, because that made it harder to be mean, sometimes.

“Agla,” she says.

Kassaran blinks.

“Is that your name?” she asks.

Agla nods.

Kassaran smiles, bright and happy.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says. “Agla. I’m pleased to meet you.”

Agla sips some more water, and stares up at Kassaran’s horns. This, apparently, merits another smile.

“Have you ever met a vashoth before?” Kassaran asks her.

Vashoth. Agla’s heard that word, she thinks, but she can’t really remember where. She shakes her head, anyway, because she’s sure she’s never met anyone like Kassaran before.

“How’d you get so big?” she blurts. Is there a trick to it? Agla would love it if she could be that big someday, then she’d be able to tower over all the grown-ups and hit them with rods and switches. See how they liked it.

Kassaran laughs, just a little bit. Not meanly.

“Vashoth are naturally bigger than dwarves,” she says.

And then it clicks for Agla. Vashoth are surface people, like the other kinds, the… the huddans, and the elbs? Something like that. She’s always had troubles paying attention during learning times, but Rica always tries to make sure she gets the gist of it.

Rica.

Agla swallows, and hesitates. She’s outside the orphanage now, she knows. And maybe a vashoth isn’t the Stone, but maybe she knows lots of things anyway.

“Do you know where Rica is?” she asks.

Kassaran pauses, and her smile changes. She shits in her chair, a bit, and stoops down, like she’s trying to see things more on Agla’s level.

“Who’s Rica?” she asks. But not like how the overseers ask, like they’re annoyed she’s not using ‘Red 1C’. She asks it nicely.

“Rica’s m’sisser,” Agla replies. She knows her voice is too small, but Kassaran doesn’t tell her to speak up. Her skin feels a little hot again, as she fidgets with the label on the side of the water bottle. It says Circle Springs on it. It’s pretty.

“Was she with you, before?” Kassaran asks, and her brows furrow.

Agla’s eyes prickle and her vision goes a little bit blurry, as she shakes her head.

“No,” she whispers. It feels like something’s cracking on her insides, like she can’t hold herself up anymore. Her eyes flood, and her shoulders shake. Kassaran reaches for her. She flinches, and puts up her arms.

But nothing happens.

No hit comes.

After a few moments, Agla tentatively lowers her arms. No hit comes then, either. Kassaran just looks very sad, and worried, and her hands are tight but when she sees Agla looking at them, she relaxes them.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. No matter what you say, I won’t hit you.”

Agla tentatively puts her arms all the way back down again. It feels better that way, and Kassaran smiles, even though her eyes seem a little red at the rims.

She asks a few more questions, but Agla can’t really answer most of them. Her throat keeps closing up, and even though Kassaran seems really nice, she can’t help but wait for the trick. And it’s hard to talk to a grown-up, and harder still to figure out what the right answers are. What Kassaran wants her to say. Eventually, she finishes the water bottle, and Kassaran asks if she would like another one. And then Agla falls asleep again when she goes to get one.

When she wakes up, there’s another stranger in the room with her. A dwarven lady in a nurse’s uniform, who makes her look into some lights, and open her mouth, but isn’t mean and doesn’t really hurt her. She stares at Agla’s brand, a bit, like she’s never seen one before. But that’s all.

After she goes, then Kassaran comes back, and this time she’s got pudding cups with her. And juice! Usually Agla only gets juice on the weekend, but she’s pretty sure this isn’t the weekend yet. Unless she slept for days. She hesitates before she takes it, in case it’s not really for her. But when she finally picks up the cup, she doesn’t get into any trouble. The pudding tastes good, too, although her stomach aches a little bit when she’s finished.

“Agla. I would like to ask your permission for something,” Kassaran says.

Agla blinks.

Nobody ever asks her for permissions. She’s not sure what to do with that.

But Kassaran waits, and so after a moment, Agla nods in understanding. It earns her another smile.

“One of my daughters, Ashokara – did I mentioned her before? – well, she’s a little far away from me right now, her and her brother and her sisters. In fact, she’s in another city altogether, up on the surface. She’s never been to Orzammar before, and she’s very curious about it. I have a connection to her on my laptop, and I was wondering if you’d be willing to talk with her for a little bit. And maybe just tell her some things about Orzammar, and what it’s like living here?”

Agla hesitates. She doesn’t know what a ‘laptop’ is. Maybe it’s like another walkie-talkie? But she feels like this might be some kind of test, again.

“I wouldn’t listen in,” Kassaran assures her. “Ashokara is older than you, I think… may I ask how old you are?”

“…Six,” Agla manages.

Kassaran smiles, although something in her eyes looks tight.

“That’s a good age!” she commends. “Ashokara’s thirteen, and she’s a lot bigger than you are, because she’s vashoth, like me. She’s still a kid, though, and she likes younger children. She’s very nice. I promise.”

Agla thinks about it. Rica’s twelve, and she’s nice, but she’s Rica. But Kassaran is nice, too, and Agla’s never seen a vashoth child before. And this is clearly what she’s supposed to do, she’s supposed to say yes, so… after a moment, she nods in agreement.

And then Kassaran sets up the ‘laptop’, which ends up being a really skinny silver computer, that needs a big thick cord that, Kassaran tells her, connects to a special network that goes allll the way up to the surface. Then the screen changes, all vivid and colourful in a way that the lonely old computer in the Blue Room could never hope to be, and Agla finds herself staring face-to-face with a grey-skinned girl who has horns on her head.

The girl smiles.

“Hello!” she says. “You must be Agla. My mama told me about you, I’m Ashokara. But you can call me Ash.”

Ash. Like soot? Agla’s name means the same thing! She blinks, and then blurts that out. It makes Ashokara smile, and Kassaran gives her an approving nod, and then… leaves.

Leaves Agla along with her shiny magic computer and the girl on the other side.

“I heard you got hurt. I’m sorry to hear that,” Ash says.

Agla stares at the door, and feels something in her relax, just a little bit. And she nods. She likes nice kids, like Rica. Sometimes there are others at the orphanage. Like Leske, too.

“I got’n trouble,” Agla agrees.

“Yeah? What happened?” Ashokara asks.

She swallows, and for a moment feels almost itchy. Like the story is bursting to come out, but it takes her a while to figure out how to get the words in the right order. Her fingers twitch, and she signs ‘wait’ without thinking about it – Ashokara watches her fingers, but doesn’t sign back. That’s okay, though, lots of kids don’t know the signals.

“M’sisser got disappeared,” she finally blurts. “At th’orphanage. She was getting too pretty, an’ th’overseer took her, an’ I… I asked for her back. So I got beat, ‘cause ‘ats subord’nashun. An’ then I got sick. But th’overseer who kicked me hard, he said th’some duster called Beraht took Rica. An’, an’ I dunno who that is…”

Agla knows she’s not saying it nicely, like Rica would. Ashokara’s brows furrow, but she doesn’t correct her or seem to not get it, either.

“Do you know the name of your orphanage?” she asks.

Agla blinks.

“No,” she admits. “S’just th’orphanage.”

Ashokara smiles.

“That’s okay,” she says. “It’s just sometimes certain places have certain names, you know? Like schools and things. My school’s named after the First Inquisitor, Ameridan.”

Agla blinks.

“Whass an’Inkydoor?” she asks.

Ashokara tells her, referencing a whole bunch of stuff that Agla doesn’t really know. It sounds interesting, though. And after a while she starts talking again, too, still slurring her words together, fingers twitching through some signs here and there. Ashokara’s easy to talk to, though. She smiles a lot, and she’s not really there so she can’t do something like throw Agla’s empty pudding cup at her, and she tells some funny jokes. She asks some of the same questions that Kassaran asked, too, except Agla doesn’t have as much trouble answering them this time. She tells her more about the orphanage, and the overseers, and Rica, too.

The knock on the door startles Agla, a bit. Ashokara blinks, but then Kassaran’s voice drifts into the room.

“May I come in?” she asks.

Agla startles, not really sure of what to do with that question. Grown-ups just go wherever they want, in her experience, unless there’s other grown-ups to stop them.

“Sure, Mama!” Ashokara calls out, instead. “I have to go do some chores now, Agla. It was really nice talking to you. Thank you, let’s do it again sometime!”

Agla nods, and Kassaran smiles and is very careful as she takes the laptop away. She gives Agla another pudding cup, instead, and two pudding cups in one day is amazing. It’s probably an oversight, but Agla doesn’t point that out. Kassaran leaves for a little while, and she eats her extra pudding cup alone in the room until her stomach aches again, and she wonders about Rica.

And about the orphanage.

She’s… she’s not so sick anymore. She can move around and stuff. She could probably work, although she thinks she’d still mess it up more than the overseers would like. But not enough to get taken off of the line.

She stares at her bandaids, and feels her stomach drop and drop.

She’s going to have to go back, isn’t she? Back to the orphanage. This isn’t a break out, not really. Although maybe it could be, if she’s already on the outside. Maybe she could sneak away, and go and find Rica. Agla thinks about it, and stares towards the little door leading to the room. The one Kassaran went out by.

And then she turns, and looks at the window. It’s a square-shaped one, with a grey sill, and the light from outside glows like the big street lamps she usually only sees at night, from a distance.

Carefully, Agla gets out of her bed, and makes her way over to it. There’s no bars on it, she sees. She tugs at it, and tries to find a latch, but it won’t budge. There looks to be an opening at the top, but before she can try and reach it, the door opens again.

Agla freezes, as Kassaran comes into the room and sees her standing by the window.

Kassaran smiles.

“It’s not a bad view,” she says.

Agla glances out of the window itself for the first time, and sees more than just the nearest lamps. She sees another building, made of shining stone. And she sees the drop down towards glowing fountains…

…Further than she could jump.

Her heart sinks again.

“Thank you for chatting with Ashokara, she told me she liked you very much,” Kassaran tells her. She comes up beside Agla. Close enough to grab her, but she folds her hands behind her back, and clasps them together, and that makes it feel easier.

“Thank you for your kindness,” Agla says, clear and in the old sing-song that was drilled into her, back when she was smaller and still left the orphanage sometimes.

Kassaran’s brow furrows just a little bit, again.

“Agla,” she says. “The doctors say you’re improving a lot, and since you’re getting better, you won’t have to stay in the hospital anymore.”

Her heart sinks again, and she stares out the window.

“I know,” she whispers.

Kassaran clears her throat a little.

“I don’t think you should go back to the orphanage, either,” she says, in a careful-sounding voice. It takes Agla a moment to actually process the notion. Kassaran carries on before she can. “If you would like, you can come and stay with me instead. I’m staying in a hotel in the city, and it has two beds anyway. It seemed kind of like a waste that no one was sleeping in the other one before. But if you stay with me, then that won’t be a problem.”

Agla stares.

Go to… a hotel? With Kassaran? Not back to the orphanage?

Isn’t that kind of like being adopted? And being adopted is the dream, it’s something that only happens to so very few kids, and then they go and live in houses with things like parents and pets and toys, and candy. Maybe, Agla thinks, if she does things just right, and Kassaran likes her well enough, she even will actually adopt her!

The thought is so exciting her hands start shaking.

But then she stops.

She’s in one of Beraht’s clubs now, learning how to be a whore.

Rica.

Agla has to find Rica.

She looks up at Kassaran, and her throat goes all thick. Her eyes blur, and before she can help it, she bursts into tears again.

Kassaran crouches down beside her, her expression all soft and worried.

“M’s-sorry,” Agla stutters out. “I ca… I can’t, m’sorry, Kassa, I hava find Rica. Please don’ send me back, but I, I hava go n’ find Rica, an’ Beraht, I ca… I can’t…”

The words come, broken up by sobs, and Kassaran makes a noise like someone just punched her in the gut. She reaches out, but her hand stops well before it gets to Agla. Her arm stays outstretched for a minute, like it’s waiting for something, but it’s not poised to hit. And after a minute, Agla realizes that it’s open. And Kassaran is so much bigger than Rica but she looks soft, and sad, and somehow it’s easier in that moment to just step into her reach.

Kassaran is very gentle, as she wraps her arms around her. She doesn’t crush her. But she does scoop her up, like Agla doesn’t weigh hardly anything, and she a hand down her back, and makes soothing noises. Agla cries more and more, sobs and stutters out apologies, and hides her face against Kassaran’s shirt.

“It’s alright,” Kassaran says, once she’s settled down enough to be exhausted. “I’ve got you, little one. We’ll find your sister. We can do it together. The city’s a big place, but I have lots of friends who are good at finding lots of strange and secret things. I never planned on forgetting about Rica. When we find her, you can both stay with me. If that’s what you want.”

Agla tries to make sense of that, of an adult promising to help, but it’s too much. She feels overwhelmed. She’s out of the orphanage, and Rica is gone, and Kassaran is nice. And she’s been talking with little horned girls who’re not-so-little through a magic computer that’s thinner than most picture books. Everything still aches, and she’s scared, and confused, and hopeful, and it seems like the best things might happen, and the worst things might happen. And she doesn’t know what to do with that. All she can manage is more crying, and crying, until Kassaran’s shirt is soaked but she’s still rocking Agla, rocking her back and forth until her panic and confusion and hope all ebb, and exhaustion wins again.

She slumps, and lets out a long, long breath.

“You don’t have to decide anything right away,” Kassaran tells her. “You need more rest, because you’re still not all better. But don’t you worry, okay? You just close your eyes and go to sleep, and let me take care of things.”

Agla manages a weak nod of agreement. Kassaran gives her some more water, and then folds the blankets all around her, and sits with her until Agla drifts off for the night.

The next morning, Kassaran isn’t there when she wakes up. And Agla worries that she must’ve upset her, by crying on her so much. But there’s another new stranger – a dwarf, a man, with a round face and a full beard who says he’s an ‘associate of Messere Kassaran’s, here on business but don’t you trouble yourself over that’, and he tells Agla that he has a son ‘just around her age’. He’s a father, and he seems nice, and he doesn’t hit Agla or scold her or try to take her back to the orphanage. He brings her jelly cups and when he smiles, his eyes get all crinkled.

She’s still glad when Kassaran comes back, though. Grown-up vashoths are easier than grown-up dwarves; even if all grown-ups are kind of the same, in theory, Agla’s starting to think that grown-up vashoths are just… built nicer, maybe.

They talk some more, and Agla talks to Ashokara some more, too, before the big cable link goes all still and weird and she gets afraid that she’s broken it, somehow. But Kassaran just tells her that it’s not her, it’s to do with the cables and sometimes it happens, and it’s nothing to be worried about. She can talk to Ashokara another time. Apparently it would be easier in Kassaran’s hotel room than it is in the hospital.

And then Kassaran explains to Agla that she’s a story-writer, and she makes picture books. And she brought one of her books with her, in case Agla was feeling bored and wanted to read it.

She feels nervous, at that, because she’s not good at letters. Kassaran settles a big, colourful book in front of her, filled with bright pictures of little horned girls and huddans and elbs and dwarves, too! Agla points excitedly to the little dwarf girls she sees, and Kassaran doesn’t seem to mind that it takes her a long time to figure out the words. That she has to squint a lot and lean forward, and sometimes she gets them in the wrong order, or mixes up her letters. After a while she leans in closer, and carefully points to each letter in a row, and has Agla follow along with her finger. She lets Agla put her eyes as close to the page as she needs to, and that makes things easier.

The pictures are still best, though.

At evening time, then, some other strangers come. But these ones aren’t like Kassaran, or even Kassaran’s friend or the nurses. They’re dwarves, and they have stern faces, and they make Agla think of overseers. They’re wearing uniforms. They tell Kassaran she has to leave the room, and Kassaran folds her arms and looks very big and immovable. And eventually the strangers say that she can stay, but only if she keeps quiet.

“May I hold your hand, Agla?” Kassaran asks her.

The strangers are a little scary, so Agla thinks that might be a good idea. She lifts her hand, and Kassaran gently engulfs it in her own big, soft one, and doesn’t squeeze and hurt her bandaids.

One of the strangers clears his throat, and smiles at Agla.

“Now then,” he says. “I understand that you ran away from some kind of childcare facility?”

“That’s not what she said,” Kassaran replies.

The stranger glares at her.

“If you interfere with the interview process, you will be escorted from the room. We can’t have you trying to lead the girl’s statements,” he tells her. Agla’s fingers clench, and Kassaran smooths out her frown and offers her a reassuring look.

“…Fine,” Kassaran says, and goes quiet.

The stranger clears his throat.

“Now, then,” he says. “You ran away, yes?”

Agla hesitates. She didn’t, but she knows what she’s supposed to say.

“Yes,” she agrees, quietly.

The stranger nods in approval, and Kassaran’s grip tightens just a little bit. Not enough to hurt, though.

“I see. Are you aware that leaving your designated childcare facility is a criminal act?” he asks.

Agla sucks in a breath, and looks at Kassaran. Now Kassaran’s going to think she’s a criminal, she’s never going to want Agla. Kassaran is already glaring, she sees, looking at the stranger who’s talking to her like she’s really, really mad all of a sudden.

She swallows.

“I… I didn’…” she tries.

“You were unaware?” the stranger asks.

Agla can’t talk, again. She’s all frozen up. She shakes her head, and the stranger sighs, and the other dwarf with him makes a note on a piece of paper.

“Since violating Dust Town housing and care regulations for minors, have you, to your knowledge, committed any other crimes?” the stranger asks her. “Like theft, for instance?”

Agla thinks about her extra pudding cup, and her mouth feels like it’s filling with sand. Does that count? She shakes her head. Kassaran is glaring a lot now, and she’s not looking at Agla. She doesn’t let go of her hand, though. Or crush it. So after a few minutes, Agla just stares at her fingers.

“No?” the stranger asks. “No further crimes to confess?”

“I… hadda… hadda an’ exra pudding…” she manages, and starts to shake.

“And did you steal it?” the stranger asks.

“Okay! That’s it!” Kassaran says, her voice big and hard. Agla flinches, as she lets go of her hand. She braces herself, but instead of smacking her or yelling at her, Kassaran storms over to the strangers, and grabs them both, and hauls them out of the room the way she’s only ever seen overseers do to kids before. But the size difference, Agla supposes, is about the same. A few stray tears make their way down her cheeks, and she swipes at them as the door to her room shuts.

She hears loud voices on the other side, and flinches.

Kassaran’s mad.

And the strangers are probably mad, too.

Agla feels a rush of panic, thinking about getting kicked in the stomach again, getting bruises on her bruises. She goes over to the window, and when it still won’t open, she looks around. And then she sneaks under the bed, dragging the blanket off of it with her, and curling up as far back towards the wall as she can manage.

After a few minutes, the angry sounds from outside stop.

The door opens, and then closes again.

She watches Kassaran’s feet stop in the middle of the room. And then they slowly move over towards the bed, and there’s a pause, before she bends down and looks at her.

It’s not a very good hiding place, Agla supposes. Under the bed never is.

“Hey,” Kassaran says, gently, though. “It’s okay. They’re gone, and they won’t be coming back.”

Agla thinks she’s probably supposed to move. But she can’t, again.

“Are you okay down there?” Kassaran asks her.

She manages a nod.

“M’sorry…” she says. Kassaran doesn’t seem angry anymore, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t. But after a minute, Kassaran moves to sit on the floor. Cross-legged, all her big limbs folding up, and then she smiles and it’s a nice smile.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Kassaran says. “Those people were out of line. It’s okay, Agla. No one’s mad about the pudding cup, you’re supposed to be eating as much as you can. You’re malnourished.”

Agla doesn’t know that word. Is it an insult?

“M’not…” she mumbles.

Kassaran chuckles, just a little.

“It means you haven’t been getting enough food,” she explains. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t run away. And even if you had run away, I think that would have been perfectly understandable. If people treated me the way that orphanage treated you, I would run away, too. I kind of did, in fact.”

Agla blinks, at that.

“You w’inna orphanage?” she asks.

“Not… exactly,” Kassaran says. “But kind of. And I left, too, even though I wasn’t supposed to.”

Agla’s eyes widen.

“Are th’gonna ma… make you go back?” she wonders.

Kassaran shakes her head, though.

“No. And they’re not going to make you go back, either, Agla. I promise.”

She seems very sure of it. Agla fidgets a little bit more, and then after a few minutes, she climbs back out from underneath the bed. Kassaran helps her climb onto the top of it again, and settles her blanket back over her. She brushes a hand over her head, very gently, and checks her bandage.

“Has anyone changed this lately?” she asks.

Agla shakes her head. Kassaran sighs, just a little, but smiles at her, too. And then she tells her not to worry, and calls for one of the nurses. The nurse comes and changes Agla’s bandage, then. It’s not fun. She has to sit still, and she doesn’t like the way the nurse touches her, all brisk and like she’s getting her hands dirty. Her head aches, a little bit, but the new bandage isn’t as itchy, so it’s easier not to touch it.

When that’s done, Kassaran asks if she can give her forehead a kiss.

Agla shrugs, and then nods. The kiss is very soft. And Kassaran brushes her cheek, and whispers to her to feel better, and that’s…

It’s nice.

It’s the nicest anybody except Rica’s ever been to her, she thinks.

“Wi’you… d’you mean it, when you say we can fin’ Rica?” she asks, when Kassaran straightens up again.

The big vashoth women meets her gaze.

“I promise, I’ll do everything I can to help you find her,” she says.

Agla swallows.

“An’ I can stay wi’you…?” she checks, again.

Kassaran smiles.

“I’d be very happy if you did,” she tells her.

“How come?” Agla wonders.

No one except Rica’s ever really happy to have her around. Maybe Kassaran has jobs that need doing? But she doesn’t even know what Agla can do, she only knows that she’s not so good at reading. And that’s one of the bad things about her.

Kassaran leans down, and presses another kiss to her forehead, before she answers.

“For a lot of reasons. But most of all, because I like you,” she says.

Agla’s eyes start itching again.

“I like you, too,” she admits. “I… can I… stay w’you…?”

Her voice is so soft that she’s not even sure if Kassaran can hear it or not. But she seems to, because she smiles, and nods. And then she asks to hug Agla, and it’s nice and warm and soft again.

Maybe, she thinks, maybe Kassaran will like Rica, too, if she helps Agla find her again. If her friends who know how to find things can actually help.

Maybe not all grown-ups are bad.